But Lucius clenched his fists; he foamed at the mouth with sudden anger and roared:
“She has merely read my own thoughts! No more! No more!”
He glared round him like a madman, drew his dagger and made as though to fling himself upon the sibyl’s swooning body.
“My lord! My lord!” shouted Caleb, holding him back and gripping him in his strong arms.
The Greek girl, standing in front of the fainting woman, spread wide her arms and cried:
“Do not murder a holy woman, my lord! Do not murder a poor, holy woman!”
And, as she stood thus, Lucius saw that she was like the shade of Ilia ... and he burst into sobs.
Chapter VI
Those were sad days. Lucius would lie on his bed, sobbing like a child, then rise suddenly, in transports of rage, tear his clothes or take up a stool and hurl it at a marble statue, which fell down in dust and fragments. He showed Thrasyllus the door; and Uncle Catullus kept out of the way. Lucius had ended by banging Tarrar against a table; and the little slave had a deep wound in his forehead. Caleb, who was a good hand at doctoring, had himself bandaged Tarrar’s head.