They were the only ones that they had known since the fatal night of the earthquake, since that night which had witnessed the first union of their hearts in the bond of spoken affection. In all their other meetings--in every other communication which they had yet had--danger and terror, like the drawn sword in the eastern feast, had hung above their heads, and marred the tranquillity of their mutual hearts. Now, however, when apprehension was drowned in hope, they felt, and oh, how dear was the feeling! that the love, which had grown up in joy and peace, had been increased and strengthened, brightened and perfected, by dangers and misfortunes.
Theodore held Ildica's graceful hand in his, and gazed into those dark, dark lustrous eyes, reading therein a reply to all the intense and passionate love of his own ardent heart; and Ildica, seated on the couch beside him, lifted the long sweet curtains of those gemlike orbs to the countenance of her lover, and, with the mingled glance of timidity and confidence, seemed to pour forth the thanks of her fervent spirit, not only for all that he had done to sooth, to comfort, and to protect her, but for all the unspoken thoughts of love, the anxieties and fears concealed, the constant remembrance by day, the frequent dreams by night, for all, in short, which her heart told her that his had felt in the hours of pain and care through which they had so lately passed. Low and murmured words read a comment on those looks, and Theodore and Ildica once more knew an hour of intense delight.
A large chamber intervened between that in which they sat and that to which her mother had retired to hold conference with the prelate, and the veils over both the doorways were drawn. For some time the voice of neither speaker was heard, but at length the tones grew higher. The low sweet murmur even of Flavia's tongue found its way to the hall where her children waited her return, and the high but harmonious tones of the eloquent priest sounded loud, and sustained, as if he were using all his powers of oratory upon some great and inspiring theme. No distinct words, however, were heard, and then again, after a time, the voices once more sank low, and in a few minutes the bishop and the lady issued forth with hasty steps and agitated looks. The prelate was passing rapidly on, without noticing his brother's children, as if carried forward by some strong excitement; but, ere he reached the doorway, his habitual self-command returned in a degree, and, turning round with a knitted brow but an air of dignity, he raised both his extended hands, saying, "Bless you, my children! the blessing of God be upon this house, and all that it contains." That done, he again turned upon his way, and rapidly quitted the apartment.
In the meanwhile, in the midst of that rich hall, stood Flavia, with her pale cheek flushed, her beautiful eyes wild and thoughtful, her fair hand pressed tight upon her broad, statue-like brow, and her lip murmuring words which sounded vague and unmeaning, because the key to their sad interpretation was in her own bosom. At length she spoke:--"Hie thee to repose, Eudochia," she said; "hie thee to repose, my sweet child, Ammian, too, seek rest, my boy, while thou mayst find it. Ye have had a weary journey, children, and God only knows when it may be renewed."
With some light and fanciful words from Ammian, breathing the spirit of bright untiring youth, some of the slaves were summoned, and the two younger members of that family, whose fate we have so long followed, retired to sleep. Flavia listened for their parting steps; but when all was quiet, she caught the hand of Theodore, exclaiming, "Oh, my son, have you known and consented to this?"
"Have I known what, dear mother?" demanded Theodore, who had hitherto mastered his surprise. "I have consented to nothing which should move my mother thus painfully."
"I believed it, Theodore, I believed it," replied Flavia. "In your veins and in mine flows the blood of those Romans who thought life a light sacrifice for their country, whose gore flowed like water for the defence and preservation of their native land; and I am sure that if you be your father's son, no danger, no injustice, will induce you to forget your duty, and bring upon the country of your birth the tide of barbarian warfare! Is it not so, my son?"
"It is!" answered Theodore; "but what mean you, my mother? We understand not to what your words apply."
But Flavia continued, turning to her daughter: "And you, Ildica," she said, "tell me that you are my child indeed--that you would sacrifice life, and all life's dearest interests, rather than take part, or benefit by, or instigate the ruin of your country."
"I would, my mother, I would," replied Ildica, while her person seemed to grow taller, and her resemblance to her mother increased under the excitement of the moment. "I would sacrifice life, and, what is far dearer than life, I would sacrifice him," and she laid her hand upon the arm of Theodore. "I would rather see him die in defence of his country than live and prosper by its fall. Oh, my mother, you have judged your child rightly; the blood of my father, spilled by the enemies of our native land, throbs in his daughter's heart; and even this weak hand, were there none other to assert our country, might yet strike one blow in her defence."