And in obedience to her word the lovely girl bent her fair form over the lute, and, after a wild prelude full of strange thrilling melodies, poured out a voice as liquid and as clear, aye! and as soft, withal, as the nightingale's, in a soft Sapphic love-strain full of the glorious poetry of her own lovely language.

Where in umbrageous shadow of the greenwood Buds the gay primrose i' the balmy spring time; Where never silent, Philomel, the wildest Minstrel of ether,

Pours her high notes, and caroling, delighted In the cool sun-proof canopy of the ilex Hung with ivy green or a bloomy dog-rose Idly redundant,

Charms the fierce noon with melody; in the moonbeam Where the coy Dryads trip it unmolested All the night long, to merry dithyrambics Blissfully timing

Their rapid steps, which flit across the knot gra.s.s Lightly, nor shake one flower of the blue-bell; Where liquid founts and rivulets o' silver Sweetly awaken

Clear forest echoes with unearthly laughter; There will I, dearest, on a bank be lying Where the wild thyme blows ever, and the pine tree Fitfully murmurs

Slumber inspiring. Come to me, my dearest, On the fresh greensward, as a downy bride-bed, Languid, unzoned, and amorous, reclining; Like Ariadne,

When the blythe wine-G.o.d, from Olympus h.o.a.ry, Wooed the soft mortal tremulously yielding All her enchantments to the mighty victor- Happy Ariadne!

There will I, dearest, every frown abandon; Nor do thou fear, nor hesitate to press me, Since, if I chide, 'tis but a girl's reproval, Faintly reluctant.

Doubt not I love thee, whether I return thy Kisses in delight, or avert demurely Lips that in truth burn to be kissed the closer, Eyes that avoid thee,

Loth to confess how amorously glowing Pants the fond heart. Oh! tarry not, but urge me Coy to consent; and if a blush alarm thee, Shyly revealing

Sentiments deep as the profound of Ocean, If a sigh, faltered in an hour of anguish, Seem to implore thee-pity not. The maiden Often adores thee

Most if offending. Never, oh! believe me, Did the faint-hearted win a girl's devotion, Nor the true girl frown when a youth disarmed her Dainty denial.

While she was yet singing, the curtains which covered the door were put quietly aside, and with a noiseless step Curius entered the apartment, unseen by the fair vocalist, whose back was turned to him, and made a sign to Fulvia that she should not appear to notice his arrival.

The haggard and uneasy aspect, which was peculiar to this man-the care-worn expression, half-anxious and half-jaded, which has been previously described, was less conspicuous on this occasion than ever it had been before, since the light lady loved him. There was a feverish flush on his face, a joyous gleam in his dark eye, and a self-satisfied smile lighting up all his features, which led her to believe at first that he had been drinking deeply; and secondly, that by some means or other he had succeeded in collecting the vast sum she had required of him, as the unworthy price of future favours.

In a minute or two, the voluptuous strain ended; and, ere she knew that any stranger listened to her amatory warblings, the arm of Curius was wound about her slender waist, and his half-laughing voice was ringing in her ear,

"Well sung, my lovely Greek, and daintily advised!-By my faith! sweet one, I will take thee at thy word!"

"No! no!" cried the girl, extricating herself from his arms, by an elastic spring, before his lips could touch her cheek. "No! no! you shall not kiss me. Kiss Fulvia, she is handsomer than I am, and loves you too. Come, Myrrha, let us leave them."

And, with an arch smile and coquettish toss of her pretty head, she darted through the door, and was followed instantly by the other slave-girl, well trained to divine the wishes of her mistress.

"_aegle_ is right, by Venus!" exclaimed Curius, drawing nearer to his mistress; "you are more beautiful to-night than _ever_."

"Flatterer!" murmured the lady, suffering him to enfold her in his arms, and taste her lips for a moment. But the next minute she withdrew herself from his embrace, and said, half-smiling, half-abashed, "But flattery will not pay my debts. Have you brought me the moneys for Alfenus, my sweet Curius? the hundred thousand sesterces, you promised me?"

