So Dame Maria sat there in sour and virtuous dignity, looking like the Virgin Mary as painters and sculptors were at that time wont to represent her; and her farmer-son shuddered whenever his eye fell on his step-mother.  It did him good, by contrast, to hear a hearty peal of laughter that came up from the lowest ranks of the podium.  When he had discovered the spot from whence it proceeded he could hardly believe his eyes, for there sat the long-sought Dada, between an old man and a young woman, laughing as though something had just occurred to amuse her extremely.  Demetrius stretched his limbs with a feeling of relief and satisfaction; then he rose, and seeing his city agent seated just behind the girl, he begged him to change places with him, as he thought it advisable not to lose sight of the game now it was caught; the old man was very ready to oblige him and went up to the other seat with a meaning smile.

For the first time since she could recollect anything Dada had spent a sleepless night.  Whether the wind and thunder would have sufficed to keep her awake who can tell; but the thoughts that had whirled through her brain had been varied and exciting enough to rob her of sleep.  Her own people who were fighting for Serapis—­how were they faring; and Agne —­what had become of her?  Then her mind turned to the church, and the worthy old priest’s sermon; to the races that she was to see—­and the face and figure of the handsome young Christian rose vividly and irresistibly before her fancy.  Of course—­of course, she wished his horses to win; but it was strange enough that she, Karnis’ niece, should be on the side of the Christians.  Stranger still that she had entirely ceased to believe in all the abuse which, from her earliest childhood, she had heard heaped on the followers of the crucified Jew.  It could only be that Karnis had never been able to forgive them for having ruined his theatre at Tauromenium, and so, perhaps, had never known them thoroughly.

She had enjoyed many a happy hour at the festivals of the old gods; and they were no doubt beautiful and festive divinities, or terrible when they were wroth; still, in the depths of her soul there had for some time lurked a vague, sweet longing which found no fulfilment in any heathen temple.  She knew no name for it and would have found it hard to describe, but in the church, listening to the prayers and hymns and the old deacon’s discourse, it had for the first time been stilled; she had felt then and there that, helpless and simple as she was, and even if she were to remain parted from her foster parents, she need never feel abandoned, but could rest and hope in a supreme, loving, and helpful power.  And indeed she needed such a protector; she was so easily beguiled.  Stephanion, a flute-player she had known in Rome, had wheedled everything she had a fancy for out of poor Dada, and when she had got into any mischief laid it all on Dada’s shoulders.  There must be something particularly helpless about her, for everyone, as a matter of course, took her in hand and treated her like a child, or said things that made her angry.