'She shall be tried by the rites of the Virgin Cave of Hecate.'
He arose, and, throwing his mantle around him, strode out into the night down the hillside to his home.
On his arrival, Nika met him with honeyed words and sweetest smiles, but he passed her coldly, and went to his chamber—not to sleep. The room seemed filled with choking air. He opened the window and let in a cooling draught, and the moonlight, faint and low, stole softly across the floor.
For a moment he rested, buried in thought, scarcely knowing what to do. His face betrayed great passion. He arose, and paced the room until the day dawned over the sea, when he fell upon a couch, and passed into a dreamy sleep.
When the morning had fully come, he went out and breathed the cool virgin air, but soon returned.
His wife met him again with all the ease that duplicity can command.
'And where hast thou been, Varro? Why so cold yesternight to thy loving wife?'
'Nika, thou art false, false! What hast thou been doing whilst I journeyed to Rome?'
'What dost thou mean?'
'Mean! Just what I say. I am not a man to bandy words. Thou art unfaithful to me. Dost thou deny it?'