“But he must come back this way to go to his own rooms,” said Paula to her companion with a sigh of relief.  “We must wait.  But now we must not lose a minute.  Come over to the door of the tablinum.  The dog will know me now and will not bark again.”  They hastened on, and when they had reached the door, which lay in shadow within a deep doorway, Paula asked her companion:  “Did you see who the man was who came out?”

“My lord Orion,” said Hiram.  “He was co—­co—­coming home from the town when I preceded you across the yard.”

“Indeed?” she said with apparent indifference, and as she leaned against the cold metal door-panels she looked back into the garden and thought she was now free to return.  She would describe to the freedman the way he must now go—­it was quite simple; but she had not had time to do so when, from a room dividing the viridarium from the vestibule she heard first a woman’s shrill voice; then the deeper tones of a man; and hardly had they exchanged a few sentences, when every sound was lost in the furious barking of the hound, and immediately after a loud shriek of pain from a woman fell upon her ear, and the noise of a heavy object falling to the ground.

What had happened?  It must be something portentous and terrible; of that there could be no doubt; and ere long Paula’s fears were justified.  Out from the room where the scene had taken place rushed Orion, and with him the dog, across the grass-plot which was usually respected and cherished as holy ground, towards the side of the house facing the river, which was where he and all the family had their rooms.

“Now!” cried Paula, quickly leading the way.

She flew in breathless haste through the first room and into the unguarded hall; but she had not reached the middle of it when she gave a scream, for before her in the moonlight, lay a body, motionless, at full length, on the hard, marble floor.

“Run, Hiram, fly!” she cried to her companion.  “The door is ajar—­open—­I can see it is.”

She fell on her knees by the side of the lifeless form, raised the head, and saw—­the beautiful, deathlike face of the crazy Persian slave.  She felt her hand wet with the blood that had soaked the hapless girl’s thick, fair hair, and she shuddered; but she resisted her impulse of horror and loathing, and perceiving some dark stains on the torn peplos she pulled it aside and saw that the white bosom was bleeding from deep wounds made in the tender flesh by the cruel fangs of the hound.

Paula’s heart thrilled with indignation, grief and pity.  He—­he whom she had only yesterday held to be the epitome of every manly perfection—­Orion, was guilty of so foul a deed!  He, of whose unflinching, dauntless courage she had heard so much, had fled like a coward, and had left the victim to her fate—­twice a victim to him!

But something must be done besides lamenting and raging, and wondering how in one human soul there could be room for so much that was noble and fine with so much that was shameful and cruel.  She must save the girl, she must seek help, for Mandane’s bosom still faintly rose and fell under Paula’s tremulous fingers.