They're a strange folk, the Romans--'specially old Azor!"
"But you are not afraid--never have been?"
"No," she answered, shaking her head slowly, "I've never been afeard
of anything or any one yet--except old Azor." And beholding her as she
said this, observing the proud cast of her features, the lofty
carriage of her head, her compelling eyes, resolute chin and the noble
lines of her form, I knew she spoke truth and began to doubt if she
were no more than a mere comely, well-shaped young female, after all.
"Pray, what is your name?" I enquired.
"Anna."
"Indeed it is a pretty name, though you are more like my conception of
Diana."
"Who's she?"
"She was a young goddess."
"A goddess?" repeated my companion in her deep, soft voice, "that
don't sound much like me."
"A goddess, very brave and strong, who despised all men and feared
none!"
"That does sound more like me! Though I thought all goddesses were
beautiful?" she added wistfully.
"So they were," I nodded, "but how do you know this?"
"From Jerry Jarvis--"
"What, the Tinker?" I exclaimed. "Do you mean the tinker who calls
himself a 'literary cove'--the wonderful tinker who writes excellent
poetry and travels about with a pony named Diogenes?"
"Yes, there be only one Jerry Jarvis," answered my companion. "'Twas
Jerry taught me to write and lent me books to read. I've known him
since I can remember and he was always kind. Jerry's a good man!"
"And writes real poetry!" I nodded.
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