But all the tumult and noise failed to wake Titus Claudius Mucianus, who lay sleeping and gaining strength every hour on the couch in his airy cubiculum. It was not till late in the afternoon, that he began to grow restless and to toss from side to side. Palaemon called the family, and they assembled in the room: Octavia, Claudia, Lucilia, Cornelia, Quintus and Caius Aurelius, who, now that the great political revolution was accomplished, felt himself quite free and had flown at an early hour to see his Claudia. But with them there also came, to the great surprise of the worthy Baucis, a stranger, a knight from Rodumna, who to this day had never before crossed the Flamen’s threshold; our esteemed friend Cneius Afranius, the advocate. Lucilia’s eyes, which in the midst of her anxiety sparkled with an anticipation of imminent happiness, whenever they met those of the man she loved, might have explained to the old nurse, that the unexpected guest had not come altogether unbidden—nay, that something must have passed between the two young people, which was of the deepest interest to Afranius himself, as well as to the girl who—once so saucy—now looked up at him with an air of maidenly reserve. Cneius Afranius remained modestly in the background, as if he was quite satisfied for the present to leave the old slave-woman’s doubts unsettled.
Palaemon met them with the smile, that gives new life to the relations of a sick man.
“Only go very gently,” he said, as Lucilia and Quintus began to question him.
Presently they heard a deep sigh from Titus Claudius, who was sitting up in bed, and gazing at the assembled family with wide and eager eyes.
“It is you!” he said, trembling with excitement “You, Quintus, my son, my adored son.”
“Father!” was all Quintus could say, and he fell sobbing aloud into those trembling, wasted arms.
“Was it delirium?” asked the high-priest, “or is it true? Was it you, Caius Aurelius, who saved my son?”
“As you say, my lord,” replied the Batavian.
“How did you do it? Did you procure his pardon? Did you succeed, when we had all failed, in touching Caesar’s heart?”
“Domitian is dead,” said the Batavian, solemnly. “Before his rule was wrenched from him, he died by the hand of an assassin. But Nerva, our new Emperor, is innocent of blood; he, mild and just, ordered me to strike off the chains of the Nazarenes. We hurried at our utmost speed from the shores of Gaul to Rome, and the gods willed it, that I should arrive just in time to rescue Quintus and the noble Cornelia. The decree, which pronounced them guilty, is abrogated.”