“Ah!” interrupted the patron, uneasily. “Quinctilla is out.” “Her father, Aulus Harpinius——” “See, see!” again burst in the youth Æmilius, “there are but two left; that little brown girl, and she whom thou namest——” “Perpetua.” Now arrived the supreme moment—that of the final selection. The choosing girl, in whose hand was the apple, stood before those who alone remained. She began: “One, two Drops of dew.” Although there was so vast a concourse present, not a sound could be heard, save the voice of the girl repeating the jingle, and the rush of the holy water over the weir. Every breath was held. “Nine and ten, Pass again. Golden pippin, now I cast, Thou, Portumna, touched at last.” At once the brown girl skipped to the basin, cast in her garland, and the high priestess, raising her hand, stepped forward, pointed to Perpetua, and cried, “Est.” CHAPTER II ÆMILIUS When the lot had fallen, then a cry rang from among the spectators, and a woman, wearing the white cloak of widowhood, would have fallen, had she not been caught and sustained by a man in a brown tunic and _lacerna_ (short cloak). “Be not overcome, lady,” said this man in a low tone. “What thou losest is lent to the Lord.” “Baudillas,” sobbed the woman, “she is my only child, and is to be sacrificed to devils.” “The devil hath no part in her. She is the Lord’s, and the Lord will preserve His own.” “Will He give her back to me? Will He deliver her from the hands of His enemies?” “The Lord is mighty even to do this. But I say not that it will be done as thou desirest. Put thy trust in Him. Did Abraham withhold his son, his only son, when God demanded him?” “But this is not God, it is Nemausus.” “Nemausus is naught but a creature, a fountain, fed by God’s rains. It is the Lord’s doing that the lot has fallen thus. It is done to try thy faith, as of old the faith of Abraham was tried.” The poor mother clasped her arms, and buried her head in them. Then the girl thrust aside such as interposed and essayed to reach her mother. The priestesses laid hands on her, to stay her, but she said: “Suffer me to kiss my mother, and to comfort her. Do not doubt that I will preserve a smiling countenance.” “I cannot permit it,” said the high priestess. “There will be resistance and tears.” “And therefore,” said the girl, “you put drops of oil or water into the ears of oxen brought to the altars, that they may nod their heads, and so seem to express consent. Let me console my mother, so shall I be able to go gladly to death. Otherwise I may weep, and thereby mar thy sacrifice.” Then, with firmness, she thrust through the belt of priestesses, and clasped the almost fainting and despairing mother to her heart.