“Has Hiram come back?” asked Paula, feeling herself turn pale.

“They have brought him in,” replied Orion.  “My father at once summoned the court of judges.  Justice has a swift foot here with us; I am sorry for the man, but I cannot prevent its taking its course.  I must beg of you to appear at the examination when you are called.”

“The whole truth shall be told!” said Paula sternly and firmly.

“Of course,” replied Orion.  Then turning to the physician, he added:  “I would request you, worthy Esculapius, to leave me and my cousin together for a few minutes.  I want to give her a word of counsel which will certainly be to her advantage.”

Philippus glanced enquiringly at the girl; she said with clear decision:  “You and I can have no secrets.  What I may hear, Philippus too may know.”

Orion, with a shrug, turned to leave the room: 

On the threshold he paused, exclaiming with some excitement and genuine distress: 

“If you will not listen to me for your own sake, do so at least, whatever ill-feeling you may bear me, because I implore you not to refuse me this favor.  It is a matter of life or death to one human being, of joy or misery to another.  Do not refuse me.—­I ask nothing unreasonable, Philippus.  Do as I entreat you and leave us for a moment alone.”

Again the physician’s eyes consulted the young girl’s; this time she said:  “Go!” and he immediately quitted the room.

Orion closed the door.

“What have I done, Paula,” he began with panting breath, “that since yesterday you have shunned me like a leper—­that you are doing your utmost to bring me to ruin?”

“I mean to plead for the life of a trusty servant; nothing more,” she said indifferently.

“At the risk of disgracing me!” he retorted bitterly.

“At that risk, no doubt, if you are indeed so base as to throw your own guilt on the shoulders of an honest man.”

“Then you watched me last night?”

“The merest chance led me to see you come out of the tablinum. . . .”

“I do not ask you now what took you there so late,” he interrupted, “for it revolts me to think anything of you but the best, the highest.—­But you?  What have you experienced at my hands but friendship—­nay, for concealment or dissimulation is here folly—­but what a lover . . .?”

“A lover!” cried Paula indignantly.  “A lover?  Dare you utter the word, when you have offered your heart and hand to another—­you. . . .”

“Who told you so?” asked Orion gloomily.

“Your own mother.”

“That is it; so that is it?” cried the young man, clasping his hands convulsively.  “Now I begin to see, now I understand.  But stay.  For if it is indeed that which has roused you to hate me and persecute me, you must love me, Paula—­you do love me, and then, noblest and sweetest. . . .”  He held out his hand; but she struck it aside, exclaiming in a tremulous voice: