“He is in Egypt.”
The girl panted and beat her head with her hands.
“Lamia! he shall release me.”
“He needs some one to release him.”
“How so?”
“He insulted Domitian in the Senate House—all because of you, and is under arrest. For less matters, than what he has done, lives have been lost.”
“He will never—no, never!” she could not finish her sentence, her heart was boiling over, and she burst into a paroxysm of sobs.
“The Gods! the Gods help me!” she cried.
“My dear Domitia, you might as well call on the walls to assist you. The Gods! They are just as bad as mortals. You may cry, but they will look between their fingers, accept your prayers and offerings and laugh at you as a fool. Why, as the Gods love me! Does not the family derive from Lamius, and was not he the child of Hercules and Omphale? It was very naughty and shocking, and all that sort of thing—but they all do it, and are not in the least disposed to assist you. On the contrary, they will back up the ravisher.”
“Then I have no help—save in myself. I will never be his.”