At the sight of this the soul of the woman without was moved to its very depths, and she longed to behold what was marked on the tablet. The divining power of her spirit asserted itself, and she knew by the writer's look that it was a message of importance, and probably one of love. She waited till Nika had finished it; then the Roman stretched out her white arms and flung herself back in a deep reverie.
The eyes of the witch Endora were directed steadily on her, and as she gazed, Nika fell asleep, and her hands drooped listlessly by her side.
Like a snake, Endora glided into the room, reached the sleeping Roman, then, gently raising the tablet from her knee, she moved as softly and serpent-like from the room, and stole back by the way she came—back through the deserted streets, up the hill Pion to her cave.
Once inside, she bolted the rough door, through the chinks of which the wind moaned.
Lighting her lamp, she stripped off her saturated clothes. Before even she kindled a fire, she drew out the stolen thing, and, with straining eyes, read its contents. Then a hellish satisfaction lit up her haggard face, and she laughed with fiendish glee, murmuring to herself, fearful of listening ears:
'Ha, ha, ha! My mistress Nika, thou hast a lover. Thou art safe now in the meshes of the fowler. The measure thou hast meted out to others shall be measured back to thee again—again, I say. And the house of Venusta shall sorrow, as they say the Egyptians did for their first-born. Not only shall they suffer on thine account; their own sins shall weigh mightily on them. Yea, root and branch shall suffer, and they shall wither away until not a footfall of theirs be heard, nor an echo of their voices resound through their marble home. The witch Endora, like a Cassandra, smells the past, and speaks of evil.
'Day after day, night after night, have I been on the trail, tracked her like a bloodhound, haunted her to earth. I lie not; she is worse than I! The Roman shall know all, and Saronia, whom she tortured, be avenged. If her soul is too kind to feed upon such a rare morsel, then the witch of Ephesus—I, Endora—will do so, and gloat over the fate of Nika, proud, despicable daughter of Lucius the Roman! Now let me breathe the air; the stormy air, the sunlight, and the breeze belong to me as much as to the good.'