'Yes, 'tis true. I knew the priestess princess, but the Roman I never saw.'
'What was she like?'
'Beautiful—rarely beautiful! She moved among the Druid bards the queen, like a queen of night—tall, commanding, with great dark eyes like dusky diamonds; deep, piercing were those eyes, set beneath eyebrows fit for Juno. Every lineament of her face spoke forth a soul of souls. When she walked, her robe of white fell like a summer cloud, and her dark, waving hair in masses of beauty moved over her shoulders down to her feet. Everyone knew her, feared her—everyone loved her. In an evil hour she fell, was punished, and died far, far away from her island home.'
'What was her name?'
'Saronia.'
'Great God! Saronia?'
'Yea, my lord. Thou art agitated?'
'No, no, no! Go on!'
'Nothing much remains to be told. This only: They mourned her fall, her loss, her death. The prophets in that land have cast a destiny of her child, and say she shall shine forth as the moon, terrible as the sun; that she shall tread with dignity the floorway of a great temple, and shall minister at its altar; that she shall rise to the greatest eminence, and——'
'Stay! Say no more, man—say no more! Leave her there!'