At the end of five minutes Lucius Rutilius had recovered sufficiently to set out on his way home with the young philosopher. When Caius Bononius, on reaching his friend’s house, held out his hand, whispering: “Calm yourself, Lucius,” he received no reply. Staggering like a drunken man Lucius hurried through the passage leading from the door to the atrium, and sought his couch, to lie awake all night.
Caius Bononius also found himself indescribably agitated. The gulf between what he had witnessed and what his reason and judgment had long since decided concerning the nature of things and the meaning of the world was too irreconcilable, not to lead the mind of one so eager in the pursuit of knowledge to try to restore in some way the interrupted harmony. Until early dawn he paced by lamplight up and down his study or the peristyle, searching, weighing, and rejecting, till at last, almost tired to death, he flung himself, still in his toga and tunic, upon his couch and fell asleep.
CHAPTER IV.
From the time of his visit to Olbasanus Lucius Rutilius, who had previously constantly endeavored to obtain a meeting with his beloved Hero to cheer the sorrowing girl and induce her to change her desperate resolve, was completely transformed.
Gifted with a larger share of imagination than of calm, unprejudiced investigation; endowed with genuine poetic receptivity for all external impressions, he doubted neither the honesty of the mysterious Chaldean, nor the truth of what he had heard and seen.
As Caius Bononius was unable to give any natural explanation of the marvels they had witnessed, his efforts, when he visited his friend the next day and earnestly endeavored to weaken, as far as possible, the impressions of the preceding evening, remained unavailing.
Since Rutilius was now convinced that the ardently-desired union with his beloved Hero would inevitably bring destruction, not only to himself but to her and her dear father, duty and honor seemed to him to command that he should not render the unavoidable separation more difficult by delay and hesitation, but accomplish it at once through a heroic resolve. Even one more interview—a last farewell must be avoided—on this point he now agreed with the woman he loved. The arrows that had pierced so deeply into their yearning hearts must be torn out by force; only thus, under the merciful protection of the gods, deliverance might yet be possible; if not for him—for he felt that without Hero life, even amid all the splendors of the world, would lack light, and color—perhaps for her, who could forget, who ought and must forget, though the very thought made the youth tremble.
He therefore wrote to Hero briefly, that he, too, had heard the decree of the goddess of death and was convinced that the inexorable will of Fate stood between them—so he would resign her. With what feelings he did so, he need not explain. As he wished her to regain her peace of mind, he informed her that he could not remain longer in Rome, where he should run the risk of meeting her and thus being reminded afresh of the happiness he had forever lost. He would leave the Capital the following day, without naming the goal of his journey, that not even her thoughts should follow him.
Lucius carried out this resolution with the haste of a man who hopes to fly from himself.