She trembled and clasped her hands. She fell on her knees and gave one loud sob.
“What’s the matter, Cora?”
“My lord, let me stay with you! Let me dance and sing for you, let me serve you, let me wash your feet; kick me, beat me, torture me! But do not send me away! Do not send me away! Keep me! Keep me with you!... I come from Dryope’s slave-school, I have cost you a fortune, my lord! I am not beautiful, but my voice is good and, my lord, I am a clever dancer. But, if your lordship is tired of my voice and my dancing, I will wash your feet; and, when you are angry and want to beat a slave, you shall beat me and ill-treat me! But keep me, keep me, wherever you may be!”
She had thrown herself before him and was sobbing and kissing his feet.
And he said:
“Then, Cora, don’t you love Caleb?”
“My lord,” she said, “I love you—if I must say it!—and I have loved you from the first moment when Thrasyllus brought me to you. And, if it please you, my lord, I will die for you. But keep me and do not give me to Caleb!”
“And if it pleased me, Cora ... that you should not die for me but live for me? Not only to sing to me and dance to me, but also to throw your arms around my neck, to lay your breast upon my breast and your lips upon my lips?...”
She gave a cry as of incredible happiness. Smiling, he raised her very tenderly and folded her in his arms, close against him.
“Oh!” she cried, in ecstasy, when his lips sought hers. “Aphrodite! Aphrodite! She has heard my prayer!”