‘Oh, Junia!’ she cried; ‘I did it! I did it!’
‘Did what?’
‘I have drunk some blood from a fresh wound, and I am cured.’
‘Horrible!’ said Junia, with a shudder, now for the first time understanding what Syra had come for.
‘Yes; it was horrible,’ said the girl; ‘but how could I help it? Every one who saw me in a fit, however slight, used to spit so as to avert the omen. I tried everything first.I tried galbanum, garlic, hellebore; I ate some young swallows; I tried to get a bit of the liver of an elephant, or the brain of a camel, which they say is a certain remedy.[83] But how could I? Never mind! I am cured now. But oh, Junia!’ exclaimed the girl, ‘as he lay there’—
‘As who lay there?’
‘The young gladiator who fought so bravely to-day, and was dragged out by the hook as dead—well, he is not dead! His limbs were warm. I put my hand on his heart; there was a faint pulse.’
‘But who is he?’
‘I thought you knew him, for he was once a slave in your house—that young Phrygian.’
‘Onesimus!’ exclaimed Junia, with a startled cry.