Aurelius, the lawyer, found his wife crying when he returned from business a fortnight later. It was one of those rainy days, coming early in October, when it seems as though the skies opened to let down streams of water, washing trees and bushes, drenching the heavy dust, which, during a long summer drouth had accumulated so much in the cracks of the stones on the streets, on the roofs and ledges of the houses and on the leaves of vines and flowers that even the thunder-storm on that night when Alyrus made his visit to the temple had not had force enough to remove it.
It was a desolate day. In Rome when it rains the whole aspect changes, it becomes dreary and depressing. Even people are affected by the gloom, nerves are set on edge, and Aurelius, having had a trying morning, was a little irritated to find his wife in this condition.
Remembering her weakness, he sat down beside her, took her cold hand in his and said, gently: "What is the matter, dear one? What has happened to annoy thee?"
"It is that miserable sect of Christians. I cannot bear them. Here is thy son, Martius, acting the fool, stubborn, wilful, and now Virgilia must show the same traits. It is past endurance. Something must be done to break this charm whatever it is, that controls them so. I wish that every Christian in the land would be destroyed by Jupiter. He can do it if he wishes."
The lawyer's face grew stern. One of his troubles that morning had been that everlasting affair of the Lady Octavia, who insisted on freeing her slaves, and by this had succeeded in involving herself in a law-suit which threatened disaster, because of a prior claim to a certain slave who was very valuable.
"What has Virgilia done?" he asked, and his tone boded no good to his daughter.
"She has refused," sobbed his wife, "refused to make the garlands for the gods or offer them the customary libations. Says that she cannot; it is contrary to the law of Christ—as if that mattered! Her disobedience is bad enough in itself, but the worst for us are the punishment and misfortunes which are certain to come upon us if the gods are not placated."
Aurelius grew pale. This was to him, in spite of his general unbelief, a real difficulty. Who knew what might happen?
"Dost thou mean that the gods have been neglected all the day? It must be attended to at once!"
He sprang up, but Claudia held his hand tight in hers.
"It has been attended to. Sahira wove the garlands, a slave, not my own daughter. The gods will be wrathful, of course, but perhaps we can placate them by costly offerings of gold and spices at the temple. It is of Virgilia that I would speak. What is to be done with such an undutiful child? She must be married, or sent away to some lonely place. Perhaps marriage would be better. Then her husband would control her. The Senator Adrian Soderus has asked for her hand, but thou didst send him away. Recall him."
"He is seventy years old and as ugly as night. While Virgilia is so young and sweet."
"So stubborn and rebellious. He is old, but very rich. She will forget this foolishness when she is surrounded by such luxury as he can give her. Send for him."
"Where is Virgilia now?"
"In her room, where I sent her to think over her sins and repent."
Aurelius thought of the small, dark cubiculum where his daughter sat alone on this day when the floods descended, and his heart warmed to the culprit.
"I will talk with Virgilia," he said, rising.
"And thou wilt send for the Senator?"
"We shall see."
During the silent meal, eaten by the father and son under the torch-light, so dark was the room, Aurelius did think seriously.
Of the two evils, marriage for Virgilia was, probably the one which would cause her the least suffering. To send her away to a lonely mountain place, to the holy women who dwelt apart, might break her will, but it would ruin her health. Yes, marriage would open out a new life and in the splendid home to which the Senator would be only too happy to welcome her, she would forget this new and detestable religion.
He summoned Virgilia to him in his own private room, the most comfortable in the house, because it opened upon the street, had light and air, was hung with rich silks in green and white and provided with chairs and couches, having soft cushions. On the floor were rugs, the work of the Old One's hands, during these long years. Day by day, hour by hour, the woman had drawn the threads through the warp, inventing the designs, forming beautiful figures with tints that harmonized. Here were the faints-colors of the ever-varying opal; the bright blue of the turquoise, the rose hues of the blossoms on the tea-rose, the aqua-marine tints of the Mediterranean Sea. Truly oriental they were, giving a hint of the Eastern origin of the Old One. Like some godmother in the fairy tale, like some ancient wife of mythological times, the Old One had wrought into these designs her own life. And what had been her thoughts during those long hours and days and years?
Virgilia's face was not streaming with tears, as her father had expected to see her. In fact, her eyes glowed with softness and beauty. Yet there was a set look about her mouth which the lawyer knew by past experience meant wilfulness.
The sympathy which had caused his heart to grow tender, vanished at sight of this radiant young being as beautiful as a goddess who bathes her face in the early morning dew, with the stubborn mouth.
Claudia was right. Something effectual must be done to bring this lovely culprit to her senses.
"Thou hast grieved thy mother very much by thy disobedience and irreverence," he said, coldly.
"I am truly sorry, dear father. For that I am truly sorry. But, thou seest, I could not help it. It is wrong to offer flowers and prayers to the gods."
"To whom then wouldst thou offer them?"
"We should bow only to the true God."
"And he? Who is he? Where is he?"
"He is the one invisible and mighty, the God of Heaven and of all men."
"That is Jupiter, the all-powerful."
"It is not Jupiter, it is our God, as revealed in the Lord JesusChrist."
"A malefactor."
Virgilia smiled.
"Crucified for us," she murmured, "that we might have eternal life. He sitteth now on the right hand of God.".
Her father gazed at her in astonishment. The girl was certainly out of her mind? But, if she were then so was the Lady Octavia and her son and daughter, and Martius, and hundreds, perhaps even thousands of others, if rumor spoke truly. It was a dangerous heresy, and must be destroyed.
It was no use to argue with a person who was really scarcely responsible, as Virgilia now appeared to him to be. He must deal very gently with her.
"Sit down here by me, dearest, I want to talk with thee a little."
So Virgilia sat down on a little stool at her father's feet and leaned her arm on his knee, and while he stroked her soft hair, bound with fillets of chased gold, set with large turquoises, he strove to calm her and distract her mind from its vagaries.
When he sent her away, he was fully determined on a line of action.
He drew the tablets to him, and wrote a note to the most honorableSenator Adrian Soderus, asking him to make an appointment.
Calling Alexis, he ordered him to carry the message to the house of the Senator and bring him the answer.
The Greek returned, promptly. If it stopped raining, the Senator would come to the house of the lawyer Aurelius Lucanus that evening, after sundown, accompanied by the notary.
Then he summoned Sahira.
"Thou wilt clothe the Lady Virgilia in her most costly garments. Thou wilt bind jewels in her hair and hang strings of pearls about her neck. Her fingers, too, shall be laden with rings. Tell Alexis to decorate the whole house with flowers and make it beautiful for a feast."
