"
"Not all," said he, with a look of surprise.
"Yes, all--even you, and my mother, and my home, and my country, and my
life--I am sick with longing. And when I think of him I cannot bear to
see men suffer."
"You are gone mad," said Appius, "and I pray the gods to bring you
back. It may be the fair Vergilius forgets you."
She turned, quickly, and her voice trembled as she whispered: "Nay, he
also has the great love in him. He could not forget."
Cyran, the pretty slave-girl, came soon with their evening repast.
Arria bade her sit beside them.
"Tell us, dear Cyran," said the Roman beauty--"tell us a tale of old
Judea."
"Beloved mistress," said Cyran, kneeling by the side of Arria and
kissing the border of her robe, "listen; I will tell you of the coming
of the great love. Long ago there was a maiden of Galilee so beautiful
that many came far to see her. Now, it so befell, there came a certain
priest, young and fair to look upon, who did love her and seek her hand
in marriage. And she loved him, even as you love, but would not wed
him.
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