“Caracalla,” he went on, looking at Melissa, “is terrible in his passions, no one can deny that; but of late severe suffering has made him irritably sensitive, and he insists on the strictest virtue in all who are about his person.  He pays no heed to female beauty, and this sweet child, at any rate, will find many protectors.  He shall know that the high-priest’s wife, one of the best of women, keeps an anxious eye on Melissa’s fate; and I myself, his mother’s friend, shall be at hand.  His passion for revenge, on the other hand, is boundless—­no one living can control it; and not even the noble Julia can shield those who provoke it from a cruel end.  If you do not know it, child, I can tell you that he had his brother Geta killed, though he took refuge in the arms of the mother who bore them both.  You must understand the worst; and again I ask you, are you ready to risk all for those you love?  Have you the courage to venture into the lion’s den?”

Melissa clung more closely to the motherly woman, and her pale lips answered faintly but firmly, “I am ready, and he will grant my prayer.”

“Child, child,” cried Berenike in horror, “you know not what lies before you!  You are dazzled by the happy confidence of inexperienced youth.  I know what life is.  I can see you, in your heart’s blood, as red and pure as the blood of a lamb!  I see—­Ah, child! you do not know death and its terrible reality.”

“I know it!” Melissa broke in with feverish excitement.  “My dearest—­my mother—­I saw her die with these eyes.  What did I not bury in her grave!  And yet hope still lived in my heart; and though Caracalla may be a reckless murderer, he will do nothing to me, precisely because I am so feeble.  And, lady, what am I?  Of what account is my life if I lose my father, and my brothers, who are both on the high-road to greatness?”

“But you are betrothed,” Berenike eagerly put in.  “And your lover, you told me, is dear to you.  What of him?  He no doubt loves you, and, if you come to harm, sorrow will mar his young life.”

At this Melissa clasped her hands over her face and sobbed aloud.  “Show me, then, any other way—­any!  I will face the worst.  But there is none; and if Diodoros were here he would not stop me; for what my heart prompts me to do is right, is my duty.  But he is lying sick and with a clouded mind, and I can not ask him.  O noble lady, kindness looks out of your eyes; cease to rub salt into my wounds!  The task before me is hard enough already.  But I would do it, and try to get speech with that terrible man, even if I had no one to protect me.”

The lady had listened with varying feelings to this outpouring of the young girl’s heart.  Every instinct rebelled against the thought of sacrificing this pure, sweet creature to the fury of the tyrant whose wickedness was as unlimited as his power, and yet she saw no other chance of saving the artist, whom she held in affectionate regard.  Her own noble heart understood the girl’s resolve to purchase the life of those she loved, even with her blood; she, in the same place, would have done the same thing; and she thought to herself that it would have made her happy to see such a spirit in her own child.  Her resistance melted away, and almost involuntarily she exclaimed, “Well, do what you feel to be right.”