-- XIV. The Cross 227 -- XV. The Crown of Light 240 -- XVI. Onward and Upward 248 -- XVII. Triumph 266 No. XIII; OR, THE STORY OF THE LOST VESTAL. CHAPTER I. A SILENT CITY. There was silence in the city of Verulam on a bright summer day now nearly sixteen hundred years ago. It was a strange silence which reigned in the deserted streets of the old Roman city, which, with its baths and public buildings, was reckoned one of the finest in that sea-girt island, which the mistress of the world had made her own. A vast crowd had left the city gates at dawn on that cloudless morning of early summer; women and children, stately matrons and tender maidens, all poured out of the town towards a river, some in chariots, many on foot, but all eager to get a good position on a flower-covered hill where a scene which would fill their hearts with an unhealthful excitement was to be enacted. For many of the Roman ladies, who wore costly robes, and fared delicately, and were at once the envy and admiration of the Britons, had inherited for the most part the passion for a sight which would now blanch the cheeks of their descendants, and fill their hearts with horror and shame. There are exceptions to every rule, and though at a first glance the city looked entirely deserted, business and pleasure alike stopped, and the forum and temples empty, yet from one or two of the houses of the higher class of Roman nobility the inhabitants had not gone forth with the multitude, but had preferred remaining at home. The villa of the noble Roman, Severus, was one of these; it was built, like all Roman houses, round a square, which was open to the sky above. A fountain played in the centre, and round the marble basin were planted the golden iris with its long-pointed leaves, and palms with their fan-like foliage; while the water-lilies, just opening their rounded buds, were rocking on the water, as it rose and fell with a gentle splash, pleasant to the ear and soothing to the spirit. Couches covered with rich stuffs were arranged round this outer hall or “atrium,” and on one of them a lady was reclining; a little maiden of eleven years old at her feet, and a slave standing by her side, with a cup in one hand and a cloth in the other, fringed with gold lace, with which she wiped the lips of her mistress when she sipped the draught offered her, after nibbling at a sweet hard cake which she held in her hand. The early sunshine had not yet come into the court, and the lady said, shuddering-- “Another scarf, Ebba, it is so cold. Ah, me! how I long for the warmth of my own country.” Ebba placed the salver on a shelf which was just behind the couch, and taking a rich violet mantle from a carved chest threw it round her mistress. “Is thy master gone with the multitude, and has he taken Casca with him?”