One look from the mystic eyes of the High Priestess overawed her, and she shielded her face with her mantle of black.
No tremor passed the face of the High Priestess. It was fixed like a cold, pale moon in the cloudless sky. She could have slain Nika had she chosen. Her glistening dagger remained untouched. She heeded it not, but moved solemnly towards the cowering girl, holding forth her hands as she approached her, saying:
'Lean on me, fair woman of Rome. I may make thy burden less.'
The eyes of Nika rolled back their maddening look, and gazed into those of the priestess.
'O Saronia, Saronia, save me! or, if thou canst not, then forgive!'
For the first time the face of the High Priestess relaxed, and it was veiled with a look of pity.
'Would I could help thee, Nika! In this case I have not power. I stand here, not to punish, but to perform the sacred rites my office demands; but I forgive thee, forgive thee, Nika, whatever may be thy fate.'
The low tones of Diana's hymn broke the stillness, and Saronia led the trembling woman to the Virgin Cave of Hecate.
The great doors swung back, the doors of olive were wide apart, and soft Ionian music floated by like the rhythm of angels' wings.
'Nika—let me kiss thee, Nika.'