“By heaven! Claudian,” cried the Count, after a brief silence, “the girl is right, as she always is. These are not the times for an honest man to turn his back upon his country. If I could reach the Islands of the Blest, or the happy people who live beyond the north, as easily as I can walk across this room, I would not do it; and after all, what is the world without Rome to a Roman? What say you, Claudian?” “I am but a poor singer, who has lost all that made him sing. I could do little in any case, and I doubt whether those who killed Stilicho will have anything but the axe for Stilicho’s friend. Still, I go with you. It is not for a Roman to say that Rome is unworthy.” “So that is settled,” exclaimed the Count. “Oh, Carna,” cried Ælia, throwing her arms round her sister, “shall we ever be as happy again as we have been in this dear place?” Carna clung to her, and sobbed as if her heart would break. “Does it trouble you so much to go?” asked the Count. “Surely the place is not so much to you. You can be happy, wherever you may be, with those you love.” The girl lifted up a tear-stained face to him. “Father,” she said—“more than father, for you have loved me without any tie of kindred—I cannot go, my home is here.” “Nay, child, what are you saying? Your home has been with us ever since you were a babe in arms, and it is so still; or,” he added, with a smile, “are you going to leave us for a husband?” The girl blushed crimson as she shook her head. When she could recover her speech, choked, as it was, with sobs, she said— “You asked me just now what you should do, and I said ‘Go home to your country.’ Can I do less myself? Rome is your country, and Britain is mine. And oh, if Rome wants all her sons and daughters, how much more does this poor Britain!” “But where will you live?” broke in the Count’s daughter; “Where will you be safe? Think of the dreadful things you have gone through within the last few months! How can you bear to face them with your friends gone? And, dearest Carna,” she went on, as she clasped her still closer, “how can I live without you?” “My dearest sister,” sobbed the girl, “don’t make it harder than it is. It breaks my heart to part from you, but I cannot doubt what my duty is. And I am not without hope. There are brave men here, and men who love their country, and I cannot but trust that they will be able to do something. Of course, we shall stumble, for we have not been used to go alone, but I do hope that we shall not fall altogether.” “But, Carna, what can you do?” said Ælia. “You seem to be sacrificing yourself for nothing.” “Not for nothing; it is something if I can only sit at home and pray. But it must be at home that I must pray. God would not hear me if I were to put myself in some safe, comfortable place, and then pretend to care for the poor people whom I had left behind.”