Lucia had committed the little Hyacintha to the especial care of a Roman maiden, who had nearly passed her time of probation, and would soon be allowed to take charge of the sacred fire in the stillness of the night. When this vestal, who was named Chloe, went abroad with her lictors in attendance, Hyacintha often accompanied her; and when the autumn and winter was passed, and the glory of the Roman spring broke over the Campagna, strewn broadcast with the flowers of every hue, Hyacintha’s spirits seemed to rise to meet it, and the child’s heart within her beat with a gladness which it had not known since she left her northern home a year before. Clœlia had paid her several visits; and once or twice, under the charge of an older vestal, she had seen her brother. Casca was still living in Clœlia’s house, awaiting more definite orders from his father, which had not yet arrived. For though the posting service of the Romans was wonderfully arranged and carried out, whole months must elapse before the perils and losses of his children could reach the ear of Severus. It would, indeed, be a downfall to his pride to know that both his son and daughter had reached Rome robbed of all the possessions which had been provided for them, as meet for the children of a man holding high office in the Roman city of Verulam. Casca was well content. He attended the schools, and listened with the most profound interest to the orations delivered daily from the Rostra, where the eloquence of distinguished scholars was in itself an education. The military training, on account of his wound, would not have been possible for Casca under any circumstances, and he rejoiced with all his heart to be spared the discipline. The boy’s gentleness and goodness won more and more upon Clœlia’s heart, and while Casca wrote upon parchment wise sayings, which he gathered from the teaching of the philosophers and poets, Clœlia would, when the boy paused for a few minutes to rest his hand, tell him stories of old Roman valour and adventure, which was a delight to her to recount and to Casca to hear. Never had a winter passed so rapidly for Casca; and when, with lengthening days, the outdoor life of the city began again, neither Clœlia nor Casca was altogether pleased to think that their long evenings in the little atrium of the Villa Caius were over. “Who can foresee what another winter may bring,” Clœlia said. “The noble Severus will surely send orders for your future, and if he decrees it, you must leave my humble roof. I know not when I shall see Caius again; he is never at rest on shore, and must ever be fighting pirate or storm. The gods have preserved him hitherto--it may be that they will not forsake him while I, his mother, live. And for the rest, sons are made for something better than to sit with folded hands by their mother’s side. That, at least, is not the place of a true Roman.”