Petronius was astonished at seeing in the face of Vinicius increasing peace and a certain wonderful serenity which he had not noted before. At times even he supposed that Vinicius had found some mode of rescue, and he was piqued because his nephew had not confided his hopes to him. At last, unable to restrain himself, he said,—
“Now thou hast another look; do not keep from me secrets, for I wish and am able to aid thee. Hast thou arranged anything?”
“I have,” said Vinicius; “but thou canst not help me. After her death I will confess that I am a Christian and follow her.”
“Then thou hast no hope?”
“On the contrary, I have. Christ will give her to me, and I shall never be separated from her.”
Petronius began to walk in the atrium; disillusion and impatience were evident on his face.
“Thy Christ is not needed for this,—our Thanatos [death] can render the same service.”
Vinicius smiled sadly, and said,—“No, my dear, thou art unwilling to understand.”
“I am unwilling and unable. It is not the time for discussion, but remember what I said when we failed to free her from the Tullianum. I lost all hope, and on the way home thou didst say, ‘But I believe that Christ can restore her to me.’ Let Him restore her. If I throw a costly goblet into the sea, no god of ours can give it back to me; if yours is no better, I know not why I should honor Him beyond the old ones.”
“But He will restore her to me.”