Domitia

“It sufficeth,” said Lucius, and would have drawn his companion away. But she held to the hand of the woman on the bed, and said firmly:

“No, my friend. Now I have seen things that are past, I will even look into the future. It was for this I came hither.”

And now again did the magician utter prayers, and wave his hands. Thereupon strange lights and changes appeared in the crystal, and it seemed of milky moonlight hue, yet with shoots as of lightning traversing it. All at once the Magus took off the fourth veil and cast it on the marble floor.

Lucius remained motionless, looking at the changing light in the crystal, and feeling the nervous hand of Domitia twitching on his arm. He thought that he heard her laugh, but almost immediately with a cry, she loosed her hand from the unconscious woman on the couch, threw her arms round the neck of Lamia, and sank sobbing on his breast.

It was some time before she was sufficiently recovered to speak, and then was reluctant to disclose what she had seen. Lucius, however, urged her with gentle persuasion, and, clinging to him, between sobs, in whispers she confided:

“Oh, Lucius! I thought – I – I saw that the day had come when you and I – Lucius, when I went to your house and was lifted across the threshold, and then, as I stretched my hands to you and took yours – then, all at once, a red face came up behind – whence I know not – and two long hands thrust us apart. Then I let go – I let go – and – and I saw no more.”

“When that day comes, my Domitia, no hands shall divide us, no face be thrust between. Now come forth. You have seen enough.”

“Nay, I will look to the end.” She took the hand of Helena, into which some flexibility and warmth were returning.

“Art thou willing?” asked the Magus.

She nodded, and the fifth veil fell.

For full five minutes Domitia stood rigid, without moving a muscle, hardly breathing.

Then Lucius said:

“See what a purple light shines out of the crystal. What is thy vision now, Domitia? By the light that beams, it should be right royal.”

“It is royal,” she said in faint tones. “Lucius! what that Christian prophet spoke, that have I also seen – the beast with seven heads, one wounded to the death, and there cometh up another out of the deadly wound, and – it hath the red face I saw but just now. And it climbeth to a throne and lifteth me up to sit thereon. Away with the vision. It offendeth me. It maketh my blood turn ice cold!”

“Hast thou a desire to see further?” asked the Magus.

“I can see naught worse than this,” said Domitia.

A shudder ran through her, and her teeth chattered as with frost.

Then Elymas again waved his hands, and chanted, “Askion, Kataskion, lix, Tetras, damnameneus,” and raised and cast down the sixth veil.

At once from the crystal a red light shone forth, and suffused the whole cell of the temple with a blood-colored illumination, and by it Lucius could see that there was in it no image present, only a dense black veil behind the altar on which the stone glowed like a carbuncle. He heard the breath pass through the teeth of Domitia, like the hissing of a serpent. He looked at her, her face was terrible, inflamed. The eyes stiffened, the teeth were set, the brow knitted and lowering. Then she said:

“I stand on the beast, and the sword of my father pierces his heart.”

Lucius wondered; there was a look of hate, a hideousness in her face, such as he had not conceived it possible so beautiful and sweet a countenance could have assumed.

Then Elymas cast off the last veil.

For a moment all was darkness. The red light in the crystal had expired. In stillness and suspense, not without fear, all waited, all standing save Helena, who had recovered from her trance, and she paused expectant on her couch.

Then a minute spark appeared in the crystal, of the purest white light, that grew, rapidly sending out wave on wave of brilliance, so intense, so splendid, so dazzling, that the magician, unable to endure the effulgence, turned and threw himself into a corner, and wrapped his head about with his mantle. And the medium turned with a cry, as though the light caused her physical pain, buried her face in the pillow, and groped on the floor for the veils to cast over her head to exclude the light.

Lucius, unable to endure the splendor, covered his eyes with his palm.

But Domitia looked at it, and her face grew soft, the scowl went from her brow, and a wondrous tenderness and sorrow came into her eyes; great tears rose and rolled down her cheeks, and glittered like diamonds in the dazzling beam.

Then she said with a sob:

“Ubi lux – ibi Felicitas.”

Suddenly an explosion. The orb was shattered into a thousand sparks, and all was black again in the temple – black as deepest night.

Then Lucius caught Domitia to him, put his hand behind him, drew back the curtain, and carried her forth into the calm evening air, and the light of the aurora hanging over the setting sun.

She sobbed, gradually recovered herself, drew a profound sigh, and said:

“Oh, Lucius! where is light, there is felicity!”

CHAPTER XIII.

TO ROME!

“Plancus, come hither!”

The lady Longa Duilia was in an easy-chair, and a slave-girl, Lucilla, was engaged in driving away the flies that, perhaps attracted by her cosmetics, came towards the lady.

Summer was over, and winter storms were beginning to bluster, and the flies were dull with cold and only maintained alive by the warmth of the chambers, heated by underground stoves, and with pipes to convey the hot air carried through every wall.

“Plancus, did you hear me speak?”

“I am here, my lady, at your service.”

“Really; you have become torpid like the flies. Has the chill made you deaf as well as sluggish?”

“My lady, I can always hear when you speak.”

“Do you mean to imply that I shout like a fishwife?”

“I mean not that. But when a harp is played, it sets every thread in every other stringed instrument a-chiming; and so is it with me.”

“The simile is wiredrawn. What I want you for is – no, I will have no stroking of your face like a cat! – is to go to Rome and see that the palace is made ready to receive us. The stoves must be well heated, and everything properly aired, The country at best of times is tedious; in winter, intolerable. Besides, I have no right to remain here buried. I must consider – Plancus, why are you scratching? I must consider my daughter. She is in a fit of the blues, and has nothing to say to amuse me. You need not blow like a sea-horse, breathe more evenly and equably; – Plancus, you are becoming unendurable. I must not consider my bereaved feelings, but her welfare, her health. The air or the situation of Gabii does not suit her. Rome is an extraordinarily healthy place in winter. I myself am never better anywhere than I am there. I was pretty well at Antioch; there were military there, and I find the soil and climate salubrious where there are military. Plancus? – as the Gods love me, you have been in the stables. I know it by infallible proofs. Stand at a distance, I insist. And, Plancus! you are not showing off conjuring tricks, that you should fold and unfold your hands. You go to Rome and take such of the family with you as are necessary. I am not going to be mewed up here any longer, because my two years of widowhood are not over. You are making faces at me, positively you are, Plancus. Do, I entreat you, look as if you were not a mountebank mouthing at a crowd.”

“I fly, mistress, as though winged at heel like Mercury.”

“Much more like Mercury’s tortoise. Send me Claudius Senecio. I must know what ails Domitia. She has the vapors.”

“I obey,” said Plancus,

“Am I much worn, Lucilla?” asked the lady, as soon as her steward had withdrawn. “The laceration of the heart tells on a sensitive nature, and precipitates wrinkles and so on.”

“Madam, you bloom as in a second spring.”

“A second spring, Lucilla!” exclaimed Longa, sitting bolt upright. “You hussy, how dare you? A second spring, indeed! Why, by the zone of Venus, I am not through my first summer yet.”