You have the Senate, you have your tool, Pompeius, you have the gangs of gladiators and street ruffians and all the machinery of your political clubs to invoke to defy the law! I grant it; but though you deny me Cornelia, though by your machinations you bring me any other loss or shame, the grandson of the murdered Marcus Drusus will do that which is right in his own eyes, and accept no mandate from you or any man, against his will!" "Cornelia," cried Claudia, infinitely distressed, "speak to Quintus, reason with him, implore him, pray him not to resist the requests of your uncle." "Yes, girl!" said Lentulus, savagely, turning livid with sheer rage, "use all your arts on that graceless would-be conspirator now, or see his face no more!" But Cornelia interposed in a most summary and unexpected manner.

Her face was very white; her nails pressed into her smooth arms, her breath came thick and spasmodically, and her eyes flamed with the intense passion of a strong spirit thoroughly aroused.
"Go, Quintus," she cried, with a strained, loud voice, "go, and never see my face again, until my uncle repents of his cruel madness! He is master here; only woe will come from defying him.

Do not anger him further; depart." "Depart ?" burst from Drusus.
"Depart!" replied Cornelia, desperately; "if you stay I shall go mad.
I shall beg you to yield,--which would be base of me; and if you heard my prayers, it would be more base in you." "Fool," shouted Lentulus, "don't you know you will be the first I'll mark for slaughter in the next proscription?
You, mistress, go to your room, if you cannot keep a civil tongue! And you, sir, get you gone, unless you wish the slaves to cast you out." "Farewell, Cornelia!" gasped the young man; and he turned his back, and started out into the colonnade.
"Oh, Quintus, return!" shrieked Claudia, wringing her hands.

"All the gods blast you!" muttered Lentulus, quivering with fury; then he shouted at the top of his shrill, harsh voice: "My enemies are my enemies.

You are warned.