‘Alas! they have been strangers to me, those Prayers,’ said Agrippina; ‘and though you have spoken truth to me, I see that you have not told me all.’ ‘There are times for all things,’ said Pomponia, as she rose to leave; ‘and perhaps, if you will think of what we have said, the day may come when you will be able to bear more. Farewell, Augusta; you need rest and quiet. Pardon me if I have wearied you.’ ‘Farewell, Pomponia,’ said the Empress; ‘you are good and true. Your words have been to me as soft and pure as the falling snow. I know not whether the Litai of whom Homer speaks may plead for us through another.’ ‘They may.’ ‘Then will you ask them to say something which may avert the fury of Atè from one who, to you, is not ashamed to confess that she is wretched above all women?’ ‘May you find peace!’ murmured the noble lady, as the Empress once more kissed her, and pressed her to her heart. ‘All may find it who seek it rightly from the Heavenly Powers.’ CHAPTER XXX _A PRIVATE TRIAL_ ‘Tanto vogl’io che vi sia manifesto, Pur che mia coscïenza non mi garra, Che alla fortuna, come vuol, son presto.’ DANTE, _Inf._ XV. 91-93. Pomponia had incidentally mentioned to Agrippina that she was threatened by a calamity, and it was indeed a serious one. It was strange that one so retired in her mode of life, and so entirely free from rancour and malice, should yet have been the butt of calumny. Yet such was the case. It was the tribute which vice paid to virtue. The base mob of Roman matrons avenged themselves on the chaste wife of the conqueror of Britain for the involuntary shame which they felt as they contrasted her life with theirs. Her constancy; her silence amid the universal buzz and roar of gossip and spite; her aloofness from the cliques and coteries of a scandalous society; her love of good works; her discountenance of their loose talk and complicated intrigues; her absence from the games and theatres; the simplicity of her dress, her home, her manners, her hospitality; the calmness of her temper, and even the sort of sacred beauty on which time seemed to make no impression, made her an object of hatred to the Calvia Crispinillas and the Ælia Catellas of the capital. Her presence among them was like a perpetual reproach, and they determined, if possible, to get rid of her. They would have said of her what the wicked say of the righteous in the Book of Wisdom, that they would lie in wait for her, because she was ‘clean contrary to their doings, and objected to their infamy.’