Hermione recognised the officer. She had seen him often, for whenever the Vestals were in public, that tall stalwart figure was always hovering near; and once or twice in the early part of this year Hyacintha had referred to him as a friend of her childhood’s days in Verulam. Claudius had, indeed, watched her from a distance, never offending her by approaching her, loving her with that purest of all loves, the love which can sacrifice everything for the one beloved. Claudius had noted the gradual decay of Hyacintha’s strength, and reading her aright, he had, as we know, hastened to Alexandria, to bring, if possible, the brother whom she had so dearly loved to her side. Casca now approached Hermione. “I am Casca Severus,” he said, “the brother of the Vestal Maxima, Hyacintha Severa. Can I see her?” “She lies at the point of death,” Hermione answered, with a short quick sob. “She is leaving us--and, ah! whither is she going?” Casca did not reply, but little Cynthia, looking up at the Vestal with her clear wondering eyes, said:-- “She is going to God. Anna says that dead people are only gone to God.” Hermione stooped, and raising the child in her arms, motioned to Casca to follow her. Anna’s wistful face seemed to ask that she might also come, but Claudius turned away, and going to the porta, stood leaning against the stone columns which supported it, where the lictors in charge of the Vestals for that morning, coming and going, also stood with quiet unmoved faces, as if carved in marble like the statues behind them. Presently a man, with an attendant, who bore a basket of sharp tools, came up. They passed Claudius, and he saw them go towards a statue. Then the workman’s sharp-pointed tools were examined, and a scroll of parchment laid out on the ground. With easy grace the sculptor threw himself down at the feet of the statue, and began to carve the inscription. Claudius watched him like one in a dream. There was no need to tell him who that noble and majestic statue represented. He turned and went a few steps further into the interior of the atrium, and saw the sharp point of the tool in the skilful hands of the sculptor, carving the words. They were words of praise, which have, after centuries of obscurity, been lately brought to light. Every stroke of the chisel, every turn of the well-skilled wrist, was watched by the brave soldier, who stood leaning against one of the beautiful pillars. “Ob meritum castitatis pudicitiæ atque in sacris religionibusque doctrinæ mirabilis, Hyacinthæ Severæ Virgini Vestali Maximæ.” That name, which had been for so many years enshrined in the brave soldier’s heart, was just traced on the stone, when a group of Vestals came fluttering towards the place. “The Vestal Maxima is departing,” an old Vestal said, touching Claudius’s shoulder. “Hermione bids me conduct you to her chamber, where her brother and her servant have watched for the last hour.”