He met her look at first--but soon quailed before her. Then with his eye down-cast, he moved towards Adalgisa--but Norma stood defyingly between them. So conquered--he turned, and left the place. Behold her before the kneeling girl--her face towards him as he creeps away; firm, defying, protecting--she has conquered him--she, the sinning high priestess; she, but a woman; she, one of a conquered race--Norma! She has fought and beaten the powerful Roman. She stands proudly, defiantly; _he_ creeps away abashed, his very life her gift, the gift of her whom he has deserted. CHAPTER III. Who is this, creeping towards two sleeping children? Who is this with an uplifted dagger, and an awful frown upon her face? ’Tis Norma--mad with jealousy and hate, stealing in the dark to kill his children and her own. Nearer and nearer the infants--nearer still; they are sleeping--they will not see the hand that strikes them--a loving hand--loving hand! “If--if I do not destroy them--if they live here, soon or late the flaming pyre will steal them. If--if in Rome, they would be slaves! No, no, never slaves! Let them die. Why can I not strike--are they not Pollione’s children? What are they to me? He is dead to me--let _them_ die also.” She raises the savage knife, high--higher still. Then she lets fall the blade. They are her sons--they are her sons! And fearing for herself, she calls to Clotilda, the faithful keeper of her secret, and bids her seek out and bring Adalgisa to the cavern--once a home! “Adalgisa, I am sick to death. I will tell thee all my shame. Thou hast knelt to me--ah well! I now kneel to thee. Take them--my children, and guard them well--for no more have they a mother. Lead them to him--lead them to him--bid them kneel before him! Perchance to Adalgisa a kinder husband he may be than he has been to Norma! Take them; watch over them. I ask not for them fortune, honors. I only ask that they may not be slaves, abandoned and forgotten. Ah! remember, Adalgisa, ’twas for thee he did forget me.” “Ah! Norma--hope yet--hope ever. I’ll to the Roman camp, and move his pity; and all may yet be well; hope on, hope ever.” High and proud yet, the priestess forbade the girl to seek Pollione; but, turning to her children, for their sake she faltered; and at last bade Adalgisa go. So away to the Roman camp went the maiden; while sick at heart, the high priestess lay in the cavern, weeping. Meanwhile, the Druids were planning a surprise and massacre of the Roman camp. In spite of the high priestess’s commands, they had met to plot, and at their head stood Oroveso, her father. Angrily, and with heavy brows, they met; angrily, and with heavy brows, they separated--nerving themselves for the coming blow. CHAPTER IV. Again she stands near the altar--this time the sacred spot where hangs the symbolic shield, which, being struck, gives forth the sound of thunder. None but Norma may raise this dreaded warning--none.