Sahira went away, wondering what new turn affairs were taking, but she did as she was bid, and at sundown in all Rome no more lovely maiden could have been found than Virgilia, in her costly robes and flashing jewels. But more beautiful than all, was the white, pure soul which no man could see.
"Is it for a feast, Sahira?" asked Virgilia, looking at herself in the long metal mirror, and smiling at the reflection. Virgilia was human.
"For a feast, your father said," replied the slave, leaving Virgilia in her splendor, sitting in the fast-darkening room, alone.
The Senator Adrian Soderus, indeed, lost no time. He arrived at the lawyer's house just at the hour of sundown, when the heavy clouds were scattering and the sun sent shafts of golden light to turn the mists overhanging the towers and pinnacles of Rome's palaces and temples into filmy veils. It looked like a wraith-city, hung with yellow gauze.
The chair stopped at the door and the noted man alighted with much difficulty, for he was very stout from too much indulgence in the good things of the world, and half-crippled with rheumatism, besides. It took two strong slaves to lift him out and support him until he sank, with a groan, on the largest and strongest seat possessed by Aurelius Lucanus.
Claudia was given new life by the prospect of her daughter's marriage to one of the wealthiest men in Rome, a thing which she had tried to bring to pass some months before, but failed because of her husband's opposition. He had said that it was wicked to give so fair a maiden as Virgilia to this old and feeble man. Now, Claudia thanked the gods, the objection had been removed by Virgilia's own fault.
She arrayed herself to receive the Senator with as much care as if she were going to be a guest at Caesar's table. This marriage of Virgilia's would bring her and her husband into the first rank of society, a thing for which her soul had longed for many a year. A lawyer, though a man highly honored and received at the palace, was nevertheless, considered of medium rank. The mother of a Senator took a different position. And all this had been caused merely by a chance meeting with Adrian Soderus, when he had been charmed by Virgilia's lovely face. Well, she was lovely, Claudia acknowledged, in the intervals of scolding her waiting-woman because she did not arrange the curls on her forehead to her satisfaction; no lovelier could be found in the whole province, even the emperor himself had smiled upon her one day, when she had gone with her father and mother to the palace. Emperor's smiles, however, had little value, whereas the Senator's riches were practical.
Claudia greeted the ponderous guest with deepest courtesies, and soon she and the lawyer, with the notary, a little dried-up man who took snuff freely from a golden, bejeweled box, and sneezed so violently thereafter that Virgilia, sitting alone in her room, heard him and laughed outright, had arranged the whole affair. Virgilia was only a child and did not dream that in another part of the house, she was being discussed as if she were a package of merchandise, bargained over as coolly as though the affair concerned the sale of a slave.
This was no unusual thing in ancient Rome. A girl was her father's property, to be disposed of as he saw fit and to his advantage. Neither Aurelius nor Claudia intended to be cruel to Virgilia. It was the custom of the times and her mother, at least, was thoroughly frightened over the fact that Virgilia had been led away by strange doctrines, taught by what she considered a very low class of persons. She actually believed that this disposal of the daughter whom she truly loved, would be in the end for her happiness. The Senator had a kind face. He would be good to Virgilia.
Her father was not, however, so convinced of the right, moral right, of what they were doing. He knew that he was fully within the civil right. He felt very uncomfortable and inclined to throw the whole thing up, if it were possible.
It was too late now, he feared. Claudia had set her heart on this—had been urging it for a long time. She looked brighter this evening, more like herself. Perhaps on the whole, Virgilia would not be any more unhappy in the home which this old man could give her, than she would be married to some young man whom they would choose.
The Senator provided very handsomely for Virgilia, according to the legal document already drawn up by the notary, and this was finally signed by all three contracting parties and by two freedmen brought by the notary to be witnesses.
Then, the little man, after many profound bows and a parting series of sneezes just outside the curtained door, went away. Martius was called and told to bring Virgilia.
A feast was not unusual in the house of Aurelius, and Virgilia anticipated it with pleasure. The memory of her disobedience and daring in the morning had faded from her mind for the moment. Very gaily she took Martius' hand and walked by his side.
"Thou art very beautiful to-night, sister mine," he said, with a boy's admiration for her finery. Virgilia's laugh rang out and the group waiting silently for her arrival, heard it. The Senator smiled, Claudia drew her draperies around her with a hand that trembled a little. Aurelius frowned. He wished with all his heart that he had never signed that document which bound her to this man.
"It is my fine clothes," replied Virgilia. "A peacock would be nothing without his gay feathers. What is the feast to-night, Martius?"
"I know not. Perhaps some friends of father's have come to eat and drink with us."
The Senator rose with difficulty as the radiant girl entered, led byMartius.
Amazed, Virgilia looked at her mother.
"I was called," she said, and she grew very pale.
Some time before, her mother had informed her that the great Senator had asked her hand, but, after a conversation with her father she had been assured that negotiations would be dropped. This man, the meaning of the decoration of the rooms with gay Autumn blossoms of yellow and purple; this was to be her betrothal and she had not been told. In a flash, it was revealed to her that it was a result of her refusal to do homage to the gods that morning. Very well, she would suffer the consequences bravely. But, in the house to which she was to go, she would never bow down to the idols, no matter what the result might be. She signed the contract, submitted to the Senator her hand, and sat by his side at the table, decorated his head with the marriage garland and received from him another wreath of fine white orange-blooms.
Her father saw, with sorrow, that her face was deathly white.
There was eating and drinking and merriment, in which Virgilia, in spite of her sadness, tried to join. It did not occur to her to protest or question her father's judgment. A daughter must accept the husband chosen for her; but she wished with all her heart that it might have been Marcus, the son of Octavia, who was sitting by her side, wearing the bridal garland, rather than this feeble old man. Yet, even the thought was disloyal and unmaidenly. She dismissed it.
The merriment was at its height, and Aurelius began to feel that Virgilia would not suffer much from this necessary solution of a difficult problem, when the curtain of Persian silk at the door was suddenly torn aside and the Old One entered.
Very slowly, leaning on her staff, bowed half over, and with white hair streaming down to her shoulders, she approached the table. Claudia screamed when she saw her and the Senator trembled. People were very superstitious in those days, and the Old One was known to be a prophetess.
Aurelius left his place.
"What dost thou desire, Mother?" he asked.
She lifted to him eyes filled with a strange light. The gray mantle she wore fell away from her skinny arm as she raised it high.
