The high-priest had listened to him, motionless and silent; Palaemon went forward to interrupt the conversation.
“Not yet, my good friend,” said Titus Claudius with a grateful smile. “You need fear nothing for me. New life is dancing in every vein. Suspense alone was crushing me to death; the truth will restore me to life. Let our young friend tell us what has happened. Domitian dead! Nerva Emperor! The Nazarenes released...! I feel as if it were all a dream!”
Aurelius told his tale, and Titus Claudius listened, clinging to his son’s hands with both his own. The one feeling that he had been preserved from the last, worst horror, without having to reproach himself with any breach of his duty as a statesman and an official, triumphed over all the other various emotions, that Aurelius’ narrative might have roused in him. Again and again his eye turned to rest on the radiant face of the son he had believed to be lost beyond recall, and whom he now saw and held in the flesh. Every other consideration was swept away in the current of a father’s love, so long held in unnatural check.
“The gods have willed it so!” he said sadly, when Aurelius ceased speaking. “I cannot hold the office, conferred on me by Domitian, under the enemy of the murdered Caesar. But I yield to the force of circumstances; what till now was treason is now law. I am but a weak mortal; I do not pretend to judge the case. I can but marvel and be silent. Justice is perhaps on the side of the stronger conviction, the stronger will and the greater vigor—such mysteries can only be solved by the gods. So the first words I address to you, after these days of terror and torment, shall be words of conciliation. Cains Aurelius, my daughter’s heart is yours—then she shall be your wife. I will not destroy your happiness; you have all suffered enough on my account.”
But here Palaemon interfered with all the authority of his office. He almost pushed Claudia and the Batavian from the bedside.
“Pardon me!” he said, “but this will not do. He must have perfect rest. I only wanted him to see Quintus, that will conduce to his recovery. He will shake hands with his worthy son-in-law quite soon enough.” The whole party left the room.
“And we?” asked Lucilia, as Afranius came close by her side.
“Patience, my queen,” said the lawyer; “the fruit that has set is sure to ripen. Leave him to get well and think quietly over the past; our hour will strike in good time.”
Lucilia nodded assent, and Claudia threw her arms round her, and kissed her ardently.
Quintus was the last to quit the room; his father gazed after him with a look of rapture. Then, with an upward glance, he sighed deeply, and once more closed his eyes. He was quite exhausted, and presently again dropped asleep. His excited brain still worked in fresh and vivid dreams, but now they were not demons that hovered round him, but kindly ghosts, and his fancy bore him through rose-tinted clouds to the sunny regions of freedom and peace.