“Nay, may he never see worse sights than that we have witnessed to-day. There was not enough terror in it; these miserable Christians need stronger discipline; they are so stubborn. When the beasts spring on them in the arena, and a huge leopard plays with one like a ball, then it is somewhat thrilling, I grant, but to-day! Fill the cups, and let us drink to the health of the Governor, and pour out a libation to the gods in token of gratitude that it has been given to us to crush out another at least of these reptiles.” “Nay, now,” said a young man, “you forget the executioner.” “Aye, so I did, that was a fine addition to the scene. I could laugh now to think of it!” Severus saw that his little daughter was following every word that was said with extreme earnestness, and that Ebba, who was standing with a scent-bottle and a large fan close to her mistress, was scanning the face of the last speaker eagerly. “Bid the musicians strike up,” Severus said; “our talk is scarcely pleasant for ladies to hear. And then, when we have had a good stirring melody, my little daughter shall sing us a good-night strain on her lute. Eh, my pretty one?” “Father, I pray you to excuse me to-night,” Hyacintha said; “I am weary, and I have no heart to sing.” She stepped down from her place on her mother’s couch, and with a curtsey, and graceful wave of her hand to the guests at the table, disappeared. CHAPTER II. NIGHT. Although Casca and Hyacintha were their parents’ only children, there were no very intimate relations existing between them. Casca was almost entirely at the schools, where he was preparing for active service, and receiving such training as was deemed needful for a young Roman. His father was disappointed that his only boy should be pale and delicate, that his arms should not be muscular, and that he was always at fault in any game, or trial of strength. Severus did his best to harden his only son, and it was with that idea that he had taken him with him that morning to see the execution of Alban. Severus was in attendance on the Governor, and, shrinking and frightened, the boy stood by his father’s side, hiding his face in his short toga, when the martyr was scourged till the ground was moistened with his blood. Judge and Governor alike were pitiless, and, believing they were performing an act of service to their gods by crushing out the confessors of the Christian faith in Verulam, they were determined to make the whole scene as impressive as possible. Alban was no common man: it was necessary that his execution should be conducted in no ordinary fashion. He had lived in one of the finest villas in the city, he was a learned scholar, and had unquestioned taste in the fine arts which the Romans were introducing into Britain.