"Woe! woe to the house of Lucanus!" she cried shrilly. "Your feasting shall be turned into sorrow, your rejoicing shall be changed into mourning and the voice of weeping shall be heard, a mother weeping for her daughter, a father bemoaning the loss of his children, a bridegroom grieving over a lost bride. Woe! Woe!"
Virgilia and her mother were clinging to each other. The Senator was pallid and shaking with fear.
"Woe! woe to the house of Lucanus!" wailed the aged woman, and would have fallen if Martius had not caught her in his strong arms.
The slaves, frightened, had gathered in the doorway. At a sign from Aurelius, they carried her away, while Sahira tried to assist Virgilia to calm her mother.
"She is very aged," explained the lawyer.
"She must be crazy," energetically remarked the Senator, demanding his chair.
When he had gone away, and Claudia was in bed, with Virgilia, by her side, the lawyer sat a long time in his little room and thought.
What was this woe that the Old One had prophesied for him and his household?
As the light of a rosy dawn bathed the world in the beauty of a promised day, he arose.
"She must be crazy," he said, repeating the Senator's words.
But he did not forget.
Sunshine and laughter came after clouds and sadness. It was natural that the effects of the Old One's strange words should pass away and be almost forgotten, except by the lawyer, who feared disaster. He did what for him was a novel thing. He made an offering to Jupiter. After all, there might be something in this worship of the gods; it was safer to be on the right side.
It was a gift of money that he made, a large gift, for Lucanus was prosperous and received many sesterces of gold from the imperial treasury, besides having a lucrative practice. Being so large a gift, he decided to present it in person and get full credit for his piety and devotion to the gods.
So, on a morning, a week later, accompanied by Alexis, the Greek slave, who followed Christus—though this was not known—he went to the main door of the temple in the Forum and boldly asked for the Lycidon, chief priest of Jupiter.
"Wait thou here," he commanded, and Alexis seated himself on the steps, watching the busy crowds passing by.
It was a feast-day, and a white bull, hung with flowers was being led through the Sacred Way to a shrine where the people would worship him as possessing the spirit of a great god. Everything was a god to the Romans, even trees and animals were possessed of spirit.
Alexis looked at the bull and the procession of priests following it; at the dancing girls and the motley crowd of men and women. He prayed to Almighty God that he might show these poor deluded beings the better way to Eternal Life.
The tall superior was more gracious to the lawyer who brought rich gifts than he had been to the slave Alyrus. When he learned the name of the donor, he was still more suave and his eyes were very keen.
"Thy name shall go down to all generations as a faithful follower of the gods," he said, laying aside the golden chalice and purse of gold pieces. "In these days when Rome is filled with new doctrines and heretics are found on every side, it is cheering to know that the learned lawyer Aurelius Lucanus gives richly to the gods."
But when Lucanus had gone away, flattered, yet relieved to get out of those dismal corridors into the brilliant October sunshine, the priest smiled, a cruel smile of one who meditates evil. Alexis rose from his seat on the steps and followed his master to his office.
Claudia, in the excitement of preparing a handsome outfit for Virgilia, forgot the Old One's words entirely and recovered her health marvellously. She was very affectionate to Virgilia and her offense was no more mentioned, nor was she required to worship the gods. Her mother left this fever to run its course and be healed by new scenes and costly jewels.
Even Virgilia, herself, grew interested in the preparations for her departure to her husband's house, which had been fixed for a day in November, when the religious ceremony should take place. There were cedar chests to be filled with piles of linen, woven by the slaves. One very handsome oak marriage chest was full of silks and gauzes of much price, brought on the ships which sailed up the Tiber from the port of Ostia, on their return from Egypt.
A copper box held jewels, set in Etruscan gold, exquisitely chased by the cunning hands of workers in the Way of the Goldsmiths. There were opals, shimmering in the sunrays, alive with inner fires of flame-color. There were diamonds, half-cut, and pearls found in the Ganges, with emeralds and sapphires, rubies and garnets, many of them gifts from friends to whom announcements of the betrothal had been sent on ivory tablets engraved in blue.
Claudia lifted out the diadem which the emperor, himself, had caused to be brought to their door by a train of slaves, thus calling attention to their high social standing in the eyes of all the neighbors.
When the Senator gave Virgilia a necklace of diamonds to match those in the diadem sent by Caesar, Claudia felt that her cup was full of happiness. Even Virgilia was pleased and for the moment, being young and fond of pretty things, forgot that the Christian maiden should be unadorned save by her own modesty.
Martius was the gravest of the family. Now that Virgilia was so occupied that she could not go to the meetings of the Christians, although this had always been difficult for her, he went alone, or joined Hermione and Marcus. From them and other Christians he heard news which greatly alarmed him. There were rumors of an uprising against the followers of Christ. It was said that the priests of Jupiter were arousing the senators and even the emperor to a sense of the danger in which the government would find itself if these heretics were allowed to increase as they were doing at the present time.
The Senator Adrian Soderus, who visited the lawyer and his wife frequently and in view of the coming marriage was permitted to see Virgilia, confirmed the news, entirely unaware of the fact that both his betrothed and her brother Martius belonged to the despised people.
"They multiply like rats," he said, sipping from a silver goblet the sweet orange juice Sahira prepared. "And like rats they live in holes in the ground. There they hold their wicked meetings and form their impious designs. They are a menace to Rome and must be destroyed."
"Ought I to tell him?" Virgilia asked her brother after one of these conversations.
"How do I know, dearest? It is for father to speak, and he does not. I fear—I fear. Yet, if thou art once married to him, he is bound to protect thee. Thou wilt surely be safe."
"But thou—and Hermione—and—Marcus?"
"God is all-powerful. We are in his hands."
There came the messenger from the Lady Octavia bearing a pearl anklet as a wedding gift to Virgilia with many greetings and good wishes. And if it were possible, would they all come "to celebrate the Feast of the Grapes, in five days?"
"I will not go," said Claudia. "The Lady Octavia is not to my liking."
"Nor I," added Aurelius, "but we must not be discourteous, she is a good client. It will be an enjoyable feast in this fine weather. Virgilia's cheeks are too pale. She and Martius shall go."
On the day of the Feast, Virgilia was glad to go out into the fresh air, to leave the seamstresses busy sewing in the inner courtyard. They were embroidering fine garments of silk so soft that it could be drawn through a ring. They were hemming and drawing threads, draping and cutting the rich material from Tyre which was to form part of Virgilia's wedding outfit.
