“Now about the future of Domitia. I wish her no better fortune than to become the wife of Lucius Ælius Lamia, whom I love as my son. He has been in and out among us at Antioch. He returns with me to Rome. In these evil times, for a girl there is one only chance—to be given a good husband. This I hold, that a woman is never bad unless man shows her the way. If, as you say, there be no stars in the sky—there is love in the heart. By Hercules! here comes Lamia, and something ails him.”
Lucius was seen approaching through the garden. His face was ashen-gray, and he was evidently a prey to the liveliest distress.
He hastened to Corbulo, but although his lips moved, he could not utter a word.
“You would speak with me,” said the old general rising, and looking steadily in the young man’s face.
Something he saw there made him divine his errand.
Then Corbulo turned, kissed his wife, and said—
“Farewell. I am rightly served.”
He took a step from her, looked towards Domitia, who was dancing to her kid, above whose reach she held a bunch of parsley.
He hesitated for a moment. His inclination drew him towards her; but a second thought served to make him abandon so doing, and instead, he bent back to his wife, and said to her, with suppressed emotion—
“Bid her from me—as my last command—Follow the Light where and when she sees it.”