NEMESIS
hile these events, so closely touching his own life, transpired in the Groves of Theodora, while a triple traitor met his long-deferred doom, and a trembling woman cowered fear-struck and tortured by terrible forebodings in her chambers, Eckhardt sat in the shaded loggia of his palace, brooding over the great mystery of his life and its impending solution; meditating upon his course in the final act of the weird drama. But one resolution stood out clearly defined in all the chaos of his thoughts. He would not leave Rome ere he had broken down behind him every bridge leading back into the past.
It had been a day such as the oldest inhabitants of Rome remembered none at this late season. The very heavens seemed to smoke with heat. The grass in the gardens was dry and brittle, as if it had been scorched by passing flames. A singularly profound stillness reigned everywhere, there being not the slightest breeze to stir the faintest rustle among the dry foliage.
How long Eckhardt had thus been lost in vague speculations on the impending crisis of his life he scarcely knew, when the sound of footsteps approaching over the gravel path caused him to shake off the spell which was heavy upon him, and to peer through the interstices of the vines in quest of the new-comer who wore the garb of a monk, the cowl drawn over his face either for protection against the heat, or to evade recognition. Yet no sooner had he set foot in the vineshaded loggia, than Eckhardt arose from his seat, eager, breathless.
"At last!" he gasped, extending his hand, which the other grasped in silence. "At last!"
"At last!" said Hezilo.
The word seemed fraught with destinies.
"Is the time at hand?" queried Eckhardt.
"To-night!"