But the third daughter stepped up to the faltering youth with a hectic flush on her cheek, and a fitful fire in her eye, and whispered in his ear, "Aulus, my brother! unhappy one, it is vain! Thou _must_ die, for our house’s honor! Die, then, my brother, as it becomes a Fulvius, bravely, and by a free hand! Which of our house perished ever by a base weapon, or a slavish blow? Thou wert brave ever,—be brave now, oh! my brother!" And at her words, his courage, his pride, rallied to his aid; and he met her eye with a flashing glance, and answered in a firm tone, "I _will_, sister, I will die as becomes a Roman, as becomes a Fulvius! But how shall I die by a free hand, bound as I am, and weaponless?" "Thus, brother," she replied, drawing a short keen knife from the bosom of her linen stola; and severing the bonds which confined his elbows, she placed it in his hands. "It is keen! it will not fail you! it is the last gift of the last who loves you, Aulus!" "The best gift! Farewell, sister!" "Farewell, Aulus, for ever!" And she too kissed him on the brow; and as she kissed him, a hot tear fell upon his cheek. Then, turning toward her sister who was still clinging to the old man’s knees, embarrassing him with useless prayers, so that he had observed none of that by-play, she said to her firmly, "Come, little girl, come! It is fruitless! Bid him farewell! he is prepared to die! he cannot survive his honor!" And she drew her away, screaming and struggling, with eyes deluged in tears, from the apartment wherein the Senator now stood face to face with his first born, the slave alone present as a witness of the last struggle. But Aulus had by this time recovered all the courage of his race, all his own natural audacity; and waving his hand with a proud gesture toward the slave, he exclaimed in tones of severe authority: "Dismiss that wretched slave, Aulus Fulvius. Ready I am to die—nay! I wish not to live! But it becomes not _thee_ to doom me to such a death, nor _me_ so to die! Noble I am, and free; and by a free hand will I die, and a noble weapon!" There was so much command, so much high pride, and spirit, in his tone, his expression, and his gesture, that an answering chord was struck in the mind of the old man; so that without reply, and without evincing any surprise at seeing the youth’s arms unbound, he waved a signal to the slave to depart from the atrium. Then the youth knelt down on one knee before the altar, and cried aloud in a solemn voice—