Poor Hermione’s eyes filled with tears. She had not the courage to confess the Faith openly, which would needs draw upon her instant dismissal from her office, and end in imprisonment, and perhaps death. She was suspected, and jealously watched, by the Vestal Maxima; and nothing but the noble family from which she came, and the rich gifts which they constantly showered upon the temple of the goddess, could have saved her.
“Don’t you love Him, Hermione? My aunt loved Him. Anna loves Him, and so does good Claudius. Father adores Him; he does not say he loves Him.”
Hermione turned away her face. She was like thousands in those days of persecution, struggling out of the shadows into the light; scarcely prepared to give up all for Christ, and yet yearning after Him with that tender yearning which is the aspiration of the soul for One who, though unseen, it loves.
Shall we not think of such in every age with sympathy and pity? Shall we not leave them in the loving hands of Him who knoweth our infirmities, and remembers that we are but dust?
Hermione quickly rallied herself, and said, “My time of leave is over. I must be hastening home, or the lictors at the gate will be impatient. When do you depart for Alexandria, good Claudius?”
“Nay, I know not whether I depart at all; but Casca and the child, and their attendants, are sailing from the Portus Augusti next week.”
Hermione took Cynthia from Claudius for a moment, and said, “Listen, Cynthia; you must not forget me, for I loved your aunt, and she loved me. You will write to me as soon as you are able to wield the pen, and you will tell me of all you learn, and all you do in Alexandria. And do not forget poor Hermione.”
Cynthia clasped the Vestal round the neck, and said, “Come with us to our pretty home in Alexandria. Why cannot you come?”
“I am tied and fettered here,” said poor Hermione; “and here I must live till death comes to me and frees me from bondage.”
“Ah!” said the child, “I am glad I am not to be a Vestal, but that I belong to the Lord Jesus—so glad!”