“It is not enough. Do you remember what I told you far away in the village of the Essenes, that this is no matter of casting incense on an altar, but rather one of a changed spirit. When you can say those words from your heart as well as with your lips, then, Marcus, I will listen to you, but unless God calls you this you can never do.”
“What then do you propose?” he asked.
“I? I have not had time to think. To go away, I suppose.”
“To Domitian?” he queried. “Nay, forgive me, but a sore heart makes bitter lips.”
“I am glad you asked forgiveness for those words, Marcus,” she said quivering. “What need is there to insult a slave?”
The word seemed to suggest a new train of thought to Marcus.
“Yes,” he said, “a slave—my slave whom I have bought at a great price. Well, why should I let you go? I am minded to keep you.”
“Marcus, you can keep me if you will, but then your sin against your own honour will be greater even than your sin against me.”
“Sin!” he said, passionately. “What sin? You say you cannot marry me, not because you do not wish it, if I understand you right, but for other reasons which have weight, at any rate with you. But the dead give no command as to whom you should love.”
“No, my love is my own, but if it is not lawful it can be denied.”