Her meditations were a second time broken in upon by her brother’s voice. “Hark! I think I hear Claudius’s footstep. Yes; run, Hyacintha, and admit him.” But Claudius did not wait to be admitted. He came springing in with a light step, and a cheery voice, a voice that had laughter in it, like the ripple of a brook hidden amongst moss and stones. “So, here you are, hiding and moping! Wherefore such dolorous looks, young Casca? I am in the highest spirits. What think you? I am chosen for the race to-morrow, and I will win, too. Your pardon, fair Hyacintha. I did not perceive you in the shadow of the curtain. What ails you, Casca?” “Weariness of myself and life, that is all,” the boy said; “you are in its full zest and enjoyment, while I----” “Pish! what folly! The best time is coming. Why, as soon as you wear the toga virilis you will feel the man. Were you on the hill to-day?” “Yes, I was _forced_ to be there by my father.” “Forced! Well, it was a fine spectacle; though to say the truth, there’s many a worse fellow than Alban about the city. Those sly Christians are doing secretly here in Verulam what Alban did openly, there’s the difference. They may be unearthed any day, and the sooner the better.” “I do not know the whole story,” Hyacintha said. “I pray you, Claudius, tell it to me. If I ask my father he puts me off; and my mother says it is only that some wicked men should be got rid of. And Ebba is full of mystery, and sighs and mutters, but will not speak.” “I will speak, if so it pleases you, little Hyacintha,” said Claudius, “and tell what there is to be told, always providing that I agree with your lady mother, the sooner the reptiles are crushed out the better.” “You will find a draught in yonder cup,” Casca said, raising himself lazily on one arm; “that will refresh you before you begin.” Claudius soon trained the contents of the cup, and then replenished it from a flagon which stood by it. “Aye, that is like nectar,” he said. Then he threw his large muscular limbs upon some cushions piled up in a corner near the window, where Hyacintha sat, her figure a little bent forward, and her eyes fastened upon the boy, as he began his tale. “Only a few months ago, Alban was one of the most devoted worshippers in the temple of Apollo. He spent large sums on sacrifices, and if he poured out a libation, it was of the purest wine. There was no stint with him, as you know, or ought to know. A man who professed to teach and preach this new superstition was fleeing from his pursuers. Walking along Watling Street, Alban, noticing his breathless condition, inquired what ailed him. He said the Governor’s minions were upon him. Alban, struck with the man’s agony, hastily conducted him to his house, and harboured him there in secret. “It is said that the miserable fugitive prayed night and day to his God, asking for help, and also that Alban should be turned from the old faith to believe these lies.”