"Sachepris is only a poor slave," said the woman raising her hands in
entreaty. "Sachepris can only obey, and if the pretty mistress were to
tell my lady Damia . . ."

"It was she then who sent for me to go to the little tavern?"

The woman nodded. "And Marcus?"

"If the pretty mistress had consented . . ."

"Well?"

"Then--but Great Isis! if you tell of me!"

"I will not tell; go on."

"I should have gone to my lord Marcus and invited him, from you . . ."

"It is shameful!" interrupted Dada, and a shudder ran through her slight
frame. "How cruel, how horrible it is! You--you will stay here till the
others come home and then you will go home to the old woman. I thank the
gods, I have two hands and need no maid to wait upon me! But look there
--what is the meaning of that? That pretty litter has stopped and there
is an old man signing to you."

"It is the widow Mary's house steward," whined the woman, while Dada
turned pale, wondering what a messenger from Marcus' mother could want
here.