The young girl was sad on this beautiful October day when the air was spicy with the whiffs of ripe grapes and pomegranates in the gardens and vineyards. She was thinking of what it would mean to go away from her home, to leave her parents and Martius, to take up another life, and be obedient to the old Senator, who, kind and indulgent as he might be, was, nevertheless, little more than her master, or she, little better than one of her own slaves. Not once, however, did the thought enter her mind that she was a free being, at liberty to rebel and decline this marriage so suddenly arranged for her. It was for her parents to decide what her future should be, and for her to obey.
Early in the morning of the day which they were to pass in the lovely gardens of Octavia, Virgilia ascended a narrow steep staircase and went out upon the flat roof. It was like a garden up here, with trellises and vines. Some late tea-roses were in bloom. The girl broke off one and placed it in the folds of her gown. She could breathe in its sweetness.
Over at one end of the roof—or terrace, as it is called—sat the Old One, making a carpet. Above her head was a gay scarlet and blue awning, to protect her from the sun, still hot, even in cool October.
The slave looked up and smiled when Virgilia came near, motioning to a pile of cushions.
"Ever busy, Mother?" said the young girl, examining the work.
The rug was very handsome. It had five borders wrought in dull blues, white and yellow, covered with conventional designs, and the centre was exquisite, a white ground on which loose flowers were thrown negligently, carelessly, without regular form, yet the whole was perfect.
"It is almost finished, my child, and when it is done, it shall be for thee, to adorn thy home."
"For me?"
"My wedding gift to thee. On the day that thou wast born, I began it, and all through these seventeen years I have worked at it, thinking that on the day when thou shouldst go away to thy husband, the rug would go with thy household goods to remind thee of the aged woman whose gnarled and withered hands wrought it for thee."
"I shall ever hold it precious."
Virgilia sank down on the cushions, listlessly. Far away she could see the blue lines of mountains, bordering the fields where Lucius the Water-Carrier lived, where were the marvellous tombs of the great on the Appian Way; where stately homes bordered the fashionable Ostian Way, and where were the Catacombs where the Christians buried their dead and gathered for worship.
She looked with some curiosity at the placid, gentle face of the old woman. That night, when she had burst in upon the betrothal feast with her dire prophecies, she had been transformed, a creature of whom they were afraid. Had she been conscious of what she said then? Virgilia thought not.
"Mother," she said, "thy many years of life have brought to thee wisdom. Should one tell everything to one's husband? Even when it may be dangerous?"
The Old One held a yellow thread suspended from her ivory hook and looked keenly at Virgilia.
"Thou hast a secret, my child?"
"Yes, mother."
"One of which thou art ashamed?"
"No, no. But it involves others."
The bricks were sprinkled with sand. Virgilia stopped and drew a fishin the sand. She had for some time suspected that the Old One was aChristian. If she were, she would recognize the symbol of Christ, the"Icthus." If she were not, it would do no harm.
"And thou, too, art a little fish," murmured the Old One. "Thanks be to His holy name, when the Lord Christ was born, I was a Princess in the court of Herod, the King, who was sore afraid, because it was told him that a new King had come to reign over Israel. The angels sang at His birth and the kings from the East brought presents of frankincense and myrrh. I fell into the hands of the Romans, and here I am, a slave. But it was a plan of God. In Rome, I learned to know Christ."
"Virgilia! Virgilia!" Martius called. "It is time to go. Hurry! The chair is at the door."
"If the time comes when for conscience' sake thou must disclose that thou art a follower of Christ, do so. If not, keep silence and worship Him in thine heart lest evil come upon the thousands who love Him," said the Old One. Her eyes grew filmy and she stretched out her hands, tremblingly. "I see—I see—a shadow of death—approaching. But in the shadow—shines the face—of our—Risen Lord."
"Mother, Mother!" said Virgilia, alarmed.
"Was I speaking? What did I say? This work must be finished soon, for the marriage."
"Virgilia!" came Martius' peremptory summons.
"Yes, I am coming."
Stopping only to call Sahira to bring the Old One a refreshing drink, Virgilia veiled herself, entered her chair, and with Martius walking by her side, was borne out of the city gate guarded by men in full uniform, armed with staves and knives, and through the road leading to the Lady Octavia's house.
What a day that was! The vines, festooned gracefully between dwarf mulberry trees, were loaded with huge bunches of purple and white grapes. The men and women slaves were gathering them and heaping them up in baskets. The red juice escaped and ran in streams over the yellow earth.
Laughing and merry the four young people passed among the servants eating grapes to their heart's content, telling stories of other days, leaving the future to unfold for itself. They did not try to foresee it.
At noon, they went to the cool, shady room overlooking the garden and ate the cold meats and fresh green salad, luscious fruit and white goat's cheese, finishing the meal with sweet cakes and a delicious drink made from the fresh juice of the grapes just gathered.
Before they ate, the freedmen stood, respectfully waiting, while Octavia, in a low voice, offered a prayer of thanksgiving for the food so bountifully provided. Only a small part of the servants, formerly slaves, were Christians, and Octavia had often been warned that her life and that of her children was in danger through her open defiance of the priests and declaration of her own Christian faith.
"I trust in God," was all that she would say.
In her house were no gods, no images. Flowers there were, in abundance, the rooms were bowers of beauty, the table, with its spotless cloth of fine white linen, bore silver vases filled with roses and autumn blossoms, but there were no shrines and no statutes.
On this Feast of the Grapes around Rome Bacchus was worshipped and much wine was drunk, until the people lost their senses and became brutes. In Octavia's home, the feast was observed with games and songs and merriment, but all was done decently and in order. It was because her views were not theirs that many of the friends who had visited them when the Senator was alive—now refused to associate with the Lady Octavia, although they could not openly ignore her on account of her great wealth.
It drew toward evening. The days were still long, and Martius planned to return home by moonlight. At seven o'clock, they were eating supper in an arbor at the side of the Villa. The big, round moon was rising over the Alban Hills, soon it would be a great lamp in the sky.
All over the Campagna the Feast of the Grapes had been celebrated that day. The sounds of boisterous laughter, of loud singing, came to their ears from the crowds who were passing outside the high walls surrounding the entire estate.
"There is more noise than usual," remarked Octavia.
The sounds had changed. They grew menacing. People were quarreling with each other. "It is nothing," replied Marcus. "Always on this Feast, there is much drunkenness and revelry."
But his mother was uneasy.
"It is wiser for thee to return home at once, Martius," she said. "I will carry thy chair, Virgilia. The bearers have been resting long."
"I have a strong stick," Martius said, laughing, "and Alexis is armed.We can easily protect Virgilia."
