“I pray you to be kind to my brother Casca; he is far tenderer than I am, and loves quiet and study. As soon as Caius lets it be known to my father that he is under your roof he will reward you, for he is a noble, and can command money and treasures.”
Clœlia’s colour rose.
“I need not money or treasures,” she said, “nor aught at thy father’s hands. Be not afraid, I will tend thy sickly brother till his wound be healed, and Caius will settle the rest. Our fare is simple, and we know nought of the luxuries of the Romans of to-day. We belong to a far stronger race, a race which I fear me is dwindling down from giants to pigmies. I have, thank the gods, a son who fears neither storm nor tempest; sword nor famine. He is known as the bravest of the brave, thank the gods!”
Clœlia’s speech made poor Hyacintha feel as if she had said something that had unwittingly offended her new friend. Her tender heart was a little wounded, and she hastened to say—
“I know well how brave good Caius is. I know that we owe our lives to him. If we had been aboard Burrhus’s vessel, we should have perished. Oh yes! I know how brave he is, and I shall keep the memory of his goodness for ever in my heart. We shall meet sometimes, for my father saith the young disciples of the goddess have leave to come and go under guard.”
“Yes, we shall meet,” Clœlia said, “but there is a great gulf between a vestal and one in my position. We are nearly at the porch of the cloisters now. What if they do not receive thee?”
The possibility now presented itself that in the travel-stained little maiden, whose robe was far from fresh, and whose chief covering and ornament were her golden-brown tresses tied back by a plait to which hung a veil that had been drenched with sea spray and torn in several places, the grand lady vestal might not recognise a child of the noble and wealthy Severus. But it was too late now to draw back. They had crossed the threshold of the cloisters, and two guards demanded their business.
“We seek an audience with the noble lady, Terentia Rufilla, the Vestal Maxima.”
“What credentials have you?” asked a small woman in a purple robe and dark veil.
“I come from my father, the noble Severus, of the house of Rufilla,” Hyacintha said, in her sweet silvery tones. “I am to be admitted to be a disciple of the goddess, to serve in her temple.”