“Ah! no.  Then they would bring thank-offerings to the divinity,” cried Verus, and he looked up at the Empress; but she turned away from his smiling glance and exclaimed in a tone of reproof and alarm: 

“No playing with words, no empty speeches or rash jesting! in the name of all the gods, not at this time!  For this hour, this night is among its fellows what a hallowed temple is among other buildings—­what the fervent sun is among the other lights of heaven.  You know not how I feel, nay, I hardly know myself.  Not now, not now, one lightly-spoken word!”

Verus gazed at Sabina with growing astonishment.  She had always been kinder to him than to any one else in the world and he felt bound to her by all the ties of gratitude and the sweet memories of childhood.  Even as a boy, out of all his playfellows he was the only one who, far from fearing her had clung to her.  But to-night! who had ever seen Sabina in such a mood?  Was this the harsh bitter woman whose heart seemed filled with gall, whose tongue cut like a dagger every one against whom she used it?  Was this Sabina who no doubt was kindly disposed towards him but who loved no one else, not even herself?  Did he see rightly, or was he under some delusion?  Tears, genuine, honest, unaffected tears filled her eyes as she went on: 

“Here I he, a poor sickly woman, sensitive in body and in soul as if I were covered with wounds.  Every movement, and even the gaze and the voice of most of my fellow-creatures is a pain to me.  I am old, much older than you think and so wretched, so wretched, none of you can imagine how wretched.  I was never happy as a child, never as a girl, and as a wife—­merciful gods!—­every kind word that Hadrian has ever vouchsafed me I have paid for with a thousand humiliations.”

“He always treats you with the utmost esteem,” interrupted Verus.

“Before you, before the world!  But what do I care for esteem!  I may demand the respect, the adoration of millions and it will be mine.  Love, love, a little unselfish love is what I ask—­and if only I were sure, if only I dared to hope that you give me such love, I would thank you with all that I have, then this hour would be hallowed to me above all others.”

“How can you doubt me Mother?  My dearly beloved Mother!”

“That is comfort, that is happiness!” answered Sabina.  “Your voice is never too loud for me, and I believe you, I dare trust you.  This hour makes you my son, makes me your mother.”

Tender emotion, the emotion that softens the heart, thrilled through Sabina’s dried-up nature and sparkled in her eyes.  She felt like a young wife of whom a child is born, and the voice of her heart sings to her in soothing tones:  “It lives, it is mine, I am the providence of a living soul, I am a mother.”