"Is it not better for you to remain here," suggested Marcus. "We will send a messenger to thy father."
"Nonsense. There is no danger. But it is wiser that we should start at once. Later, there will be thousands returning home."
At that moment, the porter from the gate came running toward the arbor. He was, plainly, very much excited. With him was a man of dark swarthy skin, and a scar across his forehead.
"Thou, Alyrus?" exclaimed Martius, surprised to see the Moor here.
"I have a message for you, my young master." Martius failed to observe the bitterness in which he spoke the last words, or the glow of his dark eyes, resting by turns on each member of the group. "You and the Lady Virgilia are to return home at once. Your father desired me to tell you that the people are enraged at an insult offered by some Christians to one of the holy gods."
"Go, go!" said Octavia.
Martius stopped a moment to speak to Hermione, while Marcus assistedVirgilia into her chair.
"Is it safe for thee?" he asked. "We cannot tell what may happen."
She smiled at him.
"God is with us, Martius, my friend."
"I would that I had thy great faith, Hermione. We part but to meet again."
"If God will?"
The chair, carried by four men, passed out of the iron gate, which swung shut behind them. The heavy bolts were shot quickly into place by the frightened porter. Riots were not unknown in Rome, but riots which were against Christians were very serious matters.
If glances full of meaning were exchanged between Alyrus and the bearers, neither Martius nor Alexis noticed them.
The crowd in front of Octavia's gate was now very menacing. The men were throwing stones over the wall and crying: "Down with the Christians!"
"Way! Way for the daughter of Aurelius Lucanus, worshipper of the gods," cried Alyrus, and the crowd parted to let them through.
Lidia, the scullery maid, stole out of the back door of her master's house. Bare-foot she was and her black hair streamed out behind her as she ran swiftly through the streets of Rome. Few noticed her, for the people were still excited from the doings of the night before. Groups stood at the places where roads crossed, or in the shadows of the columns and discussed what had occurred. When such important matters as the arrest of a few hundreds of Christians were concerned, the little maid with frightened eyes and ragged clothes was not of any moment.
"It is the priests who stirred up this trouble," said one man looking up at the grim grayish-white walls of Jupiter's temple. "I am no follower of Christus, but I employed a man who was, and he was ever industrious and sober. They are not such a bad lot. It is a pity—"
"Whist!" exclaimed another man. "Speak not so loud. Even the walls of yonder temple have ears. They say that there are speaking tubes hidden in every room so that the Superior may know just what goes on. I'll tell you the one thing, my friend, if the priests are in it there's gold somewhere. They don't do things for nothing."
"That they do not. Didst hear that the splendid villa of Octavia, widow of Aureus Cantus, the Senator, was raided by a mob last night? The freedmen are scattered or seized again as slaves and the family, the lady and two children have entirely disappeared. Her home and all its treasures have already been confiscated, as belonging to a traitor and I'll venture that the priests in yonder get a good share of the wealth."
"She was an honorable woman. It is a shame."
"Shame, yes, but it pleases the people and gratifies the priests, two things very essential to him who sits upon the throne."
"Dost think—"
"Aye, I think much that I do not say. Hundreds of Christians have been herded into the prisons, the uprising of the multitude yesterday was but part of the game. It was all planned. They say, too, that a dark man, with great gold rings in his ears and a scar on his face, has been tracking these Christians for weeks. No doubt he was an emissary of the priests."
"I have seen him myself. There he goes, now."
Alyrus walked through the crowd like a king, as if he expected them to bow before him.
"I've seen him before," said the first man. "Where was it? I remember now. It was he who sat in the ante-chamber of Aurelius Lucanus' office. He is his slave."
"And is the honorable lawyer mixed up in this business?"
"Who knows? One thing is certain. The people will be amused and forget the cruelties of the Emperor, for there will be a grand show in the amphitheatre, far grander than any gladiatorial show."
"Thou meanest—"
"That these Christians must be disposed of, or they will rebel. The lions are even now growling in the underground cages."
Lidia sped on, though her feet grew very weary before she reached the cave where Lucius dwelt. He was standing in front of it, blowing into a flame some charcoal in a small iron brazier. She approached him unseen. He looked up, startled when he heard her calling him.
"Ah, Lidia, is it thou? Hast come to have supper with thy father? Thou art welcome. There is a tender kid roasted and I have gathered some fresh greens in the field. I will make thee a salad."
"Please do, dear father. I am very weary and have tasted no food since morning."
Sitting down on the grass, they gave thanks and ate. The shepherd gave her a large plantain leaf for a plate. Their food was such as Jacob ate in days of old, long before Rome was built.
"Thou art very weary, my child."
"And heart-sick. Thou hast not been in the city for two days."
"No. The rains have been so heavy that the sprinkling from my sheepskin bag was not needed. So I stayed here to care for the herds."
"Then thou dost not know what has happened. Father, my master and the Lady Claudia are in deep distress. Martius and the Lady Virgilia went to visit the widow of Cantus outside the gate, on the day when the Feast of the Grapes was celebrated. They have never returned. Nor has Alyrus, who was sent on an errand by Aurelius that afternoon, nor Alexis, the Greek. Not one has come back to tell of their fate. This morning, Sahira, my Lady Claudia's waiting-maid disappeared and the mistress lies there moaning and crying. It is pitiful. Everyone is in disorder of spirit. I, even though I am but a scullery-maid, did creep into my Lady's room and put cold cloths on her head and fanned her face. No one else thought of her. The servants go here and there, without a head; the whole house is in confusion. Some of the slaves have already run away. It is rumored, father, that many Christians have been arrested. No doubt Martius and Virgilia are among them."
"But thou?"
"I am safe. Who cares for so humble a person as I? The Old One is very ill. I think she is going to die. No one cares for her but me. But I am safe. No one notices me, for I am little and ugly, thank God. I soothe the Old One, who moans and cries: 'Woe. Woe! to this household,' I must go back now. It is but four and twenty hours, father, since the home of Aurelius was full of joy and gladness. Now it is desolate."
The shepherd rose and picked up his staff.
"Lidia, it is Alyrus who has wrought all this. He and the priests of Jupiter. I will seek out Lycias, the gladiator. He will know what to do."
A warm red shone in Lidia's thin, sallow cheeks.
"Thou wilt greet him from me, father?"
He nodded, and walked rapidly away, while Lidia, taking another path, ran toward the gates of Rome. Inside the walls, she almost collided with Alyrus, the Moor, who strode by not recognizing her. Slipping along in the shadows, she followed him eagerly, as intently as her father would have done, through the streets, into the Forum to the Temple of Jupiter, and saw him enter the side door.
