Motion Picture Story Magazine (Feb 1914 - Sep 1916 (assorted issues))

78 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE dove from Heaven had lighted a moment on his breast ; then, in the attempt to touch its plumage, an ugly stain appeared, for the sleeping thing in Marius's heart stirred from its long, long sleep, sank down again, and the animal in him rose and showed its fangs with cruel lust. The Christian girl, Lygia, was white with the pallor of the Resurrection lilies, her eyes were deep and slumbrous, her lips were red and vaginally sweet, and the soft lines of her were proudly unyielding. These things Marius noted, with the hungry eyes of the famished, and the keenly appreciative ones of the connoisseur. And he was blinded — blinded by the whiteness of her flesh to the more sublime whiteness of her soul — blinded by the redness of her lips to the pure flame of her glowing faith — blinded by the sea-depths of her eyes to the truth and faith they pooled. And so he held out insatiate arms for her soft flesh and let her spirit go, bruised and sobbing, beyond his uttermost reach. Lygia was a poor Christian, defenseless but by the power of her innocence, and that availed her nothing against the clamor of Marius's unholy desire. Never had the abundant lures of the deplaced Dacia touched him with this frenzy of longing; never, in his sated life, had he craved as he craved the white aloofness of this girl, and he told her so, with prayer in his passion, as he bore her, numbed with terror, to his home. In the city of Rome were two persons with, but one desire — to deal Marius, the patrician, a deadly blow. One of the two was Cassius, who was generally supposed to be confidant and close friend to Marius. They had fought side by side in the wars with Gaul ; had competed, with evident amicability, in affairs of the senate; had been constantly seen together in the amphitheater, and always frequented the same baths at the same time. To Marius, least of all, came any suspicion of perfidy on the part of his friend. Yet, because of the very existence of these apparent bonds, did Cassius harbor hate and burn for revenge. True, they had fought on the same battlefields, but to Marius had come the laurel wreaths — to him the homage and the fruits of victory. True, they had frequented the amphitheater and the baths in all congeniality together, but to Marius had come the general acclaim, the universal attention, the glances from the fairest maids and proudest matrons. On himself there fell the crumbs from , Marius 's banquet-table. Even to the beautiful wanton, Dacia, was this true, for she had turned to him from Marius, in the unflattering need of consolation. And Dacia 's was the other heart filled to the fiery brim with stinging hate. And her hate was the deadly hate of a woman who has loved and been abandoned, who has loved with her fiercest passion, her most insensate entirety, and been usurped. Like electric elements in a storm, as flame meets flame and leaps into a consuming pillage, so Dacia and Cassius turned, the one to the other, for the destruction of Marius. And the weapon they chose to inflict the keenest pain was the Christian maid, Lygia. Dacia had seen them together — had glimpsed the white flesh of the martyred maid, the blue of her eyes, the glorious curves of her body, and had realized, with an anguished pain, that here was a beauty such as she could never hope to attain. She did not know that it was Purity that set this girl apart and made her of angel stuff. And she had seen Marius as he looked on Lygia, and had realized, too, that his eyes had never held that look for her. She saw the passion in them, but she did not see the prayer — the worship that was of the spirit even as it was of the flesh. For her had been the weed; for Lygia was blossoming the flower. And the weed had been dearer to her than life, while Lygia held the opening flower with cold, reluctant fingers. In an anteroom of Dacia 's tiny palace, hitherto maintained for her