And they in the hills of Galilee, where the lovers dwelt, made much account of them, for while she had not borne the great king, still was she long remembered as the blessed mother of holy love.

Now, maidens, with youth and love and beauty strong upon them, gave all for the great hope.

And wonderful stories went abroad, and women were more sacred in the eyes of men, seeing that one of them, indeed, must be mother of the very Son of God." The slave-girl covered her face and her body shook with emotion.
"Cyran, why are you crying ?" said Arria.
"Because," Cyran replied, her voice trembling--"because I can never be the blessed mother." "Tell me," said Arria, "have you never felt the great love ?" Cyran rose and looked down at her mistress.
"I have felt the pain of it," said she, sadly.

"And my heart--Oh, it is like the house of mourning where Sorrow has hushed the Children of Joy.

But the sweet pain of love is dear to me." "Tell me of it." "Good mistress, I cannot tell you." "Why, dear Cyran ?" "Because--" the slave-girl hesitated; then timidly and with trembling lips she whispered, "because, dear mistress, I--I love you." She seemed to bend beneath her burden and, knelt beside her mistress and wept.
"Go--please go," said Appius, turning to Cyran.