"You have loved the wife of the Senator of Rome!"
His eyes drooped. For a time neither spoke.
"Thrice have I crossed the Alps, to see, to rule this fabled land,—and now I want but rest,—peace,—Stephania—" he said with a heart-breaking smile.
"You are tired, my love," replied the beautiful Roman. "From this hour, I shall be your leech,—I shall be with you, to share your solitude,—to watch over you till the dread fever is broken. And then—"
"And then?" he repeated with anxious look.
"But will you not weary of me?" she said, avoiding the question.
He drew her close to him.
"My sweetheart—-my own—"
"And you will not fear, you will trust and obey me?"
"Were you to give me poison with your own hands, I would drain the goblet without fear or doubt."