"Aulus, art thou afraid to die?—thou, who hast sworn so deeply to dye thine hands in _my_ gore, in the gore of all who loved their country? Art thou afraid to die, stabber, adulterer, poisoner, ravisher, parricide, Catilinarian? Art thou afraid to die? I should have thought, when thou didst put on such resolves, thou wouldst have cast aside all that is human! Once more, I say, art thou afraid to die?" "To die!" he exclaimed in husky tones, which seemed to stick in his parched throat—"to die! to be nothing!" And again the convulsive shudder ran through his whole frame. But ere the Senator could open his lips to reply, the blind old grandam asked, in a voice so clear and shrill that its accents seemed to pierce the very souls of all who heard it— "Is he a coward, Aulus Fulvius? Is he a coward, too, as well as a villain? The first of our race, is he a coward?" "I fear it," answered the old man gloomily. "But, cowardly or brave, he must disgrace our house no farther. His time is come! his fate cries out for him! Aulus must die! happy to die without the taint of public and detected infamy—happy to die unseen in his father’s house, not in the base and sordid Tullianum." "Mother! mother!" exclaimed the wretched youth in a paroxysm of agony. "Sisters, speak for me—plead for me! I am young, oh, too young to die!" "The mother, whom thou hast sworn to murder—the sisters, whose virgin youth thou hast agreed to yield to the licentious arms of thy foul confederates!" answered the old man sternly; while the women, with blanched visages, convulsed with agony, were silent, even to that appeal. "Speak, speak! will you not speak for me, for your first-born son, my mother?" "Farewell!"—the cold word came forth from her pallid lips, with a mighty effort—"Farewell, unhappy!" And, unable to endure the dreadful scene any longer, she arose from her seat, and laid her hand on the blind woman’s arm. "Come," she said, "mother of my lord! our task is ended! his doom spoken! Let us go hence!" But the youngest sister, overcoming her fear of the stern father, her modesty of youth, and her sense of high-strained honor, cast herself at the old man’s feet, and clung about his knees, crying with a shrill painful cry— "Oh, father! by your right hand! by your gray head! by all the Gods! I implore you, pardon, spare him!" "Up! up! base girl!" cried the old man; "wouldst have the infamy of our house made public? and thou, most miserable boy, spare her, thou, this disgrace, and me this anguish—veil thy head! bow thee to the block! bid the slave do his office! At least, Aulus, if thou hast not lived, at least die, a Roman!" The second of the girls, while her sister had made that fruitless appeal to the father’s mercy, walked steadily to her brother, kissed his brow with a tearless eye, and in a low voice bade him "Farewell for ever!" then turned away, impassive as her father, and followed her mother and the blind grandam from the fatal hall.