"Perish the dross!" cried Curius, fiercely. "Out on it! when I come to you, burning with love and pa.s.sion, you cast cold water on the flames, by your incessant cry for gold. By all the G.o.ds! I do believe, that you love me only for that you can wring from my purse."

"If it be so," replied the lady, scornfully, "I surely do not love you much; seeing it is three months, since you have brought me so much as a ring, or a jewel for a keepsake! But you should rather speak the truth out plainly, Curius," she continued, in an altered tone, "and confess honestly that you care for me no longer. If you loved me as once you did, you would not leave me to be goaded by these harpies. Know you not-why do I ask? you _do_ know that my house, my slaves, nay! that my very jewels and my garments, are mine but upon sufferance. It wants but a few days of the calends of November, and if they find the interest unpaid, I shall be cast forth, shamed, and helpless, into the streets of Rome!"

"Be it so!" answered Curius, with an expression which she could not comprehend. "Be it so! Fulvia; and if it be, you shall have any house in Rome you will, for your abode. What say you to Cicero's, in the Carinae? or the grand portico of Quintus Catulus, rich with the Cimbric spoils? or, better yet, that of Cra.s.sus, with its Hymettian columns, on the Palatine?

Aye! aye! the speech of Marcus Brutus was prophetic; who termed it, the other day, the house of _Venus_ on the Palatine! And you, my love, shall be the G.o.ddess of that shrine! It shall be yours _to-morrow_, if you will-so you will drive away the clouds from that sweet brow, and let those eyes beam forth-by all the G.o.ds!"-he interrupted himself-"I _will_ kiss thee!"

"By all the G.o.ds! thou shalt not-now, nor for evermore!" she replied, in her turn growing very angry.-"Thou foolish and mendacious boaster! what?

dost thou deem me mad or senseless, to a.s.sail me with such drivelling folly? Begone, fool! or I will call my slaves-I _have_ slaves yet, and, if it be the last deed of service they do for me, they shall spurn thee, like a dog, from my doors.-Art thou insane, or only drunken, Curius?" she added, breaking off from her impetuous railing, into a cool sarcastic tone, that stung him to the quick.

"You shall see whether of the two, Harlot!" he replied furiously, thrusting his hand into the bosom of his tunic, as if to seek a weapon.

"Harlot!" she exclaimed, springing to her feet, the hot blood rushing to her brow in torrents-"dare you say this to me?"

"Dare! do you call this daring?" answered the savage. "This? what would you call it, then, to devastate the streets of Rome with flame and falchion-to hurl the fabric of the state headlong down from the blazing Capitol-to riot in the gore of senators, patricians, consulars!-What, to aspire to be the lords and emperors of the universe?"

"What mean you?" she exclaimed, moved greatly by his vehemence, and beginning to suspect that this was something more than his mere ordinary boasting and exaggeration. "What can you mean? oh! tell me; if you do love me, as you once did, tell me, Curius!" and with rare artifice she altered her whole manner in an instant, all the expression of eye, lip, tone and accent, from the excess of scorn and hatred, to blandishment and fawning softness.

"No!" he replied sullenly. "I will not tell you-no! You doubt me, distrust me, scorn me-no! I will tell you nothing! I will have all I wish or ask for, on my own terms-you shall grant all, or die!"

And he unsheathed his dagger, as he spoke, and grasping her wrist violently with his left hand, offered the weapon at her throat with his right-"You shall grant all, or die!"

"Never!"-she answered-"never!" looking him steadily yet softly in the face, with her beautiful blue eyes. "To fear I will never yield, whatever I may do, to love or pa.s.sion. Strike, if you will-strike a weak woman, and so prove your daring-it will be easier, if not so n.o.ble, as slaying senators and consuls!"

"Perdition!" cried the fierce conspirator, "I _will_ kill her!" And with the word he raised his arm, as if to strike; and, for a moment, the guilty and abandoned sensualist believed that her hour was come.

Yet she shrunk not, nor quailed before his angry eye, nor uttered any cry or supplication. She would have died that moment, as carelessly as she had lived. She would have died, acting out her character to the last sand of life, with the smile on her lip, and the soft languor in her melting eye, in all things an Epicurean.

