Coryna did not speak, but her expressive face told her gratitude and hope.
The conversation was stopped by the loud blast of trumpets, indicating that another awful act was to begin; and the great hum of voices ceased. The sand was clear of everything, as if a bare, vast, oval table, and all faces were turned toward the eastern extremity of the arena, morbidly hungering for more scenes of skill and blood.
CHAPTER IX.
IN THE ARENA.
Pathema was taken from prison, where she had been shut up for a long time; and the officer in charge was about to open a small door into the arena to lead her in, when a dark-haired boy, the son of illustrious parents, came forward with tears streaming down his noble face, and presented her with a cluster of white lilies. Accepting the flowers speechlessly but gracefully, the doomed maiden bent down with a full heart and kissed him. The lilies reminded her of Him who was made perfect through suffering, and they gave her renewed strength.
"Thy name, my darling?"
"Carnion," was the answer, broken and low.
Stooping down, Pathema put a gentle trembling arm around the boy and kissing him again, she said—
"My lovely one, God bless thee!"