In this state the affianced bride of Nymphidius Sabinus was borne into her brother’s house. In this sad condition Adonijah beheld the unhappy victim of his bigotry—her to whom he had professed the most passionate love. As the females of the household removed her veil to give her air, her bright ringlets, those ringlets lately hidden beneath the head-dress of the vestal, fell round her face, giving to its paleness a more death-like character. Her whole figure, indeed, enveloped in the white robe of the neophyte, resembled more a statue of Parian marble than living flesh. Convulsive starts and deep sighs alone betrayed that she still breathed and suffered. What a sight was this for a lover to behold! Adonijah stood contemplating his work for a moment, then rushed forth in an agony of remorse. The familiar voices round her recalled the unfortunate lady to life; she opened her eyes, raised herself from the encircling arms of Nymphidius with an air of ineffable dignity, and, taking the arm of Cornelia, retired to her own apartment. Here, to the surprise of her brother and Cornelia, she shook off the anguish that oppressed her soul. It was more than Roman fortitude she displayed, it was the courage and resolution of a Christian. Throughout that trying night she watched and prayed for strength to endure the living martyrdom before her, and when the morning came she was resigned and tearless. Julius fixed an early day for their return to Rome and her espousals; she did not oppose him, but meekly besought him to permit her to keep her own apartment, with Cornelia for her sole companion, till the hour when Nymphidius would come to claim her promise.