Then she hastened back to her duties, going into the house which was very still and deserted. Only a few of the many slaves owned by Aurelius the lawyer, remained to guard his interests. When the displeasure of an emperor falls on a man, it means disaster.
She looked in at her mistress' door and found her sleeping, moaning as she slept. She went to the servant's quarters. On her humble couch lay the Old One, who had been a Princess in the court of Herod sixty years before, beautiful, admired. Her face was very quiet and the expression was sweet. Death had touched her lightly when he bore her into the presence of the Lord whom she had loved. The finished rug which she had made for Virgilia's wedding present lay under the scarlet and white awning on the Terrace.
Alyrus had come into his reward. He was free, and Sahira his daughter was free, a purse of gold was in his hand and a ship lay waiting in the harbor, to carry them away to their home by the desert.
Alyrus was not ready to go, yet. He wanted first to see all the amusement which there would be in Rome. He could not miss the climax of what he had intrigued for. He knew nothing of that Judas who had sold his Lord for thirty pieces of silver, or he might have likened himself to this traitor.
No, he would not leave until the games were over. The scheme had worked well. There had not been the slightest hitch from the moment that they left the gate of Octavia's villa, until the bearers, who were in the plot, carried Virgilia into the Temple of Jupiter, and Martius and Alexis, little noticed in the unusual excitement stirred up by the priests, were easily overpowered and cast into one of the lowest dungeons.
Yes, it had been most successful. Alyrus returned to the temple now to see Sahira who was in charge of the holy women and sallied forth again to sit in one of the shops and drink a glass of grape juice. He was a thoroughly temperate man, knowing that wine muddles the brain and perverts the judgment.
It was now late in the evening. Proclamations were already on the walls announcing that on the fourth day, there would be grand games in the Circus. Gladiatorial contests would be the first thing on the program, followed by the lions and Christians. The learned ones were reading this notice aloud to the ignorant and the women, and all seemed to be much pleased.
Alyrus sat down and ordered his cup of fresh grape juice, with snow from Mt. Hermon to cool it in. As he sipped it, he saw the great gladiator, Lycias, come into the circle of light from the flaring torches, but he did not perceive the shepherd, who remained outside, in the shadow.
Now, Lycias was a great man in the eyes of the Romans. He had been a poor boy, but by reason of his strength had risen to be the first gladiator. He and Lidia the kitchen-maid, had grown up together in the cave of Lucius, for Lycias had been found, a tiny baby, lying at the door of the sheepfold. For the love and care bestowed upon him, Lycias had always been grateful.
Therefore, at the request of Lucius, was he here.
At the entrance of the famous gladiator, a shout arose from the men seated at the small tables.
"Hail, Lycias! Hail, Lycias!" came from every side.
The tall man bowed to one friend and then another, smiled and walked through the room, seeking a place to sit. With a smile, he declined proffered seats with groups of men, and finally took a place near Alyrus, the Moor.
"If it does not inconvenience you," he said.
"Not in the least," replied Alyrus, flattered at the attention thus drawn to him.
The gladiator laid aside his silver helmet, unloosed his short sword and ordered light refreshment from the proprietor who came himself to serve so noted a guest.
Had some great philosopher entered, he would have been greeted with respect but would not have aroused anything like so much interest or enthusiasm as did the victorious gladiator. Even the boys in the streets knew his name and tried to imitate him.
For some time, while he had satisfied a very hearty appetite, Lycias did not open a conversation, and Alyrus, a little awed, had hesitated to speak.
Apparently for the first time, the gladiator examined the Moor's face.
Springing to his feet, he saluted in a military fashion.
"Your pardon, my lord, I knew not that I had ventured to presume upon the kindness of Claudius Auranus, governor of Carthage."
Alyrus stammered.
"Be seated, sir, I—I am not his excellency the governor of Carthage.I am a much humbler man, a chieftain of Tripoli."
"Ah! I knew that you were some distinguished person, from your bearing and dress."
When Alyrus smiled, he was uglier than ever.
"A brute!" muttered Lycias, under his breath. Then aloud: "Are you on some mission to the Emperor?"
"Ahem. Not so. But very high in the secrets of the chief priest ofJupiter."
"One might call him the power behind the throne."
"Thou hast said truly."
"And it is really true that thou art admitted to those holy precincts?"
"Behold!" Alyrus drew from the folds of his garment the bronze lizard."Not only does this admit me to the temple itself but to any place inthe city of Rome. Thou seest. It is the symbol of the priests ofJupiter."
"I see," Lycias' eyes gleamed, as he watched Alyrus placing the precious symbol in a safe place.
Then, Alyrus, intoxicated by the events of the past few moments, by his sudden transition from slavery to freedom, at the prospect opening before him of a speedy return to the home he loved, flattered at the homage shown him by the gladiator, poured out the whole story into ears only too willing to hear. He narrated everything except that he had been a slave, representing himself as a client of Aurelius Lucanus, who had been grievously wronged by him. He told how he had discovered, one day in the public Forum, that the son and daughter of the lawyer were Christians, and Aurelius sympathized with them; how, by the chief priest's desire, he had assisted in tracking many more of the despised sect, of whom several hundred were now languishing in prison, among them, Octavia the widow of the proud Senator Aureus Cantus, and her son and daughter.
Lycias passed his big hand over his smoothly shaven face to hide his expression of disgust. He rose.
"If you permit, honored sir, I will now retire, with the hope that we shall meet again."
"Willingly will I continue the conversation. Perhaps—" Alyrus was swelling with importance, "it would interest you to visit the prisons and see these Christians before they are thrown into the arena. I understand that you are first on the program."
"Yes. I had thought of asking such a privilege as a visit to these prisoners. By the way, where is the daughter of Aurelius?"
Alyrus shot a keen glance at him, but the face of Lycias was guileless as that of a child.
"She is well guarded. I can tell you that, and her brother Martius, with Alexis the Greek slave—who ever looked down upon me," he added, unguardedly, continuing in haste, as he perceived his mistake, "I should have said, who was impertinent to me one day, lie in a dungeon far in the earth below the temple. From there, is a private underground passageway to the Circus. They will never see the light of day again."
"A faithless friend, a bitter enemy," was Lycias' thought as striding forth from the room, he joined Lucius.
"It is worse than I feared," Lucius said. "There is little hope."
"We shall see," responded the gladiator, thoughtfully. "Art thou willing to take great risks to save the son and daughter of Aurelius?"
