As he finished his last word, he thrust her violently down upon the couch, and seized her by the hair. She made no resistance, she uttered no cry; partly a fainting and sickening sensation came over her; partly a noble feeling of self-respect checked any unseemly exhibition of fear, before a scornful enemy. Just as she closed her eyes, she saw something like lightning above her; she could not tell whether it was his glaring eye or flashing steel.
In another moment she felt oppressed and suffocated, as if a great weight had fallen upon her; and a hot stream was flowing over her bosom.
A sweet voice full of earnestness sounded in her ears:
“Cease, Orontius; I am thy sister Miriam!”
Fulvius, in accents choked by passion, replied:
“It is false; give me up my prey!”
A few words more were faintly spoken in a tongue unknown to Fabiola; when she felt her hair released, heard the dagger dashed to the ground, and Fulvius cry out bitterly, as he rushed out of the room:
“O Christ! this is Thy Nemesis!”
Fabiola’s strength was returning; but she felt the weight upon her increase. She struggled, and released herself. Another body was lying in her place, apparently dead, and covered with blood.
It was the faithful Syra, who had thrown herself between her mistress’s life and her brother’s dagger.