"Thou hast done nothing," he said quickly. "I blame myself for keeping the amulet about me, when I should have destroyed it. But I could not—I have not yet; because—it is thine!"
"But I kept silence—I who owned the crucifix—"
"I made thee keep silence!"
"But what have they said to thee; what wilt thou do?" she insisted.
"I go without more obloquy than I brought hither with me; I was accused, before; I could stand further accusation, for thy sake! They have said nothing; done nothing—I go to Rhacotis, to await the departure of Agrippa, who goes to Rome at the end of three days—nay; peace!" he broke off, as a momentous resolution gathered in her pale face. "Thou wilt keep silence, else I do this thing in vain!"
"I will not slander myself!" she cried. "I am not afraid to confess my fault—"
"But thou shall not do it!" he declared. "The punishment for it would not be alone for thyself! Choose between the quiet of thy conscience and the peace and pride of thy father! Bethink thee, the inestimable harm thou canst do by this thing! Be not deceived that the story of thy lapse would be kept under thy father's roof. That ignoble pagan governor below has no care for thy sweet fame! He would tell it; thy maidens would hear of it and fear thee or follow thee! Thy father's government over his people would be weakened; the elders of the Synagogue would question him—Lydia, suffer the little hurt of conscience for thine own account, rather than afflict many for thy pride's sake!"
Her small hands, white in the darkness of the corridor, were twisted about each other in distress. Marsyas' pity was stirred to the deepest.
"How unhappy thou hast been!" he said, touching upon her apostasy. "Give over thy wavering and be the true daughter of God, once more! Let us destroy this evil amulet!"
He plucked the crucifix from his tunic and caught it between his hands to break it, when she sprang toward him and seized his wrists.