attendants had been unable to remove. And this indelible mark of the
crime which she had witnessed brought the image of the wounded Aurelius
before her: just as he now lay, shaken with fever, so had she seen her
lover a few days before. His pale face rose before her inward sight;
would it not be to him a worse blow than that from the stone, when he
should learn that she had broken her faith to him in order to gain power
and greatness, and to protect others, who were strangers to her, from the
fury of the tyrant?

His heart had been hers from childhood's hour, and it would bleed and
break if she were false to the vows in which he placed his faith. And
even if he succeeded at last in recovering from the wound she must deal
him, his peace and happiness would be destroyed for many a long day.
How could she have doubted for a moment where her real duty lay?

If she followed Philostratus's advice--if she acceded to Caracalla's
wishes--Diodoros would have every right to condemn and curse her. And
could she then feel so entirely blameless? A voice within her instantly
said no; for there had been moments in which her pity had grown so strong
that she felt more warmly toward the sick Caesar than was justifiable.
She could not deny it, for she could not without a blush have described
to her lover what she felt when that mysterious, inexplicable power had
drawn her to the emperor.

And now the conviction rapidly grew strong in her that she must not only
preserve her lover from further trouble, but strive to make good to him
her past errors. The idea of renouncing her love in order to intercede
for others, most likely in vain, and lighten their lot by sacrificing
herself for strangers, while rendering her own and her lover's life
miserable, now seemed to her unnatural, criminal, impossible; and with a