“I know of the order, noble lady,” interrupted Nemesianus, “and should be the last to wish to act against it.  I do not demand, I only appeal humbly to the heart of a woman and a mother.’

“A mother!” broke in Berenike, scornfully; “yes! and one whose soul your lord has pierced with daggers—­a woman whose home has been dishonored and made hateful to her.  I have enjoyed sufficient honor now, and shall stand firmly on my rights.”

“Hear but one thing more,” began the youth, timidly; but the lady Berenike had already turned her back upon him, and returned with a proud and stately carriage to Melissa in the adjoining apartment.

Breathing hard, as if stunned by her words, the tribune remained standing on the threshold where the terrible lady had vanished from his sight, and then, striving to regain his composure, pushed back the curling locks from his brow.  But scarcely had Berenike entered the other room than Melissa whispered to her:  “The wounded man is the unfortunate Aurelius, whose face Caracalla wounded for my sake.”

At this the lady’s eyes suddenly flashed and blazed so strangely that the girl’s blood ran cold.  But she had no time to ask the reason of this emotion, for the next moment the queenly woman grasped the weaker one by the wrist with her strong right hand, and with a commanding “Come with me,” drew her back into the room they had just quitted.  She called to the tribune, whose hand was already on the door, to come back.

The young man stood still, surprised and startled to see Melissa; but the lady Berenike said, calmly, “Now that I have learned the honor that has been accorded to you, too, by the master whom you so faithfully serve, the poor injured man whom you call your brother shall be made welcome within these walls.  He is my companion in suffering.  A quiet, airy chamber shall be set apart for him, and he shall not lack careful attention, nor anything which even his own mother could offer him.  Only two things I desire of you in return:  that you admit no one of your companions-in-arms, nor any man whatever, into this dwelling, save only the physician whom I shall send to you.  Furthermore, that you do not betray, even to your nearest friend, whom you found here besides myself.”

Under the mortification that had wounded his brotherly heart, Aurelius Nemesianus had lost countenance; but now he replied with a soldier’s ready presence of mind:  “It is difficult for me to find a proper answer to you, noble lady.  I know right well that I owe you my warmest thanks, and equally so that he whom you call our master has inflicted as deep a wrong on us as on you; but Caesar is still my military chief.”

“Still!” broke in Berenike.  “But you are too youthful a tribune for me to believe that you took up the sword as a means of livelihood.”

“We are sons of the Aurelia,” answered Nemesianus, haughtily, “and it is very possible that this day’s work may be the cause of our deserting the eagles we have followed in order to win glory and taste the delights of warfare.  But all that is for the future to decide.  Meanwhile, I thank you, noble lady, and also in the name of my brother, who is my second self.  On behalf of Apollinaris, too, I beg you to pardon the rudeness which we offered to this maiden—­”