“Who brought this letter?”
“The same stranger as before. I did not like to disturb you....”
“It is well; you can leave me,” Cinna undid the fastening and read:
“Fly, Cornelius. To-morrow at nightfall you will be seized. Your death is decided on.... Save yourself, friend of freedom, and save your country.”
The Senator looked closely at the page; the writing was the same as in the first letter. He thought and wondered, but in vain. He did not doubt an instant. The display of force at the Palatium yesterday was in itself suspicious; at certain incidents in the morning’s sitting—particularly one apparently innocent observation made by Titus Claudius—had somewhat startled him; and now this letter.... It was beyond all doubt. He determined to take Nerva and Ulpius Trajanus into counsel the first thing at daybreak, and to have quitted the city by noon. The details could be left for future consideration.
He burned the letter in the lamp, and went to bed, calm, almost cheerful. After so long enduring the torments of uncertainty, the decision which forced him to action was, in spite of danger, far more welcome than a continuance of the suspense he had been living in.
As soon as he was asleep, Cornelia, accompanied by Chloe and the faithful Parmenio, made her way to the temple of Isis. The slave and the freedman were parted from her sooner than on previous occasions; they were left in a ground-floor room, while Cornelia was conducted up-stairs by a servant of Barbillus’.
The priest met her at the door of the antechamber. After putting off her cloak and her shoes, and saying a short prayer, she entered the sanctuary. Here, much had been altered since her last visit; the image of the goddess stood more on one side, and in the place of the black curtain, embroidered with silver, there was a sky-blue one, that fell in light, cloud-like folds. The soft floor was thickly strewn with white roses, which exhaled a delicious scent; and where formerly the altar had stood, a heavy tissue hung from the ceiling to the floor.
“My daughter,” said Barbillus, “you are indeed blessed above other mortals. Fear not, even if the majesty of the divinity should at first appal you; do not tremble, though its glory should dazzle you. All that is sent from heaven is gracious; infinite favor, even though it should seem strange and terrible. If you truly love the all-merciful mother of the universe and her divine brother—if you are in earnest in your efforts to avert the strokes of Fate from the beloved youth, to whom you are about to devote your life, once and forever—be brave and steadfast! Submit to the inscrutable counsels of him, who rules heaven and earth. Give him truthful devotion and childlike obedience, and the wish of your faithful heart shall be triumphantly fulfilled.”
Cornelia stood motionless. Her light dress and snow-white feet—barely covered by the border, the pale roses and her face, paler still—in the dim moonshiny light of the hanging-lamp, made a weird, though beautiful picture. The charm touched even the calculating priest—for a second he forgot to play his part; a ray of ardent admiration flashed from under his lashes. Only for an instant, but long enough for Cornelia to detect it. She started and drew herself up. She tried to persuade herself, that the dim flickering light or her own excited nerves had cheated her into such an impossible fancy. But do what she would, a shade of suspicion, a breath of distrust, lingered in her mind.