No. XIII; or, The Story of the Lost VestalMarshall, Emma
History
No. XIII; or, The Story of the Lost Vestal
Marshall, Emma
Christian converts -- Fiction; Rome -- History -- Empire, 30 B.C.-476 A.D. -- Fiction; Vestal virgins -- Fiction
“I think,” Claudius continued, “that they will be saved the trouble of
condemning her. The last time I saw her leading the procession along
the Sacred Way, she looked so wan and ill, and she leaned so heavily on
the shoulder of one of the young priestesses, and the expression of her
beautiful eyes as she turned them upon me was so mournful that----”
Claudius stopped; emotion checked him.
“Is there aught that I can do,” Casca asked, starting up; “aught to
relieve the burden which lies upon my sister! Tell me, Claudius, is
there a way to help her?”
“It was to beg you to start for Rome for her solace and comfort that I
journeyed hither,” Claudius said.
“I will start willingly,” Casca exclaimed, “and take Anna and my little
one with me. Surely the touch of her sweet kisses, the sound of her
merry laughter, will do much to console my sister! Yes; we will return
together, good Claudius. Shall it be next month?”
“Nay, next month may be too late; the journey is long; set forth
without delay, or it may be too late--too late,” he repeated.
“I will give orders to that effect. You have a band of your own people
here?”
“Yes, my galley is manned with a brave band, and lies in the Port to be
ready at any moment. My ship is fitted with all things needful for her
voyage, and it remains for you to give the word for starting from this
fair city, the fairest that men’s eyes ever beheld.”
“Anna, are you ready?”
“Ready at my master’s word,” Anna said; “but the child, the sweet
child, is it safe for her?”
“As safe as man can make it; the voyage in this fair weather ought to
be a pleasurable one; there are no hardships to fear, good Anna! and
I mistake me if any sea robbers will dare attack the ships manned by
soldiers who have seen service under their commander in many a battle
in the far north, with those rough Northmen who seem to be ever closing
round the southern folk in increasing numbers and with added strength.
Give but the word, Casca, and we will start ere the sun sets.”
“Nay, a week hence,” was Casca’s reply. “I have to deliver a lecture
to-morrow in the south hall of the museum. I am pledged to expound a
hard passage of a Greek Poet on the day but one after--I----”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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