Cornelia, meanwhile, awaited this evening with feverish anxiety. The red-gold shafts of light, thrown by the setting sun on the eastern wall of the peristyle, had never lingered there so long as they mounted to the top. And when at last—at last they had disappeared, how slowly the darkness fell! How long it was before the night-sky had decked itself in its glory of stars.She gazed eagerly into the blue depths, seeking the constellation of Cassiopeia.[42] From that spot the god, veiled in invisible clouds, was to float eastwards through the air. The stars seem to twinkle and smile at her, as though they were conscious of the favor the immortals were about to grant her. To-night! to-night at two hours before midnight—what an unfathomable mystery. So potent were the prayers of Barbillus, the initiated minister of the gods, Osiris himself, the incomprehensible, had vouchsafed to meet a mortal woman, to appear in all the glory of his divine majesty, splendid and radiant as he once stood, risen from the dead, when the man-headed bird, Amun, had restored him to life. His face, to be sure, must remain hidden from a creature of earthly birth—that divine face of the sun, before whose fires a mortal would melt away as Semele,[43] in the Greek legend, had died in the arms of Zeus. Isis, the all-merciful mother, had made her brother swear never to appear on earth, without hiding the flaming glory of his countenance behind a hawk’s head, which the people believed to be the real head of that inscrutable divinity, but which the initiated knew to be a benevolent mask.

Cornelia sighed—a sigh of longing ecstasy. Her reason was altogether lulled to sleep. A passionate desire for release from all earthly burdens, a vague but fervent craving for some spiritual rapture wholly possessed her lofty and ardent soul. Barbillus might well congratulate himself; the success of his fantastic arts was beyond all he could have expected.

It grew darker and darker.—“Go to bed, Cornelia,” said her uncle, rising from his seat. “It is late. Come and kiss me, child! I feel strangely this evening, sad at heart! Generally, when I see folly prevailing over truth, it makes me angry, the blood boils in my veins. But to-day it all makes me melancholy; I feel something like pity for the myriad-bodied sufferer we call humanity. Enslaved to all that is base, mean, and common—that is its eternal and pitiable fate!... Sleep well, Cornelia; I am weary of these struggles, weary with this day’s work, weary with the weight of long years.”

He clasped the girl in his arms, and kissed her forehead; then he retired to his own room. What was that light-colored object in front of the iron lamp! A note! Again, at this late hour! It was strange.

“Charicles!” he called into the anteroom. The slave appeared.

“Who brought this letter?”

“The same stranger as before. I did not like to disturb you....”

“It is well; you can leave me,” Cinna undid the fastening and read:

“Fly, Cornelius. To-morrow at nightfall you will be seized. Your death is decided on.... Save yourself, friend of freedom, and save your country.”

The Senator looked closely at the page; the writing was the same as in the first letter. He thought and wondered, but in vain. He did not doubt an instant. The display of force at the Palatium yesterday was in itself suspicious; at certain incidents in the morning’s sitting—particularly one apparently innocent observation made by Titus Claudius—had somewhat startled him; and now this letter.... It was beyond all doubt. He determined to take Nerva and Ulpius Trajanus into counsel the first thing at daybreak, and to have quitted the city by noon. The details could be left for future consideration.

He burned the letter in the lamp, and went to bed, calm, almost cheerful. After so long enduring the torments of uncertainty, the decision which forced him to action was, in spite of danger, far more welcome than a continuance of the suspense he had been living in.

As soon as he was asleep, Cornelia, accompanied by Chloe and the faithful Parmenio, made her way to the temple of Isis. The slave and the freedman were parted from her sooner than on previous occasions; they were left in a ground-floor room, while Cornelia was conducted up-stairs by a servant of Barbillus’.

The priest met her at the door of the antechamber. After putting off her cloak and her shoes, and saying a short prayer, she entered the sanctuary. Here, much had been altered since her last visit; the image of the goddess stood more on one side, and in the place of the black curtain, embroidered with silver, there was a sky-blue one, that fell in light, cloud-like folds. The soft floor was thickly strewn with white roses, which exhaled a delicious scent; and where formerly the altar had stood, a heavy tissue hung from the ceiling to the floor.

“My daughter,” said Barbillus, “you are indeed blessed above other mortals. Fear not, even if the majesty of the divinity should at first appal you; do not tremble, though its glory should dazzle you. All that is sent from heaven is gracious; infinite favor, even though it should seem strange and terrible. If you truly love the all-merciful mother of the universe and her divine brother—if you are in earnest in your efforts to avert the strokes of Fate from the beloved youth, to whom you are about to devote your life, once and forever—be brave and steadfast! Submit to the inscrutable counsels of him, who rules heaven and earth. Give him truthful devotion and childlike obedience, and the wish of your faithful heart shall be triumphantly fulfilled.”

Cornelia stood motionless. Her light dress and snow-white feet—barely covered by the border, the pale roses and her face, paler still—in the dim moonshiny light of the hanging-lamp, made a weird, though beautiful picture. The charm touched even the calculating priest—for a second he forgot to play his part; a ray of ardent admiration flashed from under his lashes. Only for an instant, but long enough for Cornelia to detect it. She started and drew herself up. She tried to persuade herself, that the dim flickering light or her own excited nerves had cheated her into such an impossible fancy. But do what she would, a shade of suspicion, a breath of distrust, lingered in her mind.

