And when, a little later, he led his daughter to her lover and formally betrothed them in these eloquent words, his whole frame betraying the struggle at composure, it was a consummate moral painting of humanity in one of its most sacred aspects: "Didst thou but know, young man, How fondly I have watched her, since the day Her mother died, and left me to a charge Of double duty bound,--how she hath been My pondered thought by day, my dream by night, My prayer, my vow, my offering, my praise, My sweet companion, pupil, tutor, child!-- Thou wouldst not wonder that my drowning eye And choking utterance upbraid my tongue That tells thee she is thine!" The plot progresses, and the air is thick with the clamor and strife of Rome, the hates of parties and the reverberation of war. Virginius is called to a distance with the army. His daughter is left under the guardianship of her uncle. One day the lustful Appius has a sight of her passing in the street. "Her young beauty, Trembling and blushing 'twixt the striving kisses Of parting spring and meeting summer," inflames him. He charges one of his minions to seize her, under the pretext that she is the child of one of his slaves, sold to Virginius and falsely proclaimed his daughter. With details of cruel atrocity the deed is accomplished, in spite of the desperate interference of Icilius. Lucius is sent as a messenger to the camp to inform Virginius. Lucius tells him he is wanted immediately at Rome. With a start and a look of dread anxiety he demands to know wherefore. The messenger prevaricates and delays, but, on being chided and commanded to speak out, says, "Hear me, then, with patience." Virginius replies, while his restless fingers and the working of his toes, seen through the openings of his sandals, most effectually contradict the words, "Well, I am patient." "_Lucius._ Your Virginia-- _Virginius._ Stop, my Lucius! I am cold in every member of my frame! If 'tis prophetic, Lucius, of thy news, Give me such token as her tomb would,--silence. I'll bear it better. _Lucius._ You are still-- _Virginius._ I thank thee, Jupiter, I am still a father!" The change of his countenance while uttering the word "father," from the expression it wore on the word "silence," was like an unexpected sunburst through a gloomy cloud. As Lucius went on in his narration, the breathing of the listener thickened with intensity of suspense, his heart beat with remittent throb, and he started at each point in the outrage like one receiving electric shocks.