Though she was surrounded by every luxury, far
more than she needed, indeed, this lack of liberty irked her who had
been reared in the desert, till at times she grew melancholy and would
sit for hours looking on the sea and thinking. She thought of her mother
who had sat thus before her; of her father, who had perished beneath the
gladiators' swords; of the kindly old men who had nurtured her, and of
the sufferings of her brothers and sisters in the faith in Rome and at
Jerusalem. But most of all she thought of Marcus, her Roman lover, whom,
strive as she would, she could never forget--no, not for a single hour.
She loved him, that was the truth of it, and between them there was a
great gulf fixed, not of the sea only, which ships could sail, but of
that command which the dead had laid upon her. He was a pagan and she
was a Christian, and they might not wed. By now, too, it was likely that
he had forgotten her, the girl who took his fancy in the desert. At Rome
there were many noble and lovely women--oh! she could scarcely bear to
think of it. Yet night by night she prayed for him, and morn by morn
his face arose before her half-awakened eyes. Where was he? What was he
doing? For aught she knew he might be dead.
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