He smiled significantly as he replied, “He is safe—I have sped him hence!” “Tinai, (Adonai,) my husband, keep thee in the hollow of his hand.” “How shameless! dost thou dare so much!” “What mean’st thou, my Cœlius?” “Sit thou there,” he answered, “till I show thee my picture.” He pointed her, as he spoke, to a new sarcophagus, upon which she placed herself submissively. Then, with a wand in his hand, he, himself seated upon another coffin of stone, pointed her to a curtain which covered one of the sides of the chamber. “Behind that curtain, Aurelia, is the last work of my hands; but before I unveil it to thine eyes, let me tell thee its melancholy history. It will not need many words for this. Much of it is known to thee already. How I found thee in Rome, when I was there a captive—how I loved thee, and how I believed in thy assurances of love; all these things thou know’st. We wedded, and I brought thee, a Roman woman, held a barbarian by my people, into the palace of one of the proudest families of all Etruria. Shall I tell thee that I loved thee still, that I love thee even now, when I have most reason to hate thee, when I know thy perjury, thy cold heart, thy hot lust, thy base, degrading passions!” “Hold, my lord—say not these things to my grief and thy dishonor. They wrong me, not less than thy own name. These things, poured into thine ear by some secret enemy, are false!” “Thou wilt not swear it.” “By all the gods of Rome—” “And of what avail, and how binding the oath taken in the names of the barbarian deities of Rome.” “By the Etrurian—” “Perjure not thyself, woman, but hear me.” “Go on, my lord, I will hear thee, though I suffer death with every word thou speak’st.” “It is well, Aurelia, that thou art prepared for this.” “Thy dagger, my Cœlius, were less painful than thy words and looks unkind.” “Never was I unkind until I found thee false.” “Never was I false, my lord, even when thou wast unkind.” “Woman! lie not; thou wert discovered with thy paramour, here, in this tomb; thou wert followed, day by day, and all thy secret practices betrayed. This thou ow’st to the better vigilance of my dear brother Aruns—he, more watchful of my honor than myself—” “Ah! well I know from what hand came the cruel shaft; Cœlius, my Cœlius, thy brother is a wretch, doomed to infamy and black with crime. I have had no paramour. I might have had, and thou might’st have been dishonored, had I hearkened to thy brother’s pleadings. I spurned him from my feet with loathing, and he requites me with hate. Oh! my husband, believe me, and place this man, whom thou too fondly callest thy brother, before thine eyes and mine!” “Alas! Aurelia, this boldness becomes thee not. I myself traced thee to this tomb—these eyes but too frequently beheld thee with thy paramour.” “Cœlius, as I live, he was no paramour—but where is he, what hast thou done with him?” “Sent him before thee to prepare thy coach in Hades!”