figure of a girl dressed in mourning-robes. She greeted the matron with
distinguished dignity, cast a cordial glance of sympathetic intelligence
to Joanna and Pulcheria, and when the mistress of the house told her who
the old man was, she went up to him and held out her hand--a cool,
slender hand, as white as marble; the true patrician hand.

Yes, she was beautiful, wonderfully beautiful! He could hardly remember
ever to have seen her equal. A spotless masterpiece of the Creator's
hand, made like some unapproachable goddess, to command the worship of
subject adorers; however, she must renounce all hope of his, for those
marble features, all the whiter by contrast with her black dress, had no
attraction for him. No warming glow shone in those proud eyes; and under
that lordly bosom beat no loving or lovable heart; he shivered at the
touch of her fingers, and her presence, he thought, had a chilling and
paralyzing influence on all the party.

This was, in fact, the case.

Paula had been sent for to see the senator's wife and Katharina.
Martina, thought she, had come out of mere curiosity, and she had a
preconceived dislike to any one connected with Heliodora. She had lost
her confidence in the water-wagtail, for only two days ago the acolyte in
personal attendance on the bishop--and whose child Rufinus had cured
of a lame foot--had been to the house to warn Joanna against the girl.
Katharina, he told her, had a short while since betrayed to Plotinus some
important secret relating to her husband, and the bishop had immediately
gone over to Fostat. It was hard to believe such a thing of any friend,
still, the girl who, by her own confession, had been so ready to play the
part of spy in the neighboring garden, was the only person who would have
told the prelate what plan was in hand for the rescue of the sisters.