“The plague—­they have the plague.  Plotinus has taken the plague!”

The terrified woman tried to soothe her, assuring her that she must be mistaken for such hellish fiends did not dare come near so holy a man.  But the girl vouchsafed no reply, merely desiring her to have a bath made ready for her as soon as they should reach home.

She felt utterly shattered; on the spot where the old man’s plague-stricken hand had rested she was conscious of a heavy, hateful pressure, and when the chariot at length drove into their own garden something warm and heavy-something she could not shake off, still seemed to weigh on her brain.

The windows were all dark excepting one on the ground-floor, where a light was still visible in the room inhabited by Heliodora.  A diabolical thought flashed through her over-excited and restless mind; without looking to the right hand or the left she obeyed the impulse and went forward, just as she was, into her friend’s sitting-room and then, lifting a curtain, on into the bedroom.  Heliodora was lying on her couch, still suffering from a headache which had prevented her going to visit their neighbors; at first she did not notice the late visitor who stood by her side and bid her good evening.

A single lamp shed a dim light in the spacious room, and the young girl had never thought their guest so lovely as she looked in that twilight.  A night wrapper of the thinnest material only half hid her beautiful limbs.  Round her flowing, fair hair, floated the subtle, hardly perceptible perfume which always pervaded this favorite of fortune.  Two heavy plaits lay like sheeny snakes over her bosom and the white sheet.  Her face was turned upwards and was exquisitely calm and sweet; and as she lay motionless and smiled up at Katharina, she looked like an angel wearied in well-doing.

No man could resist the charms of this woman, and Orion had succumbed.  By her side was a lute, from which she brought the softest and most soothing tones, and thus added to the witchery of her appearance.

Katharina’s whole being was in wild revolt; she did not know how she was able to return Heliodora’s greeting, and to ask her how she could possibly play the lute with a headache.

“Just gliding my fingers over the strings calms and refreshes my blood,” she replied pleasantly.  “But you, child, look as if you were suffering far worse than I.—­Did you come home in the chariot that drove up just now?”

“Yes,” replied Katharina.  “I have been to see our dear old bishop.  He is very ill, dying; he will soon be taken from us.  Oh, what a fearful day!  First Orion’s mother, then Paula, and now this to crown all!  Oh, Heliodora, Heliodora!”

She fell on her knees by the bed and pressed her face against her pitying friend’s bosom.  Heliodora saw the tears which had risen with unaffected feeling to the girl’s eyes; her tender soul was full of sympathy with the sorrow of such a gladsome young creature, who had already had so much to suffer, and she leaned over the child, kissing her affectionately on the brow, and murmuring words of consolation.  Katharina clung to her closely, and pointing to the top of her head where that burning hand had pressed it, she said:  “There, kiss there:  there is where the pain is worst!—­Ah, that is nice, that does me good.”