He ran to Adalgisa and implored her to fly with him—but the virgin drew back from him, and again clung to Norma. But the priestess, jealous to blindness, flung the maiden from her, and bade her follow her paramour.
“Ah! no—ah! no—Norma.”
Suddenly she relented—bent down quickly and kissed the acolyte. Then she rose toweringly high and bade him depart.
“Begone—forget thy vows, thy vows—begone! I curse thee. My voice shall whisper to thee on the winds and in the waves. Go—alone! She shrinks from thee, she whom thou wouldst destroy—I defy thee. Go—alone.”
He met her look at first—but soon quailed before her. Then with his eye down-cast, he moved towards Adalgisa—but Norma stood defyingly between them.
So conquered—he turned, and left the place.
Behold her before the kneeling girl—her face towards him as he creeps away; firm, defying, protecting—she has conquered him—she, the sinning high priestess; she, but a woman; she, one of a conquered race—Norma! She has fought and beaten the powerful Roman. She stands proudly, defiantly; he creeps away abashed, his very life her gift, the gift of her whom he has deserted.
CHAPTER III.
Who is this, creeping towards two sleeping children? Who is this with an uplifted dagger, and an awful frown upon her face? ’Tis Norma—mad with jealousy and hate, stealing in the dark to kill his children and her own.