“They are both converts to the Christian faith.”
“Yes,” Hyacintha said, “and they have had peaceful times at Alexandria, whither they went with old Ezra. I have been hoping for news from Britain to reach me on this occasion of my full profession in the temple, but none has come.”
“Thy father is now in the highest office in Verulam, and perchance may send a special messenger. He knows well that our festival is on the 9th of June, and it is possible some word may be sent.”
“Dearest lady,” Hyacintha said, “does not all life seem like a dream?—everything passing, nothing staying. While we say ‘This is beautiful,’ it is gone; while we exult, the cause of exultation is over; while we weep, the grief or the vexation is vanishing. Did you ever feel as I do—as if I could not lay hold of, or grasp anything?”
“Have I not felt it? Ah! child, a thousand times! But, sure, you have no grief to make you weep.”
“Nay, not grief,” Hyacintha said; “not deep heart-grief, but vexations that arise in a large community like ours; and sometimes if I try to stem a torrent of gossip and bitterness the shafts turn on me, from the young disciple, child though she be, Cœlia, in particular. Not often,” she said, smiling, “not often, but sometimes. And now that I shall have to instruct those beneath me I feel there will be more trial.”
“I do not think you will fail, dear one,” Terentia said; “you have had great success hitherto.”
“When I look back on the records of the priestesses,” Hyacintha said, “I can but feel that there must be something stronger and more potent than mere will which keeps us so secure. In all the long thousand years that have passed since we were first entrusted with the sacred fire, and Numa built us our first temple, to preserve the palladium of Troy, so few have failed to fulfil their vow. Surely this is a proof that what we profess is the true faith. When I first came hither, and Lucia told me of the punishment which befel the vestals who broke their vow, I dreamed of it, and used to fancy myself thrust into that dungeon to starve—so fearful it is to think of—and yet”——Hyacintha paused.
“Tell me what is in thy heart, my daughter; do not be afraid.”
“And yet,” Hyacintha continued, “the disciples of the new faith would cheerfully be shut into a dungeon and starved rather than deny the Man of Nazareth whom they worship. It must be a reality to them, though a false mirage to us. Is it not so?”