Brinnaria stood, her eyes on the door to the vestibule, her face very pale, trembling a little, but controlled. The Pontifex took her hand and spoke: “As priestess of Vesta, to perform those rites which it is fitting that a priestess of Vesta perform for the Roman People and the citizens, as a girl who has been chosen properly, so I take you, Beloved.” At the word “Beloved,” which made her irretrievably a Vestal, Brinnaria could not repress a little gasp. Her eyes no longer watched the vestibule door. She looked at the Pontiff. He let go her hand. “You will now go with your servitor to be clothed as befits your calling.” He indicated one of Causidiena’s attendants, a solidly built woman, like a Tuscan villager, who carried over her arm a mass of fresh white garments and robes. With her and Causidiena Brinnaria left the atrium; with them she presently returned, a slim white figure, her hair braided and the six braids wound round her forehead like a coronet, above them the folds of the plain square headdress of the Vestals. “I thought,” she said, “that my hair would be cut off.” “That will be after you are made at home in the Atrium of Vesta,” spoke the Pontiff. “And remember,” he continued sternly, “that you are now a Vestal and that young Vestals may not speak unless spoken to.” Brinnaria bit her lip. At that moment they heard hoofs and voices outside, the door burst open and Brinnarius entered. “Too late, Daddy!” cried Brinnaria. “You can’t help me now. I’m not your little girl any more; I don’t count as your daughter; you don’t count as my father; I’m daughter to the Pontifex from now on. I’m a Vestal.” She was trembling, but she kept her countenance. Brinnarius uttered no sound, the whole gathering was still and mute, the noises of the street outside were plainly audible. They heard horse-hoofs again, again the door flew open wide. In burst Almo, wide-eyed and panting. At him Brinnaria launched a sort of shriek of expostulation. “Why couldn’t you ride! You call yourself a horseman! And you’ve come too late! I mustn’t even kiss you good-bye. And I mustn’t speak to you, I mustn’t see you, I mustn’t so much as think of you for thirty years, for thirty years, _for thirty years_!” CHAPTER V - ESCAPADES WHEN Brinnaria found herself actually domiciled in the House of the Vestals she experienced an odd mingling of awe and elation. The mere size of it was impressive, for it was nearly two hundred feet wide and almost four hundred feet long. Also it stood alone, bounded by four streets. Besides, it gained much dignity from its location, near the southeast corner of the great Forum of Rome, that most famous of all city squares, and under the very shadow of the Imperial Palace, the walls of which towered nearly three hundred feet above it, where it crouched as it were, on a site scooped out of the huge flank of the Palatine Hill.