“I am not surprised,” he added, “if you be His disciple,” and he touched the cornelian fish.
It was not strange that in this splendid lady with golden hair he did not recognize the timid, crushed girl with auburn locks, he had seen on the Artemis.
But the recollection of that night came back with a rush like a tidal wave, over Domitia, and she threw forth the question, “Why did you cut the thong?”
He did not comprehend her. She saw it, and added, “You do not recollect me. Do you not recall when we nearly ran down the galley of that monster Nero? On that night, we would have sent him to the bottom of the sea, but for you,—you spoiled it all; you cut the thong of the rudder. Why did you prevent us from doing it?”
“Because,” answered the physician, “It is written, Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord. It was not for you to do it. You were not called to be the minister of His sentence.”
“I understand you not.”
“My daughter——”
“Hold!” said Domitia, rearing herself up. “Dost thou know to whom thou addressest thyself? I—I thy daughter? I am Domitia Longina, daughter of the great Corbulo, and—” but she would not add, “wife of the Cæsar Domitian.”
“Well, lady,” said Luke, “forgive me. I thought, seeing that sign on thy breast, and hearing thee say that thou didst love the poor, that thou wast one whom, whatever thy rank and wealth and position I might so address, not indeed as one of the Brethren, but as a hearer and a seeker—enough—I was mistaken.”
“What means this fish?” asked Domitia, her wounded pride oozing away at once. “I pray you forgive me. I spoke hastily.”