“And leave you to possess what is mine? leave you to triumph over me, as one whom you have outwitted--you honored, and I disgraced--you rich, and I penniless--you happy, and I wretched? No, never! I cannot save myself from what you have made me; but I can prevent your being what you have no right to be. For this I have come here; this is my day of Nemesis.[213] Now die!” While he was speaking these reproaches, he was slowly pushing her backwards with his left hand towards the couch from which she had risen; while his right was tremblingly feeling for something in the folds of his bosom. As he finished his last word, he thrust her violently down upon the couch, and seized her by the hair. She made no resistance, she uttered no cry; partly a fainting and sickening sensation came over her; partly a noble feeling of self-respect checked any unseemly exhibition of fear, before a scornful enemy. Just as she closed her eyes, she saw something like lightning above her; she could not tell whether it was his glaring eye or flashing steel. In another moment she felt oppressed and suffocated, as if a great weight had fallen upon her; and a hot stream was flowing over her bosom. A sweet voice full of earnestness sounded in her ears: “Cease, Orontius; I am thy sister Miriam!” Fulvius, in accents choked by passion, replied: “It is false; give me up my prey!” A few words more were faintly spoken in a tongue unknown to Fabiola; when she felt her hair released, heard the dagger dashed to the ground, and Fulvius cry out bitterly, as he rushed out of the room: “O Christ! this is Thy Nemesis!” Fabiola’s strength was returning; but she felt the weight upon her increase. She struggled, and released herself. Another body was lying in her place, apparently dead, and covered with blood. It was the faithful Syra, who had thrown herself between her mistress’s life and her brother’s dagger. CHAPTER XXXI. DIONYSIUS. +----------+[214] | ΔΙΟΝΥCΙΟΥ | | ΙΑΤΡΟΥ | |ΠΡΕCΒΥΤΕΡΟΥ | +-----------+ The great thoughts, which this occurrence would naturally have suggested to the noble heart of Fabiola, were suppressed, for a time, by the exigencies of the moment. Her first care was to stanch the flowing blood with whatever was nearest at hand. While she was engaged in this work, there was a general rush of servants towards her apartment. The stupid porter had begun to be uneasy at Fulvius’s long stay (the reader has now heard his real name), when he saw him dash out of the door like a maniac, and thought he perceived stains of blood upon his garment. He immediately gave the alarm to the entire household.