“All this was clear before him, but of the later days at Rome he said little, and that little was confused. He loved to hear me read the Gospels, and the vision of the great Apostle of Love at Patmos, I would repeat again and again. He spoke to me of Heraclitus, and said he was worthy of my love, if my father consented, but father, dear father, held back a little. He seemed unable to give me up, even to Heraclitus.
“It was almost the last words that passed dear Claudius’s lips—‘Give Hyacintha to the young Heraclitus’—for when he lay dying, Claudius ever called me by my full name. He would gaze at me with dreamy eyes, and said, though I was so high above him he loved me still.
“He was thinking of the other Hyacintha, no doubt.
“He departed in peace; and then, within a month, dear Anna followed him. Ah, Hermione! she died in the Faith, and she has left behind her the memory of true service, which will never pass away.
“My father said no word on the subject nearest my heart. And Heraclitus, brave and true, and noble, said he would not press an old man unduly, for there was time before us; we were both so young.
“But it happened one day that another suitor came to my father, and asked his leave to marry me. I hated this man, though he is one of the richest in all Alexandria. My father put him off with the excuse that he could not spare me, and that I was very young, but he did not acknowledge what was indeed the truth, that in my secret heart I was bound to Heraclitus.
“My father, ever quiet, and gentle, and courteous, can scarcely think of others as less so than himself, and he was perhaps not sufficiently firm in his refusal. Be that as it may, I was walking with my attendant, Portia, in the Museum gardens one evening, with a book in my hand, when this hateful man accosted me. He said at first all manner of smooth and flattering things, and then when I turned away, he grew angry, and seized my arm. I was frightened, and struggling to get away, called for help. Help was near. With one blow Heraclitus had felled the man to the ground, and, leaving him there, bore me in his arms to my father.
“‘Give her to me,’ he exclaimed. ‘Give me the right to protect her from all insult henceforth.’ And so it was settled. And my dear father made preparations for our marriage, and we live with him in such happiness as I can never tell.
“It cannot but happen that living as I do with such scholars as my father and my husband, I should become well versed in the literature of the schools. I love to hear those who are so full of learning discourse. We have a large house now, and many frequent it. I am the mistress of it, and I have to fulfil its duties. Ah, Hermione! why am I so blessed by God? What have I done to merit His goodness, thus shown to me? It makes me sad at times, to think of you, in your dark, dim, shadowy life, in the old Vestals’ House. That is not real life, Hermione, cut off from all the sweet home ties which bind a happy wife with silken fetters.
“I pray you to send me a letter, and tell me if she is less arrogant and hard to you, and if the faith of our Lord, yet unconfessed, is growing clearer to you. I crave to hear it is so. And now, fare you well. I would fain greet you with a kiss. Think of me as your friend, the happy wife of Heraclitus, and daughter of Casca Severus.”