"Who may say where it shall end?" She came near
them as she spoke and offered her cheek to the boy. He kissed her, and
she went away with tears upon her face.
"Now you are brave and strong with this great love in you," said
Vergilius. "Let it bear you up as I leave the palace. Promise you
will not cry out. If you do, my beloved, I shall hear always the sound
of mourning when I think of you."
"Then I shall not weep," said she, bravely, but with a little quiver in
her voice.
She knew the old story of a young man's love--how often he went away
with sweet words, to return, if ever, hardened to stern trials and
bloody work, his vows long forgotten.
"For your sake, dear Vergilius, I will be calm," she added.
"Now sit here," said he, as he led her to the heap of cushions, "just
as I saw you a little time ago. Rest your chin upon your hands.
There; now your soul is in your eyes. Let me see only this picture as
I go."
He took a handful of her curls and let them fall upon her shoulders.
Then he crowned her with a sprig of vervain from a vase near by.
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