“Now rest and try to sleep,” said Verus with a tender fervency, that was peculiar to his tones.  “It is past midnight and the physician has often forbidden you to sit up late.  Farewell, dream sweetly, and always be the same to me as a man, that you were to me in my childhood and youth.”

Sabina withdrew the hand he had taken, saying: 

“But you must not leave me.  I want you.  I cannot exist without your presence.”

“Till to-morrow—­always—­forever I will stay with you whenever you need me.”

The Empress gave him her hand again, and sighed softly as he again bowed over it, and pressed it long to his lips.

“You are my friend, Verus, truly my friend; yes, I am sure of it,” she said at last, breaking the silence.

“Oh Sabina, my Mother!” he answered tenderly.  “You spoiled me with kindness even when I was a boy, and what can I do to thank you for all this?”

“Be always the same to me that you are to-day.  Will you always—­for all time be the same, whatever your fortunes may be?”

“In joy and in adversity always the same; always your friend, always ready to give my life for you.”

“In spite of my husband, always, even when you think you no longer need my favor!”

“Always, for without you I should be nothing—­utterly miserable.”

The Empress heaved a deep sigh and sat bolt upright on her couch.  She had formed a great resolve, and she said slowly, emphasizing every word: 

“If nothing utterly unforeseen occurs in the heavens on your birth-night, you shall be our son, and so Hadrian’s successor and heir.  I swear it.”

There was something solemn in her voice, and her small eyes were wide open.

“Sabina, Mother, guardian spirit of my life!” cried Verus, and he fell on his knees by her couch.  She looked in his handsome face with deep emotion, laid her hands on his temples, and pressed her lips on his dark curls.

A moist brilliancy sparkled in those eyes, unapt to tears, and in a soft and appealing tone that no one had ever before heard in her voice she said: 

“Even at the summit of fortune, after your adoption, even in the purple all will be the same between us two.  Will it?  Tell me, will it?”

“Always, always!” cried Verus.  “And if our hopes are fulfilled—­”

“Then, then,” interrupted Sabina and she shivered as she spoke.  “Then, still you will be to me the same that you are now; but to be sure, to be sure—­the temples of the gods would be empty if mortals had nothing left to wish for.”

“Ah! no.  Then they would bring thank-offerings to the divinity,” cried Verus, and he looked up at the Empress; but she turned away from his smiling glance and exclaimed in a tone of reproof and alarm: 

“No playing with words, no empty speeches or rash jesting! in the name of all the gods, not at this time!  For this hour, this night is among its fellows what a hallowed temple is among other buildings—­what the fervent sun is among the other lights of heaven.  You know not how I feel, nay, I hardly know myself.  Not now, not now, one lightly-spoken word!”