There was only one girl who refused to have any part in the ceremonies. When the rest of the Sabine maidens left the guest house, she remained. She was still there when a little before sunset Romulus came back to the square and entered the room where she sat.
She was a tall and lovely creature, the daughter of the priest Emilius, and Ruffo the captain had carried her off, but she would have nothing to say to him. He had consoled himself with the daughter of one of his old comrades. Her great eyes blazed as she met the look of the young chief, and she held her head high, but she did not speak.
“You are the daughter of a great man,” said Romulus. “You are Emilia.”
It was surprising that he should know her name, but his knowing who she was made it all the greater insult that she should have been carried off by force.
“Long ago,” he went on, “I saw you, a little maid, when I was a poor shepherd boy. Your mother was kind to me and gave me meat and wine. Your father reproved me when I in my ignorance would have offended the gods. As you were then, so you are now,—beautiful as a flower, fierce as a wolf, Herpilia, the wolf-maiden. You are the mate for me, and when I saw you at the festival, I knew it.”
“You! An outcast!” the girl cried, her eyes flashing in scorn.
“I am of good blood, and now I rule this city. You shall rule it with me when you will,” said the chief coolly.
“I would rather be a slave and grind at the mill!”
Romulus smiled. What did this girl know of a slave’s life?
“You had better not,” he said. “But you need not do either. If after the Saturnalia you wish to go back to your father’s house, you shall go. But you cannot know much about us until you have seen how we live.” And he turned and went out.