Having deposited their burden between two columns of the portico, the bearers withdrew.

The father's voice uttered the name of Aurelia, and, putting aside the curtains that had concealed her, she stood before him.

A woman still young, and of bearing which became her birth; a woman who would have had much grace, much charm, but for the passion which, turned to vehement self-will, had made her blood acrid.

Her great dark eyes burned with quenchless resentment; her sunken and pallid face told of the sufferings of a tortured pride.
'Lord Maximus,' were her first words, as she stood holding by the litter, glancing distrustfully about her, 'you have sworn!' 'Hear me repeat my oath,' answered the father, strengthened by his emotion to move forward from the couch.

'By the blessed martyr Pancratius, I swear that no harm shall befall you, no constraint shall be put upon you, that you shall be free to come and to go as you will.' It was the oath no perjurer durst make.