"I will not weep--I will not weep," she repeated, her voice trembling
as he touched her hair.
He moved backward slowly, as one might leave a queen. Her eyes
followed him, and suddenly she rose and flew to his arms again.
"I will not weep--I will not weep," said she, brokenly. Again he held
her to his breast.
"Though you get fame and glory, forget not love," she whispered.
"Dear one," he exclaimed, kissing her, "this hour shall be in every day
of my life."
"But with adventures and battles and the praise of kings it is so easy
to forget."
"But with one so noble and so beautiful at home it will be easy to
remember. Let us be brave. I am only a woman myself to-day. Help me
to be a man."
He led her again to the cushions, and she sat as before--a picture,
now, beyond all art, sublime indeed with love and sorrow and
trustfulness and repression. It was that look of abnegation upon her
that he remembered.
"I shall not rise nor speak again, dear son of Varro," said she. "You
shall know that my love for you has made me strong.
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