“Yes, lady, there is no one left in the house but myself and the child Hyacintha.” At the sound of her name the young girl looked up. She had been so engrossed with a chain of Venetian shells she was threading upon gold silk, that she had apparently no thought for anything besides. “Mother!” she exclaimed, “tell me about the sight every one has gone forth to see. Why could I not go? My father might have taken me with Casca.” “Nay, Hyacintha, the crowd would have been too great. I dare not expose thee to its dangers.” “The man who is to die is a very evil man, is he not, mother?” “Nay, child, I have not heard so much said.” Then the fair-haired British Ebba turned towards the child. “The man is a good man,” she said. “He gave bread to the hungry, he clothed the naked, and he has perished because he would fain save the life of his friend.” “Ah, that is noble!” said the little maiden with a light of interest kindled in her clear eyes. “Ah! that is noble; why should he die?” “Thou art too young, my daughter, to understand the reason why a man like this Alban should die. But the reason is good, nevertheless. The old faith must be protected and defended, if it be possible.” Ebba’s lips were seen to move, but no sound passed them. “These Christians,” the lady continued, “are trying to upset, and pull down, and destroy our religion and our worship; it is only meet that they should be hindered from further mischief.” Again Ebba’s lips moved, and the child, looking up, thought she caught the words-- “They cannot be hindered, for God is for them.” “Ebba is murmuring to herself, mother,” Hyacintha said. “Bid her to speak so that we may hear.” But the curtain which fell over the entrance to the dining-hall was seen to quiver as the British slave-girl disappeared behind it. Then the lady exclaimed, “I wish Ebba would take more heed of her ways, for if she is defiled with the foreign superstitions, there will be trouble for us. There is enough trouble as it is. Ah! me, why do people make so much of religion? Jupiter or Apollo, or the Christian’s God, it is all the same to me!” And the lady leaned back upon her pillow, and very soon the dark lashes were resting on her cheeks, and she was wrapt in a gentle slumber. There are always people in all ages of the world of the same easy temperament as this wife of the noble Severus. The city might be deserted; the rage of a tyrannical governor might vent itself on the brave and loyal-hearted Alban, by torture and death, but what did it concern Cæcilia?