"For the sake of Lidia, who loves them, I am."
"Await my instructions, then," and they parted.
The next afternoon, Alyrus let Lycias through the dark prisons in which the Christians were herded like beasts. The guards opened every door at the sight of the symbol of priestly authority, the bronze lizard.
Lycias, brave and strong man, grew sick at the dreadful suffering of delicate women, frail young girls accustomed to luxury, who were so suddenly thrown into surroundings and as they had never dreamed of.
All because of their faith? Lycias began to wonder what the power was which enabled these feeble creatures to face death with calmness and courage.
"There must be something in this religion of Jesus Christ which makes them forget themselves," he thought. "I will ask Lidia to tell me the secret."
In one corner of a dark, damp cell, several persons were kneeling in prayer. The voice of an old man could be heard, petitioning God, for Christ's sake, to lead them through this valley of the shadow of death and bring them to the holy city in its beauty and into the presence of their Lord and Master.
"There, that is Virgilia, the fair one, yonder, with face upraised," said Alyrus.
Lycias took a long look at the young girl, so that he would know her again.
"Next to her is Hermione, and Octavia, widow of Aureus Cantus and her son. All three are there!"
The laugh of the Moor was hideous in its coarseness. The young girls shivered and drew closer to Octavia.
"Fear not," Octavia whispered, smiling at them. God had given her great courage.
It was on this day that Alyrus, growing more confidential, told Lycias of the vessel lying in the River Tiber, ready to set sail as soon as he and Sahira went on board.
"I have only to show them the symbol," he quoted, "and the sailors and officers are subject to my orders."
That evening, the gladiator went to the cave, and finding Lidia with her father, ate the supper of coarse bread and goat's cheese with them.
"Thou art accounted of much wisdom," he said to Lidia, "thy little head hath been ever steady on thy shoulders. Tell us what to do."
"I am only a kitchen-maid," Lidia replied, blushing at the compliment, "but I should think that we might do thus."
And a plan was made to their satisfaction, a very difficult plan involving great danger for all of them, perhaps death to Lycias and Lucius. It hung to a large degree on one thing which seemed to be unattainable.
"With God, all things are possible," said wise little Lidia.
"Let us pray," said the shepherd, and he and Lidia fell upon their knees on the grass in front of the cave, where even now in late Autumn, some tiny pink-tipped daisies were blooming.
After a moment's hesitation, Lycias, who had never knelt to any but heathen gods, bent his knee also and uncovered his head in the presence of the unseen but powerful Ruler of the Universe.
He and Lidia walked back to Rome together.
As they parted, the big gladiator looked down into her earnest little face, with the clear, honest eyes.
"I should like to learn about Christ," he said.
"I will teach thee, Lycias, though I am but a weak follower of myMaster."
The next day, the one before the games were to take place in theCircus, two things happened.
Alyrus, met again by Lycias, took him to the marble quarry by theTiber, where, on the slowly flowing river, were moored great ships.There was a veritable forest of masts, cut from the strong cedars ofLebanon, and the groves of Mt. Hermon.
"That is my ship, yonder," he said. As they emerged from the wharf, Alyrus was suddenly jostled by a rough-looking shepherd. Lycias caught the Moor in his arms to prevent his falling. The draperies Alyrus wore were disarranged and a small object fell, unnoticed by him, to the ground. Lycias placed his big, sandaled foot over this object.
"Dog of a shepherd!" raved Alyrus, running after the man.
Lycias stooped, picked up the small object and thrust it into his gown and soon reached the Moor by a few long strides.
"Let him go!" he advised. "See, he is already almost out of sight."
The games in the amphitheatre on this, the first day of November attracted an unusual number of persons.
The emperor was there, with all his court, and the Vestals honored the games with their presence. Alyrus sat in a prominent place, with Sahira, former slave of Aurelius Lucanus and maid to Claudia, beside him. The dark-faced girl attracted much attention, so great was her beauty. Freed by special decree of Caesar, at the request of Lycidon, the priest, she had, by her father's desire been dressed like a fashionable girl of the period.
"Dost see them coming?" asked Alyrus, eagerly. "Thine eyes are younger than mine. Dost see them yet?"
"No, father. It is only the gladiators. Ah! that Lycias is a king among men! how strong! how noble!"
A shade passed over the face of Alyrus the Moor.
"Yes. A fine youth, yet—I wish that I had not lost that bronze lizard, Sahira. It bodes misfortune. Rome is not a safe place for us, in spite of the favor of Lycidon. We must go as soon as the games are over. Could it be possible that Lycias—"
"Look, father, see Lycias, the conqueror. The emperor smiles upon him; a lady has thrown him a jewel. He bows. He is gone. How proud he must be!"
"And now, they will come! See, yonder, Sahira, that group of white-robed men and women. Ha! hear the wild beasts, how they growl in their cages, pawing the bars, pleading to be let loose."
Alyrus, wild with gratified hatred, his face as evil as that of a demon, leaned far over that he might lose nothing of the pitiful drama about to be enacted in the arena.
The Christians came forward slowly, the women clinging together in their physical weakness, though their souls were strong in the strength of their faith.
There was Octavia, leading Hermione and Virgilia. The widow's face was bright with a great light. There was Martius almost blinded by the contrast between the terrible darkness of the dungeon beneath Jupiter's temple, where he had spent four days and nights of misery, frantic when he thought of Virgilia and what her fate might be. He and Alexis had only a half hour before been brought through the underground passage-way to the cells where the Christians were waiting. He and Virgilia met here, on the sanded arena, where thousands of persons were gazing at them. Martius stepped to his sister's side, and put his arm around her. He stretched out his hand to clasp that of Hermione.
"We shall meet again, yonder," he whispered, glancing upward.
Now, just as they were being pushed into the arena, a strange thing had happened. A tall man, whom Martius had not recognized as Lycias, the gladiator, approached him and said: "In the arena, I will be near you, standing by one of the gates. If you can be calm enough in the moment of excitement, note where I am. When I give the signal, take your sister in your arms and follow me."
He had said the same to Marcus, telling him to assist Octavia andHermione and bear them forth.
"Fear not," the stranger had said. "If your God has power, he will save you all out of the lion's mouth."
Opening from the arena were several iron gates. Some of these served as entrances to the prisons or cells, where the Christians had been kept until the moment when they were commanded to come forth and perform their part in amusing the wicked emperor and his impious people. Others, four in number, were the entrances to passageways leading to the open air. There were used by the gladiators and by the employees whose duty it was to arrange the "scenery."
