After the frightful scene in the sanctuary of Barbillus, Cornelia had rushed blindly down the dark corridor, which brought her to a flight of steps in the outer wing of the building. She thus found her way into the courtyard, and from thence into the anteroom, where Parmenio and Chloe were waiting for her. “Fly!” she cried in desperate accents, and hurried on, past the ostiarius and out into the road.

As soon as she reached home, she went to her own room, evading Chloe’s well-intentioned questions with angry retorts. She lay on her bed till morning, unable to sleep. Her whole being was unhinged. All that had, until now, seemed highest and most sacred, all the transcendental dreams of her ecstatic spirit, were suddenly shown to be empty and base, a miserable illusion, a sordid imposture. With her belief in the divine mission of Barbillus, she flung from her all faith in Isis the universal mother, and indeed, in everything supernatural. It was a sudden convulsion of her whole nature, that had rent and upheaved its very foundations.

Through that long and dismal night, when she lay awake and in tears, strange voices seemed to sound in her ears. How often had she listened, only half-attentive, to her uncle, as he and Ulpius Trajanus sat discussing of the Nature of Things, of the great secret of the Universe! She had never been able to understand how Cinna could dare to deny the existence of the gods, but now she recalled all she could remember of these discussions. In fancy she saw that frank face, full of bland and happy excitement, every feature bearing the seal of moral conviction. She reflected on the deep impression, which Cinna’s words made on Ulpius Trajanus—a calm, reflective mind. And then again, she saw the ludicrously grotesque figure with its hawk-head, and the priest’s insidious and hypocritical face. What a flagrant contrast! And if the priest with his debauched Osiris was the incarnation of a lie, then Cinna must be the embodiment of truth. The conclusion was not logical, but Cornelia philosophized from the heart.

The next day she stole about the house, like the youth of Sais after he had lifted the veil. To Chloe she did not speak a word; it was as though she felt her to be an accomplice and was ashamed.

Towards noon Cornelius rode out on horseback, accompanied by Charicles and one of the younger slaves.

“How ill you look, child!” he said, as he took leave of Cornelia; “order your litter, and be carried out to the Field of Mars, the fresh air will do you good. I shall be back as it grows dark.—I have some business to attend to at Aricia. Say so, if by any chance I should be asked for.”Cornelia dined in a little room opening out of her own, if a little fruit could be called a meal. As it grew dark, her lover came to see her. All day he had felt the same urgent craving for solitude and meditation as Cornelia. The consciousness, that he had crossed the threshold of a new and unknown life, and had sealed, solemnly and forever, a covenant with a new God, possessed him with irresistible force. He felt that he must clearly face and realize the fact, before he could go forth again into the wild turmoil of city life. Rome, which until lately he had considered as the element in which alone he could live, now watched him with the jealous eye of an informer. Every corner-stone, every column cried mockingly: “Quintus, be on your guard!” Every human countenance threatened betrayal and an ignominious death.—Aye, beware, Quintus, and hide your secret as a murderer hides his crime!

By degrees the young man arrived at a clear view of himself and of his position. All that was needful, was calm presence of mind and absolute silence. Not a soul must guess what, on the face of it, was so incredible; no one—if only for his father’s sake. Cornelia alone, that dear one, whose lofty nature had always been marked by what was a truly Nazarene longing for something absolutely divine—Cornelia alone should, by degrees, be admitted to know the great secret, and be won over to the doctrine of Jesus Christ. The idea of not sharing every thought, to the inmost spring of his moral life, with the girl he so devotedly loved, was so intolerable, that he determined to try at once, at least, to sound the depths of her feeling, for some ground where he might, by-and-bye, find anchorage.

The fact, that he found Cornelia alone, seemed to him of happy omen; he could talk with her undisturbed. The evening was too cool to allow of their sitting in the peristyle, and Cornelia received her lover in her uncle’s study. Quintus was struck by her silence and uneasy looks; still, this seemed to him to be the very mood in which to speak to her of matters outside and above ordinary life.

Their surroundings too, suggested an opening. A number of book-rolls, and among them the works of the elder Pliny, lay on the large ebony table. Cinna had for a long time been engaged in writing a work on natural history which, in many respects, went far beyond Pliny; this led Quintus to speak of the wide difference between the views held by the uncle and the niece. How surprised he was then to find Cornelia’s whole nature entirely altered, as it seemed to him, when she shook her head and smiled bitterly over his passionate eloquence, and finally declared, shortly and drily, that she was cured once and forever of the follies of her childhood, and would take every precaution to avoid a relapse.

Quintus was so astonished, that he dropped the subject.

“We will discuss this some time, when we are less fatigued and in better spirits,” he said. “We both need rest; you are looking pale, Cornelia.”

A deep sigh was heard from a corner of the room. It was Chloe filling up the brasier with a shovelful of charcoal broken small.