But the fierce mood of Curius changed. Irresolute, and impotent of evil, in a scarce less degree than he was sanguinary, rash, unprincipled, and fearless, it is not one of the least strange events, connected with a conspiracy the whole of which is strange, and much almost inexplicable, that a man so wise, so sagacious, so deep-sighted, as the arch traitor, should have placed confidence in one so fickle and infirm of purpose.

His knitted brow relaxed, the hardness of his eye relented, he cast the dagger from him.

The next moment, suffering the scarf to fall from her white and dazzling shoulders, the beautiful but bad enchantress flung herself upon his bosom, in the abandonment of her dishevelled beauty, winding her snowy arms about his neck, smothering his voice with kisses.

A moment more, and she was seated on his knee, with his left arm about her waist, drinking with eager and attentive ears, that suffered not a single detail to escape them, the fullest revelation of that atrocious plot, the days, the very hours of action, the numbers, names, and rank of the conspirators!

A woman's infamy rewarded the base villain's double treason! A woman's infamy saved Rome!

Two hours later, the crash and roar of the hurricane and earthquake cut short their guilty pleasures. Curius rushed into the streets headlong, almost deeming that the insurrection might have exploded prematurely, and found it-more than half frustrated.

Fulvia, while yet the thunder rolled, and the blue lightning flashed above her head, and the earth reeled beneath her footsteps, went forth, strong in the resolution of that Roman patriotism, which, nursed by the inst.i.tutions of the age, and the pride of the haughty heart, stood with her, as it did with so many others, in lieu of any other principle, of any other virtue.

Closely veiled, unattended even by a single slave, that delicate luxurious sinner braved the wild fury of the elements; braved the tumultuous frenzy, and more tumultuous terror, of the disorganised and angry populace; braved the dark superst.i.tion, which crept upon her as she marked the awful portents of that night, and half persuaded her to the belief that there were Powers on high, who heeded the ways, punished the crimes of mortals.

And that strange sense grew on her more and more, though she resisted it, incredulous, when after a little while she sat side by side with the wise and virtuous Consul, and marked the calmness, almost divine, of his thoughtful benignant features, as he heard the full details of the awful crisis, heretofore but suspected, in which he stood, as if upon the verge of a scarce slumbering volcano.

What pa.s.sed between that frail woman, and the wise orator, none ever fully knew. But they parted-on his side with words of encouragement and kindness-on her's with a sense of veneration approaching almost to religious awe.

And the next day, the usurer Alfenus received in full the debt, both princ.i.p.al and interest, which he had long despaired of touching.

But when the Great Man stood alone in his silent study, that strange and unexpected interview concluded, he turned his eyes upward, not looking, even once, toward the sublime bust of Jupiter which stood before him, serene in more than mortal grandeur; extended both his arms, and prayed in solemn accents-

"All thanks to thee, Omnipotent, Ubiquitous, Eternal, ONE! whom we, vain fools of fancy, adore in many forms, and under many names; invest with the low attributes of our own earthy nature; enshrine in mortal shapes, and human habitations! But thou, who wert, before the round world was, or the blue heaven o'erhung it; who wilt be, when those shall be no longer,-thou pardonest our madness, guidest our blindness, guardest our weakness. Thou, by the basest and most loathed instruments, dost work out thy great ends.

All thanks, then, be to thee, by whatsoever name thou wouldest be addressed; to thee, whose dwelling is illimitable s.p.a.ce, whose essence is in every thing that we behold, that moves, that is-to thee whom I hail, G.o.d! For thou hast given it to me to save my country. And whether I die now, by this a.s.sa.s.sin's knife, or live a little longer to behold the safety I establish, I have lived long enough, and am content to die!-Whether this death be, as philosophers have told us, a dreamless, senseless, and interminable trance; or, as I sometimes dream, a brief and pa.s.sing slumber, from which we shall awaken into a purer, brighter, happier being-I have lived long enough! and when thou callest me, will answer to thy summons, glad and grateful! For Rome, at least, survives me, and shall perchance survive, 'till time itself is ended, the Queen of Universal Empire!"