CHAPTER XVII.
TRIUMPH.
Hermione did not live long after the reception of this letter. She kissed it many times, and kept it safe in the breast of her robe, never allowing any eye to read it, never telling its contents to any mortal ear.
Sometimes a smile would flit over her sad face as she pictured the bright and happy Cynthia—the child grown into the woman, the loved and loving wife of a brave, good man.
Hermione had to suffer much, and the few lines she traced before her death, addressed to Cynthia, did not reach Alexandria till long afterwards.
But they breathed of hope in the lovingkindness of the Redeemer of the world, and told of the humble assurance, that, like as a father pities, He had pitied her, and would of His mercy receive her to the home of the blest in heaven.
Hermione’s death was felt to be a relief by the Vestal Maxima, Cœlia Concordia, who now held undisputed sway in the Vestals’ House. As we know, she loved the power the office gave her. When Hermione passed away, a gleam of triumph might be seen to glance from those dark eagle-like eyes; for another obstacle was removed from her path, and the accomplishment of a long cherished scheme became easier. The priests, who had decreed that her predecessor’s memory should be crystallised for future generations by the laudatory lines engraved on the pedestal on which her statue was raised, were all in their turn consigned to the sacred Pomœrium, and their names were soon forgotten.
It did not deeply affect the friend of the great Prætextatus to see the old and the feeble pass away. She was known and admired in the highest circles of the time at Rome; but love never seemed to come near her or soften her proud heart.