“Yes, I know you only too well.  You are Tiberius.”

Her luminous deep eyes held his at bay, and despite his habitual, haughty equipoise, her crisp tone of measureless aversion stung him.

“Sarcasm is an ill-selected arbiter between you and me; and your fate for all time, your future weal or woe is rather a costly shuttlecock to be tossed to and fro in a game of words.  I do not come to bandy phrases, and in view of your imminent peril, I cannot quite understand your irony.”

“Understand me?  You never will.  Did the bloodthirsty soul of Tiberius comprehend the stainless innocence of the victims he crushed for pastime on the rocks below Villa Jovis?  There is but one arbiter for your hatred, the hang-man, to whom you would so gladly hurry me.  Hunting a woman to the gallows is fit sport for men of your type.”

Unable to withdraw his gaze from the magnetism of hers, he frowned and bit his lip.  Was she feigning madness, or under the terrible nervous strain, did her mind wander?

“Your language is so enigmatical, that I am forced to conclude you resort to this method of defence.  The exigencies of professional duty compel me to assume toward you an attitude, as painfully embarrassing to me as it is threatening to you.  Because the stern and bitter law of justice sometimes entails keen sorrow upon those who are forced to execute her decrees, is it any less obligatory upon the appointed officers to obey the solemn behests?”

“Justice!  Into what a frightful mockery have such as you degraded her worship!  No wonder justice fled to the stars.  You are the appointed officer of a harpy screaming for the blood of the innocent.  How dare you commit your crimes, raise your red hands, in the sacred name of justice?  Call yourself the priest of a frantic vengeance, for whom some victim must be provided; and libel no more the attribute of Jehovah.”

Scorn curled her lips, and beneath her glowing eyes, his grew restless, as panoplied in conscious innocence she seemed to defy attack.

“You evidently credit me with motives of personal animosity, which would alike disgrace my profession and my manhood.  For your sake, rather than my own, I should like to remove this erroneous impression from your mind.  If you could only understand—­”

She threw up her hand, with an imperious gesture of disdain.

“Save your sophistries; they are wasted here.  Why multiply cobwebs?  I understand you.  If doves have a sixth sense that warns them before they hear the hawk’s cry, or discern the shadow of his circling wings, and if mice, dumb in a cat’s claws, surmise the exact value of the preliminary caresses, the graceful antics, the fatal fondling of the velvet paw, so we, the prey of legal ‘Justice’ know instinctively what the swinging of censers, and the chanting of her high priest mean, when he draws near us.  I understand you.  You intend to hang me if you can.”