"Go to him," rejoined Nero, "and tell him that he must make up his mind to die." Silvanus was thunderstruck at receiving this order. He could not believe it possible that Nero would really put to death a man so venerable in years and wisdom, who had been to him all his life, in the place of a father. Instead of proceeding directly to Seneca's house he went to consult with the captain of the guard, who, though really one of the conspirators, had not yet been accused, and was still at liberty, though trembling with apprehension at the imminence of his danger. The captain, after hearing the case, said that nothing was to be done but to deliver the message. Silvanus then went to Seneca's villa, but not being able to endure the thought of being himself the bearer of such tidings, sent in a centurion with the message. Seneca received it with calm composure, and immediately made preparations for terminating his life. His wife Paulina insisted on sharing his fate. He gathered his friends around him to give them his parting counsels and bid them farewell, and ordered his servants to make the necessary preparations for opening his veins. Then ensued one of those sad and awful scenes of mourning and death, with which the page of ancient history is so often darkened--forming pictures, as they do, too shocking to be exhibited in full detail. The calm composure of Seneca, was contrasted on the one hand with the bitter anguish and loud lamentations of his domestics and friends, and on the other with Paulina's mute despair. When the veins were opened, the blood at first would not flow, and various artificial means were resorted to, to accelerate the extinction of life; at last, however, Seneca ceased to breathe. The domestics of the family then begged and entreated the soldiers with many tears, that they might be allowed to save Paulina if it were not too late. The soldiers consented; so the women bound up her wounds, as she lay insensible and helpless before them, and thus stopping the farther effusion of blood, they watched over her with assiduous care, in hopes to restore her. They succeeded. They brought her back to life, or rather to a semblance of life; for she never really recovered so as to be herself again, during the few lonely and desolate years through which she afterward lingered.