“It is no charm. It is a symbol—and to you dark. To me full of light and joy in believing.”
“I cannot understand.”
“No—that I know full well. But to one who does, there is comfort in every sorrow, a rainbow in every cloud, roses to every thorn.”
“Glyceria,” said Domitia, and she reared herself upon her knees, and took hold of both the poor woman’s hands; so that the two, with tear-stained cheeks, looked each other full in the face. “My Glyceria! wilt thou grant me one favor?”
“I will give thee, lady, anything that thou canst ask. I should be ungrateful to deny thee ought.”
“It is a great matter, a sharp wrench I ask of thee,” said the daughter of Corbulo.
“I will do all that I can,” replied the widow.
“Then come with me to the palace. Here you have none to care for you, none to earn a livelihood for you,—I want you there.”
Glyceria hesitated.
“Do you fear?”