Go!" Agias obeyed, saying nothing.

He found Fabia lying on a rude pallet, with a small bale of purple silk thrust under her head for a pillow.
She stared at him with wild, frightened eyes, then round the little cabin, which, while bereft of all but the most necessary comforts, was decorated with bejeweled armour, golden lamps, costly Indian tapestries and ivory--the trophies of half a score of voyages.
"Agias," she faintly whispered, "tell me what has happened since I awoke from my sleep and found Gabinius's ruffians about me.

By whatsoever god you reverence most, speak truly!" Agias fell on his knees, kissed the hem of her robe, kissed her hands.
Then he told her all,--as well as his own sorely confused wits would admit.

Fabia heard him through to the end, then laid her face between her hands.
"Would that--would that they had murdered me as they wished! It would be all over now," she agonized.

"I have no wish again to see the light.