Klea pressed his now cold hand to her lips as he spoke and again asked,
though hardly able to control her voice for tears:

"But the wound, father--where is the wound?" "Let be, let be," replied
Serapion. "It is acrid poison, not a dagger or dart that has undone my
strength. And I can depart in peace, for I am no longer needed for
anything. You, Publius, must now take my place with this child, and will
do it better than I. Klea, the wife of Publius Scipio! I indeed have
dreamt that such a thing might come to pass, and I always knew, and have
said to myself a thousand times that I now say to you my son: This girl
here, this Klea is of a good sort, and worthy only of the noblest. I
give her to you, my son Publius, and now join your hands before me here
--for I have always been like a father to her."

That you have indeed," sobbed Klea. "And it was no doubt for my sake,
and to protect me, that you quitted your retreat, and have met your
death."

"It was fate, it was fate," stammered the old man.

"The assassins were in ambush for me," cried Publius, seizing Serapion's
hand, "the murderers who fell on you instead of me. Once more, where is
your wound?"

"My destiny fulfils itself," replied the recluse. "No locked-up cell,
no physician, no healing herb can avail against the degrees of Fate.
I am dying of a serpent's sting as it was foretold at my birth; and if I
had not gone out to seek Klea a serpent would have slipped into my cage,
and have ended my life there. Give me your hands, my children, for a