The minutes went by--a quarter of an hour--half an hour. Hardly a word was spoken. Claudia held a book and tried to read, but could not get beyond the first three lines. Lucilia sat gazing at the floor and gave herself up to sad fancies; that delightful day at Ostia now and then rose before her memory--what a difference the little time that since elapsed had wrought in three happy young creatures! Cornelia’s lover in a dungeon, Claudia’s under sentence as a traitor, self-banished and far away, never to return perhaps--while she, Lucilia--she, to be sure, had no lover, no friend, no one to care for her--but she felt for all that concerned Cornelia and Claudia, and she herself had been happy too in that peaceful country home, oh so happy! That good old Fabulla, how kind she had been, how anxious to please her guests, how full of sympathy were her clear honest eyes. And those eyes were now perhaps not less tearful than Claudia's--who so often wept at night when she thought Lucilia was asleep--for her only son Cneius Afranius was one of the fugitives too. How sad for her to miss the accustomed greeting and kiss, never to hear that honest manly voice. Yes, sad indeed--everything was sad--poor unfortunate mother! Lucilia was wiping away a tear, that had fallen unbidden down her own cheek when, with a loud cry, she started from her seat. There in the door-way stood, in the flesh, the very subject of her compassion. Fabulla, announced by Baucis, had come in, and, with a thousand assurances of her dutiful respect, begged to be forgiven her venturing to intrude her presence on the illustrious family of the high-priest. But for ten days she had had no news of her son, her letters had remained unanswered; a messenger she had sent to his residence had found the house locked up. So, in her despair, she had come herself to Rome, and as she did not know another living soul in the city, she had thought of the noble young men and ladies, who had done her the honor of visiting her at Ostia. While she was thus explaining herself in spasmodic haste, Lucilia had rushed to meet her, had affectionately taken her hand and made her welcome; and Octavia bowed politely and begged her to be seated, for she must be tired. Claudia, however, and Cornelia particularly, seemed too much absorbed in their own thoughts to take much notice of the new arrival. This Lucilia remarked, and as Titus Claudius might now be expected at any moment, she thought she would be doing both her family and her friend a kindness, by taking Fabulla into another room, to give her the information she wished. She easily found some simple excuse and took Fabulla upstairs, just as she heard the measured tread of the master of the house in the atrium. Titus Claudius came into the room with the most perfect calmness; a faint tinge of color alone betrayed, that he had gone through some severe trial to nerves and temper.