CHAPTER X.
THE ACCURSED FIELD.
No notice was taken by Domitian of the presence in the palace of the murdered actor’s widow. It concerned him in no way, and he allowed the unfortunate woman to remain there, under the care of his wife, and without making any protest.
Domitia found an interest and a delight in the society of the paralyzed woman, so simple in mind, gentle in thought, always cheerful, ever serene, who lived in an atmosphere of love and harbored no resentments.
She marvelled at what she saw, but it was to her an unattainable condition. Her own affections were seared, and a gnawing hate against the man who had blighted her life, and to whom she was tied, ever consumed her.
She was like a dead plant in the midst of spring vegetation. It looks down on the beautiful life about its feet, but itself puts forth no buds, shows no signs of mounting sap.
Every now and then Glyceria approached the topic of the Fish, and the mysteries involved in the symbol, but would not disclose them, for she saw that Domitia, however miserable she felt, however hopeless, was not in a frame of mind to receive and welcome the interpretation. For in her, the one dominating passion was hate—a desire to have her wrongs revenged, and a chafing at her powerlessness to do anything to revenge them.
Her treatment by Domitian was capricious. At one time he neglected her; then he went sometimes out of his way to offer her a slight; at others he made real efforts to heal the breach between them, and to show her that he loved her still.
But he met with not merely a frosty but a contemptuous reception, that sent him away, his vanity hurt, and his blood in a ferment.
In her indifference to life, she was able to brave him without fear, and he knew that if he ordered her to execution she would hail death as a welcome means of escape from association with himself.