“What am I to do?” she whispered.

“Kneel down there,” said Barbillus, pointing to a cushion close to the curtain. “Pour out your soul unceasingly in prayer, and wait till the all-powerful god shall hear you.”

He was quite himself again—the devoted minister, solemn, reverend and dignified in his sublime loftiness. Cornelia was reassured. Still, as if struck by a sudden idea, she went up to him trembling.

“My lord and master,” she said with some agitation, “I do not know what it can be, that so unexpectedly troubles my soul. Am I indeed worthy to behold the infinite and all-merciful one with these sinful eyes? Is it possible? Is it conceivable?”

“What—do you hesitate?”

“Swear to me by all the immortals, by your own life and your hopes of bliss....”

“Well, my daughter,” said Barbillus, raising his right hand to heaven, “I swear by Isis of the thousand names, by the happiness of my life and the future bliss of my soul; the ruler of the world himself will vouchsafe to appear to you, the mighty lord before whom all grovel in the dust, from the rising to the setting of the sun.”

“Oh! I thank thee!” cried Cornelia in a transport. “Let me kneel, holy Father, and wait in all humility till your words are fulfilled.”

The priest left her. Cornelia sank on to the purple cushions with a sigh, and bowed her head; her long hair fell in a waving stream over her face and down to the ground. She clasped her hands and prayed.

Then she heard once more that wonderful music, that seemed to come out of the ceiling and out of the walls, and yet sounded so distant, so appealing, so dream-like. Suddenly the lamp went out; a terrific peal of thunder shook the air, and the room quivered under her feet.[44] At the same instant an intense and intolerable light, which gradually became milder, filled the room. When Cornelia looked up again, trembling, the curtain in front of her had been drawn back. Not far beyond she saw a magnificent pulvinar,[45] as it was called; a stuffed couch, such as the priests made ready, when they offered the food of the gods to the sacred images of the immortals. Over the head of this couch hung a light cloud, which again flashed into vivid light, then gradually died out, till at last it looked merely like a mist, dim and ghostly. Then an icy breath fanned Cornelia’s burning brow, the mist parted, and the figure of some unknown creature slowly advanced towards the terror-stricken girl—mysteriously, shrouded in some sheeny blue drapery that made the outlines indistinct, like an image in a dream.

“Fear nothing,” said a voice in a whisper.

Cornelia looked upwards; the voice was soft like the murmur of waters, and seemed to come from above.

“Fear nothing,” it repeated. “Thy prayer is heard. Thou shalt be blest above all mortal women.”

The figure came nearer, and Cornelia, with an awe-stricken shudder, recognized the grotesque hawk-head that she had so often seen in images. Yes, it was the same guise that Osiris wore down in the temple, where he stood on his plinth of ivory and sardonyx, an inscrutable combination of hideousness and dignity. A god with the head of a brute creature! How could she so ignore her sense of beauty! How could she do such violence to the instincts of her nature? By degrees her pious delusions had gained the mastery; but now—now, when the statue seemed to have come to life, when the god himself in the hawk mask had stepped down from his pedestal, what a shiver chilled her blood! She shuddered, as if a snake or a scorpion were creeping towards her.

By this time the shadowy form—which almost seemed to float in the air, so noiselessly had it moved—was standing close before her. A hand was softly laid upon her shoulder.

“Fear nothing,” said the voice above. “The ways of the gods are wonderful.”

But this god, who appeared in such a questionable shape, now threw both arms round the excited girl and clasped her to his breast with a vehemence not usually attributed to the divine beings; at the same time the mysterious Osiris heaved a sigh, almost a gasp, which in the midst of all his grotesque paraphernalia sounded remarkably human. Enough—in the next instant Cornelia had violently flung the god from her with a loud shriek, and, as he staggered backwards, she flew at him and seized him by the throat with the strength of desperation. A thunder-clap even, that broke close over her head, failed of its effect; after a short struggle Cornelia stood free in the middle of the room, with the hideous painted mask crushed and broken in her left hand, her right hand clenched and raised to strike. Before her, with distorted features, his eyes inflamed with rage and terror, was the sneering and repulsively-bloated face of the Emperor. From his cheek, where Cornelia’s nails had torn the flesh, blood was trickling out. He groaned and panted.

For some minutes they stood transfixed, looking at each other.

“Divine girl!” he said at last, in a broken voice. “Nothing but the wildest passion—a soul on fire....”

He came a step nearer, and pressed his hand to his heart.

“Stand back!” shrieked Cornelia wildly. “Is this the field where Caesar, the ruler of the world, seeks a triumph? Are these the glorious deeds of a Flavian?”

“Hold your tongue, girl!” cried Domitian, furious.

“I mock at your contemptible anger! Rome may crawl and whimper at your feet—I, Cornelia, scorn you! You clench your fist—coward! Kill me then, as you killed Julia.”

