She thought of her mother who had sat thus before her; of her father, who had perished beneath the gladiators' swords; of the kindly old men who had nurtured her, and of the sufferings of her brothers and sisters in the faith in Rome and at Jerusalem.

But most of all she thought of Marcus, her Roman lover, whom, strive as she would, she could never forget--no, not for a single hour.
She loved him, that was the truth of it, and between them there was a great gulf fixed, not of the sea only, which ships could sail, but of that command which the dead had laid upon her.

He was a pagan and she was a Christian, and they might not wed.

By now, too, it was likely that he had forgotten her, the girl who took his fancy in the desert.

At Rome there were many noble and lovely women--oh! she could scarcely bear to think of it.