The young priestess that day entering upon her office had no presentiment of what was indeed the fact, that the years of the Vestals were numbered, and that Terentia Rufilla was to have but two successors as Vestal Maxima, and that one of these was herself. Terentia, however, knew that many new influences were at work, which were undermining the old traditions or scattering them to the winds of heaven. The fear at her heart was as great as the joy which filled Hyacintha’s, and she could scarcely assume a cheerful aspect at the banquet, to which many of the highest families in Rome were bidden. The whole day was one of feasting, and games were celebrated, and the Vestals were present in the Circus Maximus, where seats were, as in the Coliseum, always reserved for them near those allotted to the Emperor. It was there that Hyacintha first seemed to be conscious of Claudius’s presence, and when he saluted her with profound respect, she turned to Terentia, and said:-- “This is good Claudius, my father’s friend,” and Terentia was not slow to notice how the soft blush rose to Hyacintha’s cheek, as she pronounced the few words of introduction. So the day wore on in feasting and pleasure, and then the shadows of the evening came down upon the city. Hyacintha, who was sleeping after the fatigue of the day, was awakened by Terentia’s voice:-- “It is drawing near the hour for thy watch, dear child,” she said; “shall I watch to-night, and let thee dream? I have been looking at thy sleeping face for some minutes,” she said, gently smoothing back the golden-brown rings of short hair which clustered round Hyacintha’s brow. “Happy dreams they must surely have been, for there was a smile upon thy lips.” “Yes,” Hyacintha said, “I had a vision, I think. Wait till I recall it,” and she drew her hand across her eyes, and pressed it on her forehead. “I remember,” she said,--“yes, I remember now. I thought I was looking down on Rome from a high place--not the Cælian Hill or the Quirinal--it was a hill far higher. Indeed, I saw them beneath me, and I saw the temples beneath me, and our temple most distinctly of all. Then, as I looked, it vanished. It was not thrown down or destroyed; it melted into air slowly--very slowly; but soon it was gone: and then I looked around me, and lo! all the temples were fading, and a voice spoke to me, and it was the voice of a humble but true friend--Ebba, or Anna, the British slave. She, too, was changed. She wore garments like ours, only whiter and more dazzling, and she held out her hand to me, and asked me to go up with her to the city to which she pointed. But when I looked I could see only a golden glory, and nothing distinctly. My eyes were dazzled, and I turned away. Then Ebba drew me on and told me to listen, for there was sweet music. But my ears were dull; I could not hear what she heard. Then she took me in her arms, and I laid my head upon her breast, as I have often done when I was a child; and she said:--