“How she stands there,” muttered Domitian, “like animated marble! I had expected a different issue to my hour of immortality. You shall pay for this, Barbillus!”

Cornelia had made her way towards the door, her eye still fixed on the enemy, and she now laid her hand on the bolt—but the door was fastened outside. Domitian laughed. He saw that Barbillus had foreseen every contingency, and this restored his spirits. If cunning failed, force might still conquer. He felt for the dagger he wore in his bosom....

“You are wasting your trouble,” he said scornfully. “Here you are mine, fair Cornelia.”

The girl supported herself against a pillar; her head swam, and the dim blue light which shone into the room from the alcove, suddenly grew dark before her eyes. But she soon recovered the use of her wits. It occurred to her, that on the other side, where the Emperor had come in, there must be another door. She sprang upon Domitian like a lioness, and he could not stand against the unexpected attack. He tottered on one side, his foot caught in a fold of the curtain, and he fell to the ground.

By the time he had picked himself up again, Cornelia had disappeared.

“Barbillus!” shouted Domitian, in the darkness of the long corridor, which checked his pursuit. “I cannot see my hand before my face—Barbillus!”

The priest came up the stairs with a lantern in his hand.

“You have betrayed me, cheated me!” Caesar yelled, as Barbillus came towards him somewhat doubtfully. “Where is Parthenius?”

“Here, sovereign lord,” said the chamberlain’s voice.

“Wait here in the colonnade with Phaeton,” said Domitian angrily. “And you, Barbillus, divest me this instant of all this foolery.”

When he found himself alone with the priest, and had got fairly rid of the grotesque attributes of the divinity, he hurled furious abuse at Barbillus.

“What?” he snarled. “There is no such thing as a virtuous Roman girl? Liar—answer.”

“I am deeply grieved,” replied the priest. “How was I to guess that she, of all others, would be the girl to disappoint you! Her soft, credulous eyes—I would have risked my head on it.”

“Here you see the traces of her tender submissiveness! She shall die—a wretch, that dared to lift her hand against her sovereign—why, the blood has run down to my shoulder.”

Barbillus dipped a handkerchief in the cool fountain, and bathed Domitian’s face.

“How it stings!” he exclaimed wrathfully. Then his brow suddenly cleared; a gleam of satisfaction dawned on his face.

“Listen, Barbillus; I believe this misadventure is of good omen.”

“No doubt,” said Barbillus, thankful for this diversion. “A wound from so fair a hand....”

“Nay, nay—you do not understand. Did you hear of a scoundrelly astrologer, Ascletario, who paid for his audacity with his life two days since?”

“Yes, my lord; all the world has heard of it, and bewails it.”

“Nonsense!” laughed Caesar, in the gayest spirits. “Do not you see, that the prophecy is already fulfilled? Do not you perceive that henceforth I am safe? What were his words? That, ere long, my blood should be shed by violence, because the immortals were wroth at my love for a woman, who did not belong to me by any law, human or divine. Well—that blood has been shed.”[46] And he pointed with evident delight to his cheek.

“My lord, your wisdom is unequalled,” said the priest. “Certainly, by all the laws of astrology it is beyond a doubt—the prediction is fulfilled.”

Domitian grinned with contentment.“So that, in fact, I owe a debt of gratitude to sweet Cornelia! By Zeus! I feel all my annoyance entirely vanishing and giving way to the tenderest regret. A girl like Aphrodite! And I, Caesar, the Lord of the universe, invite her, and she refuses to fling herself into my arms with rapture! It is preposterous! Ridiculous.... You must find means, crafty Barbillus, for you see”—and he laughed slyly—“the anger of the gods is brief.”

“My lord, but how am I to find means?” exclaimed Barbillus in despair. “Do you suppose, that Cornelia will ever set foot across this threshold again?”

“You do not understand. I want no repetition of this solemn farce. It is not as a priest, but as a man, that you must find tools for your cunning.”

Barbillus looked at the floor, musing.

“My lord,” he said, “if I know Cornelia, sooner will she perish than break her faith with her lover. Nothing but a trick could give us the smallest chance of success, nothing but the mask of divinity.”

“Curse him!—And is another man to obtain what Caesar cannot win? Is a boy, a maundering lover, to stand in my way?”

“Well, you know he is the son of the Flamen. If he were of any other family—Cornelius or Ulpius....”

“You are right. I owe special consideration to the Claudia family.—So much the worse for you! And do you mean to say that, in all your mystical lore, you know of no charm that can part two turtle-doves? Are there not women, who make it their business to entrap young men—or sapient tongues to wag away a young girl’s reputation? Is not Lycoris a perfect mistress of all the arts of seduction—or Martial a writer, whose epigrams are poisoned shafts? Come, consider the matter; try, plot, scheme. I must clasp that incomparable creature in my arms!—I must—do you understand, Barbillus—or, to speak plainly, I will.”

“Your will rules the world,” replied Barbillus.

“To-morrow for the rest. I will send my chamberlain to you early. Domitian will not be slow to recognize your services.”

He drew the hood of his lacerna over his head and descended the stairs, followed by Barbillus.