When the Empress was alone she raised her hand in prayer but she could find no words of thanksgiving.  One hour of pure happiness she had indeed enjoyed, but how many days, months, years of joylessness and suffering lay behind her!  Gratitude knocked at the door of her heart but it was instantly met by bitter defiance; what was one hour of happiness in the balance against a ruined lifetime?

Foolish woman! she had never sown the seeds of love, and now she blamed the gods for niggardliness and cruelty in denying her a harvest of love.  And now, on what soil had the seed of maternal tenderness fallen?

Verus it is true had left her content and full of hope—­Sabina’s altered demeanor, it is true, had touched his heart—­he purposed to cling to her faithfully even after his formal adoption; but the light in his eye was not that of a proud and happy son, on the contrary it sparkled like that of a warrior who hopes to gain the victory.

Notwithstanding the late hour, his wife had not yet gone to bed.  She had heard that he had been summoned to the Empress on his return home, and awaited him not without anxiety, for she was not accustomed to anything pleasant from Sabina.  Her husband’s hasty step echoed loudly from the stone walls of the sleeping palace.  She heard it at some distance, and went to the door of her room to meet him.  Radiant, excited, and with flushed cheeks, he held out both his hands to her.  She looked so fair in her white night-wrapper of fine white material, and his heart was so full that he clasped her in his arms as fondly as when she was his bride; and she loved him even now no less than she had done then, and felt for the hundredth time with grateful joy that the faithless scapegrace had once more returned to her unchangeable and faithful heart, like a sailor who, after wandering through many lands seeks his native port.

“Lucilla,” he cried, disengaging her arms from round his neck.  “Oh, Lucilla! what an evening this has been!  I always judged Sabina differently from you, and have felt with gratitude that she really cared for me.  Now all is clear between her and me!  She called me her son.  I called her mother.  I owe it to her, and the purple—­the purple is ours!  You are the wife of Verus Caesar; you are certain of it if no signs and omens come to frighten Hadrian.”

In a few eager words, which betrayed not merely the triumph of a lucky gambler, but also true emotion and gratitude, he related all that had passed in Sabina’s room.  His frank and confident contentment silenced her doubts, her dread of the stupendous fate which, beckoning her, yet threatening her, drew visibly nearer and nearer.  In her mind’s eye she saw the husband she loved, she saw her son, seated on the throne of the Caesars, and she herself crowned with the radiant diadem of the woman whom she hated with all the force of her soul.  Her husband’s kindly feeling towards the Empress and the faithful allegiance which had tied him to her from his boyhood did not disquiet her; but a wife allows the husband of her choice every happiness, every gift excepting only the love of another woman, and will forgive her hatred and abuse rather than such love.