Each gate was guarded, in the arena and at the outer exit, by a soldier, well armed.
It was by one of these open gates that Martius and Marcus obeying the words of the gladiator, eager to seize any chance of escape, kept the women.
The shouts of the multitude arose. "The Christians! The Christians! To the lions!"
It was then that Alyrus shrank back and a deadly fear seized him. What had he done? What had he done? He remembered past kindnesses. He remembered how Sahira had been saved from a life of sorrow and shame by Aurelius Lucanus. How had he repaid him? By treachery and evil. For the first time in his life, Alyrus was conscious of sin. The Christian's God! Who was He? Could he avenge? A horrible coldness enveloped him. He could not move. Then he knew nothing more.
But Sahira, not noticing that her father was ill, was looking down at the white group, now kneeling on the ground, while the white-haired elder prayed, with arms up-raised.
There was another shout.
Martius who had never felt cooler in his life, saw Lycias and touchedMarcus on the arm.
"Come," he said. "We are not far from the entrance. Quick!"
Martius seized Virgilia in his arms; Marcus led his mother andHermione.
It was but a step, a moment and they were by the side of Lycias. Hermione was fainting. The gladiator lifted her as easily as if she were a child.
"Follow me," said Lycias, striding before them.
Dazed, scarcely knowing where they were or what they were doing, the women, clinging to the men; walked along the narrow way. In the circus, there were more shouts and cries. Hermione trembled in the strong arms of Lycias. He soothed her gently.
"Pray to your God," he said, "that He may bring us safely through."
"Who are you?"
"I am Lycias, a friend of Christians, and I, too would learn of the faith."
One great danger lay before them. It was the guard at the outer doorway, which opened on the street. He opposed their exit.
"No one passes here," he said.
"No one except me and my friends," responded the gladiator, boldly."Dare you say to Lycias that he may not pass?"
The soldier's face relaxed, but still he stood in the path.
"To-day, I have specially strict orders lest some of the Christians escape. For my part, I would willingly let some of those poor creatures flee, but I value my head."
"Perhaps thou wilt not gainsay me when thou seest my pass."
Lycias held up the bronze lizard. Really, the big gladiator himself doubted the power of this symbol. He began to fear that they would all be forced back into the arena, which was sure death, not only for those whom he wished to save, but for himself, also. He would receive no mercy, even though he had been the idol of the people but an hour before and the air had rung with his praises. It would count him little, if he were caught helping the victims to escape.
The soldier looked at him with staring eyes.
"The symbol of the chief-priest," he whispered. "In the name ofJupiter, go by in peace, and may his wrath not fall upon me and mine."
A few paces more, and the light of air of the blessed day bathed them in warmth and gave them courage.
The gladiator set Hermione on her feet and wiped his dripping forehead.
"Barely escaped," he muttered.
No one was in this part of the street by the amphitheatre. All the interest was in the interior. So great had been the number of Christians that Octavia and the others in this little group had not been missed.
Where they were going, they knew not; but that, for the moment, they were safe, they all thankfully realized and that they owed it to this big stranger with the honest face.
"Let us, for one moment, thank God for our deliverance," said Octavia.
Not daring to kneel, they turned their faces toward Heaven whileOctavia breathed forth a fervent prayer.
"We must hurry," said Lycias, leading the way to the Forum, to-day deserted for the greater amusements of the games, in which the Christians were the chief attraction.
It was a long, hard walk to the marble wharf where the ship lay on which Alyrus and his daughter were soon to set sail, as Lycias well knew. His great fear was lest the Moor might have decided to go earlier and not wait for the conclusion of the games. Suppose they arrived at the wharf and found the ship gone? What should they do?
Lycias' brain studied this problem. All these people were homeless, except the shepherd. Ah! that was it! If the ship had sailed, he would take these delicately nurtured women to the cave on the Campagna.
It grew necessary for the men to help the women, who were very weary and weak from excitement; although Lycias did not wish to call any more attention to them than was necessary, for fear that the ladies, especially Octavia, who was well known, might be recognized. All the Romans had not gone to the Circus, some were sitting in the eating-places, and women were knitting in the doorways. Fortunately, it was getting toward evening, but that would be a signal for the thousands to leave the amphitheatre and scatter to their homes.
There was need for haste.
They approached the shores of the Tiber, turned into gold by the sunlight from the setting sun. The masts were visible now.
Lycias gave a sigh of satisfaction as he saw, sitting on a grassy bank a man and a woman, who was heavily veiled. Standing beside them was a slender girl. It was Lidia, the daughter of the shepherd, who sprang forward and put her arms around her father's neck, while great tears of happiness rolled down her cheeks.
"At last! at last! thou art come. Thanks be to our God."
It had not been a difficult matter for the little scullery-maid to persuade the lawyer to venture upon a scheme as bold as it was doubtful in its outcome. Aurelius Lucanus was a broken man. He had lost his children. He had not known how dear they were to him until they disappeared. What mattered it if they were followers of Christians, members of a despised sect? They were his own, and he loved them. His business was ruined, his home deserted, the emperor no longer looked on him with favor. All was gone.
In the room near by, Claudia lay weeping. She, too, was broken-hearted. Her daughter, her ambitions, all those things which formed her life had vanished as suddenly as the dew dries upon the green grass in midsummer.
The lawyer was sitting in the garden. Bright yellow and scarlet dahlias bloomed around him; plumy lavender and rose colored asters nodded cheerfully in the chill breeze of this first of November. The water in the fountain rippled as musically as in those happy days, now gone.
That morning early, Aurelius had gone again to the Senator Adrian Soderus, to whom Virgilia had so cruelly been betrothed. It was a sign that no longer was the lawyer held in high esteem, when he was kept waiting in the outer chamber, and a message was brought him by a young slave that the Senator could no longer receive him. He would have no dealings with the parents of Christians.
Then he, too, knew their disgrace. It must have been noised—abroad in the city. Aurelius hurried home and sitting down where Claudia had rested, looking so beautiful, on her return from the amphitheatre on the Spring day which seemed so long ago, he buried his face in his hands.
An awful fear haunted him. To-day had been fixed for the games. Could it be possible that Virgilia, so fair, so delicate, shielded all her life from the rough and hard things, protected and loved, was among those Christians whom Caesar had, in his cruelty, doomed to death?
And Martius, where was he?
He felt a light touch on his shoulder and looked up with dull eyes, clouded with misery and loneliness, into the dark, sallow face of the kitchen-maid, whom he had never noticed before until he saw her tenderly ministering to his wife.