with her. Thou art more vile than the very beasts whose cries do nightly echo through this wood. They wed with no unwilling mates, whilst thou—wolf that thou art—wouldst have despoiled this poor lamb, but for me. I will not leave thee with her.’
“‘Once more, I warn thee, Glaucus, tempt not the vengeance of Sporus. Virginia, if thou dost love him, bid him go. I will make thee my queen, thou shalt have slaves at thy command. Thou who art thyself a slave shalt have thy freedom; thou shalt wed Sporus the magistrate. Bid him go.’
“‘Sporus, I would not be thy bride for all the riches of earth. Glaucus, leave me not with this wretch; I will live with thee, or die with thee, but leave me not.’
“‘Once more, Glaucus, I warn thee, go.’
“‘I will not, thou doubly condemned wretch. I defy thee—thy country’s laws thou darest not ask to help thee now.’
“‘Glaucus—Virginia—I have warned ye thrice. Beware the vengeance of Sporus!’
“He left us—she fell into my arms—I carried her home. The seven days had passed—the night of flight had come. We stole out together, reached the wood in safety; not a sound but from the leaves—the waving of the living, the crushing of the dead under our feet. Hope lit her lamp. A few hours and we should be safe. I heard a sound—other feet. Oh, God! They had us bound, blindfolded, gagged, in a moment. Hope’s lamp went out never to be rekindled.
“They hurried us through the wood, and then I know not where, till we came to a building. I heard the gates shut. They fastened my wrists with fetters softly lined with leather, and light. I was almost free. They led me further along a stone vaulted corridor. I heard the echoes, and I heard her footsteps—a door opened, my feet rustled on straw. The gag was taken from my mouth; the bandage from my eyes—Oh, Christus! what a pitiable sight met my gaze. Virginia was kneeling on the ground, her face upraised to mine. I could see by the dim light that came from a large opening above, that she was bound as I was, but—O Sporus! thou child of Tartarus—her fetters were so heavy she could scarcely lift them unaided.
“There was a window in the place. I rushed towards it. She screamed, and was dragged with me. We were linked together—most cruel mockery!
“I sat down on the stone bench against the wall. She leaned on me. We spoke not. Our hearts were too full. I noticed that my slightest movement caused her pain. I could see her eyes close and the lips compressed even in that shady light.
“Morning broke at last: then I found why the lips compressed in pain. Her fetters, four fingers broad, had the edges turned in to the wrists and filed to points like a fine saw. They had cut through the skin, and the blood flowed on the hands and arms. No wonder, now, the poor child screamed so piteously at my movement.
“The place we were in was a small square room with a partial roof, the middle open to the air. Through the centre, in a channel cut in the stone floor, ran a stream of water. I dipped my finger and tasted it. It was salt to bitterness. On one side of the room was the stone bench on which we had sat the long night through. On the opposite side ran two small fountains—the one water, the other wine; one flowed into a basin till it was full, then ran over and was lost, it was the wine; the other ran away at once, there was no basin to collect that. Between the fountains, at a man’s height from the ground, was a circular metal mirror. Other objects the room had none, except a trough or ledged shelf under the mirror. The windows were high—higher than my head—I could just catch sight of the distant hill-tops through them. Such was our prison.
“I looked from the windows to her face. It was the old look, one of love and confidence, which it spoke better than words:—
“‘Glaucus, thou hast not kissed me since we came here.’
“‘My poor child’ (she was small and delicate, I called her child sometimes), ‘I have had sad thoughts; to think that I have brought thee to this suffering, those fetters, galls me to madness.’
“‘They do not hurt me much when you are quite still; it’s when you move they hurt me. But, oh, my Glaucus! it is I that brought thee here, not thou me. Thou mightest have been happy but for me. Ah! woe is me that I should thus have harmed thee!’
“‘Yet, Virginia, I would rather be here with thee than free with any other. Thou art mine in life or death.’
“‘Means he to starve us here?’
“‘Alas! I know not what he means. See, there is water—drink!’
“I lifted her fetters, and she came to the fountain and knelt. I filled my joined hands with the water, and she drank eagerly.
“‘Wilt not thou drink, Glaucus?’
“And she tried to fill her hands as I had done. I saw the lips firmly set and the tears start to her eyes with the pain of those horrible fetters’ teeth.
“‘Nay, love, I will thus,’ and I let the full stream fall into my parched mouth.
“We went back to the bench. I threw her fetters on my knee, to take their weight, and so the day toiled slowly away. The blood coagulated round the wrists, and the least movement tore open the wounds afresh. She slumbered at last with fatigue and pain. How fair she looked as lying on my breast she slept. Her breath was shorter and faster than I had ever known it. Evening came, and the sun was just sinking when I saw the mirror move and close again; and on the shelf there stood bread and flesh—the flesh was scarcely dressed.
“I dared not move, though hunger was rampant within me. At last she woke, and started with surprise, then shrieked with pain. Those accursed fetters! she had forgotten them.
“‘I am hungry—is there no food?’
“I pointed it out to her, and she eagerly seized the bread and began to eat ravenously. Then stopped—put down the bread.
“‘Forgive me! I did forget thee, but hunger made me. See! there is flesh—it is of swine, I