'I will be there, Saronia, my soul, my light, my love! I will be there to strike for thee with the strength of a lion if needs be!'

CHAPTER x.x.x

BY THE RIVER CAYSTER

The grove of Hecate was filled with beautiful trees--palm and myrtle, cypress and pine, the rich springing laurel, and the holy shoot of the deep blue olive.

Statues studded the wood, and the river Cenchrius watered the ground, and here had been heard the sound of the dance-loving lyre at the feasts of the G.o.ds.

Through this tree-cl.u.s.tering wood the fair-haired Muses came to worship, and the Sybil let loose her golden locks when the G.o.ds breathed on her.

The Cayster came south to the margin of the grove, moving rapidly northward and westward, sweeping by myriad blooms of the rose and iris, till it flowed from the land to the sea, carrying with it the snow-born waters of Cenchrius, Marnas, and Selinus--all goodly streams which watered the plain of Ephesus.

The priestess Saronia was thoughtful and calm. Not a ripple of agitation crossed her face as she gave her orders to a sacred slave:

'Summon seven of the Melissae--my bees, my virgin priestesses.'

She said to them:

'Prepare sacrifice for to-night. I offer to Hecate in the Sacred Grove.

Take there a lamb, black as night, and honey of the rarest kind bear ye.

Let the slaves dig a new pit, and place an altar therein, that all may be ready when I come. I leave the Temple gate when the watch tells out the hour before midnight. Merina and Smyrna shall accompany me to the confines of the grove.'

That night Chios quietly stole along under the stars until the old road to Smyrna intersected his path; but he did not swerve from his course until he reached the Cayster. Following its sinuous banks, disturbing the wild-fowl as he went, and treading on a carpeting of sweet-scented night-flowers, he soon reached the bend of the river which laved the grove.

There he rested on a block of white marble, brought to be set up as a memorial.

He gazed over the dark and silent stream. He arose, and paced to and fro. Not a sound was heard, save his own footfall and the nightingale's song.

He did not wait long ere he saw the form of a woman moving towards him.

Stealthily she came.

His heart danced with joy, for well he knew who it was.

'I am here,' cried Saronia.

'n.o.ble girl!' replied Chios, as he kissed her.

'Art thou not fearful of this meeting?' said she.

'No,' replied the Greek. 'I have been told that love which would not dare death is not worthy the name of love.'

'It is death to both if discovered.'

'So much the better,' said he. 'We should then be for ever free.'

'Dost thou guess my mission to thee, Chios?'

'Partly.'

'Well, let me tell thee. I would hear more of the story--more of whom I am.'

'Darling girl, would I could tell thee! I know no more. I have told thee all.'

'Yet, I know more.'

'How?'

'By the power of divination.'

'And what hast thou gained by thy magic?'

'This: she whom thou spoke of is no other than my own mother. Further, she died unknown, uncared for, calling on the name of the Jewish Christ.'

Chios gasped for breath, and started back as if stung by a serpent, exclaiming, with bated breath:

'The Jewish Christ! Can it be true?'

'As true as the morning sun shall rise. I know it true, and judge it pa.s.sing strange. How such a faith grew in her I know not. The mysteries of this creed I cannot understand, although it grows apace in Ephesus; but this I know: when I called forth into the world of spirits no answer came from her, whereby I am convinced she has gained entrance into a kingdom where the least of its subjects is greater than the mightiest of Diana's followers. I am the Arch-Priestess of yonder sacred Temple.

My mother is greater than I, for I could not reach her plane, but--I _will_!'

'And how, Saronia?'

'I know not.'

'Wilt thou also turn Christian and follow the Nazarene?'

'No; I hate the thought. That faith is darker to me than the rolling blackness of the Styx.'

'What if thou sawest light in the darkness, and found a narrow path leading up to a plane of loveliness where, perchance, thy mother dwells?

Wouldst thou not walk in it?'

'Yea, that I would, and would lay down my life to commence the journey.

I am not a traitor to my G.o.ddess. I have followed her with all my strength, believing her to be the source of my being, and to whom I may return; but conditions are changing in me. My faith tried--it does not totter. Mark well, I say it does not stagger--it trembles only! My soul cries for more light--light--more light! And I cannot satisfy its longings. I ask thee, dost thou know of this Christ?'

'I do. I have sat at the feet of one of His greatest teachers, and he unfolded to me some of its mysteries.'

'Chios, I fear! Go on.'

'What shall I tell thee? I am not a teacher.'