Suddenly the voice of the Flamen was heard once more; he had recovered his self-possession, and was standing in an imperious attitude before the altar.
“Stand back!” he exclaimed, clenching his fist over the heads of the mob as though he wielded the bolts of Jove. “What do you want? What do you fear? The law is immutable. Centurions of the guard, do your duty, as I do mine. Away with the Nazarene! Take him back to prison! And you, noisy simpletons, meditate in devout silence, till the priest shall have ended his sacred office.”
A death-like stillness responded to this address. No one stirred; neither of the centurions ventured to obey the Flamen’s orders.
“Why do you delay?” said Quintus to Norbanus. “The ground here burns under my feet. Take me away!”
Norbanus and his subalterns quitted the temple with a saddened mien; Quintus walked slowly in their midst. Once he turned, and in a tone of anguish said:
“Father—farewell!”
“You no longer have a father,” said the high-priest averting his eyes, and he at once began the interrupted prayer and performed the service and sacrifice to the end.
CHAPTER XIII.
Eight days had gone by since the events related in the last chapter. A chill cloud hung over the house of Claudia, the sources of life seemed ice-bound. All intercourse with the outer world was restricted to what was absolutely necessary; the inhabitants crept and glided about like speechless ghosts. Titus Claudius fulfilled the duties of his office with stern regularity, but without unction, dully and mechanically. His son’s name never passed his lips, and yet every one felt that one hideous thought was ever present to his mind. It was the same with the two girls. All brightness, all youthfulness had deserted them, particularly Claudia, who had borne her own hard fate with such steadfast hopefulness. Octavia alone clung unshaken to her conviction, that her husband, whose irresistible strength of will had proved victorious in so many contests, would, even in this bitter strait, find a solution and an issue.