“That may well be!” she murmured in a melancholy key.

“What time is it?” Cornelia asked her, to stop her talking.“Half-way into the first vigil.”

“My uncle is very late!” said Cornelia. “He was to return at sundown. Hark! I hear steps....”

Parmenio come into the room announcing Caius Aurelius.

“At this hour!” cried Cornelia in surprise.

“He is in a great hurry,” said the slave. “He must speak to my lord, he said, even if you were gone to bed. I told him my master was gone to Aricia; at first he seemed much pleased to hear it, but then he grew anxious again. Now he begs to be admitted.”

“How very strange! Well, tell him he is welcome.”

Aurelius came in, evidently bewildered and agitated. He greeted Cornelia briefly, and asked whether Cinna was expected to return that evening. Cornelia’s reply made him thoughtful. Still, learning that Cinna, who was usually so punctual, was already nearly two hours behind time, his face beamed with inexplicable satisfaction.

“He may perhaps be detained for several days,” he said emphatically. “Be that as it may, you will allow me to leave two lines for him. If he should happen to come in, give him the note instantly, everything depends upon it.”

“You alarm me!” said Cornelia. “What is happening?”

“Forgive me, dear mistress, if I can tell you nothing more....”

He went to the table, hastily seized the first piece of paper that fell under his hand, and wrote as follows: “The Batavian to the noble Cornelius, greeting. Delay is danger. Remember Rodumna!”He folded up the leaf.

“As soon as he arrives, before he has taken his cloak off—do you understand me, mistress? And if he should not return, tear the note into fragments, or throw it into the fire.”

“If he should not return?—but what should prevent him?”

“I only mean, if he should not return this night.”

Quintus drew the excited visitor on one side.

“What has happened?” he said.

“The worst, Quintus. Cornelius is watched, followed—but by-and-bye, my friend—just now I am as hard pressed as a stag followed by the hounds. Farewell! Who knows—by the gods! my brain is in a whirl.”

“Must you go?” said Cornelia.

“Indeed I must. Farewell, the gods be with you all.”

He rushed out to the atrium, where Herodianus and Magus were waiting for him in silence and darkness.

“Now, come—as fast as possible, to the high-priest’s house; Claudia is expecting me. If she could dream, that I am about to take leave of her....”

The whole house was wrapped in sleep, when Lucilia cautiously unbolted the side-door. Claudia was standing in the colonnade, and her heart beat high as the Batavian softly went up to her.

“Forgive me,” he said, “for daring to snatch an interview so late at night. Claudia, do you feel strong enough to cling to me faithfully through every change of fate?”

“What a dreadful question, Caius; and I have been so content to-day, so happy—the future looked so rosy.—Caius, my dear love, what has happened? Your hand is trembling—what have you to tell me?”

“I must go away, sweet Claudia—this very night.”

“Impossible! Ah, Caius! say this is a jest.”

“Nay, I will tell you all, only not now, not at this minute. You shall very soon hear from me, Claudia; but as to whether I shall ever return—that lies in the counsels of the Immortals. If you regret your promise, Claudia, if the remote and unknown future terrifies you, say so in time; you shall not be bound. But, if you love me with all your soul, Fate cannot divide us. You will find out the path by which we may meet again, and you will not be mistaken in the man you have chosen, happen what may.”

“Caius, you are breaking my heart! I do not understand it—but you will not allow me to ask.—Well, so be it then, I submit. Come what may, Caius, I am your wife, and when you bid me I will follow you. Oh ye gods! how cruel, how hard—in the midst of so much sunshine.—I cannot bear it!”

“Forgive me, forgive me,” said Aurelius, himself hardly able to check his tears. “It is a shame to spoil your happiness, but I cannot help it.—Farewell, my Claudia. Love me, remember me, and trust to your protecting star!”

“Farewell,” sobbed the girl. “And you will tell me all, everything, will you not?”

“All I can and may,” said Aurelius. “Perhaps,” he added tremulously, “I may be able to tell you that all is well, here, in Rome, in your father’s house. But, if what I am planning and hoping, must fail—-well, even then, I know that one thing will remain dearer and more precious than success—you, my Claudia.”He clasped her in his arms; then he tore himself away, and hurried off to the little door.

“A thousand thanks, good soul!” he whispered to Lucilia as he passed. The bolt was cautiously pushed back into the rings, and Caius Aurelius flew home, leaning on the arm of Herodianus. It was almost midnight by the time he reached home; the door-keeper was asleep, nor did he wake till they had knocked repeatedly.

“You may go now, Antisthenes,” said Herodianus. “I will shut up the house; you are released for to-night.” The ostiarius went off to his little room.

Herodianus not only bolted the door, but barred it too,[58] with the strong iron stanchion which stood unused in the comer, slipping it into the staples on each side of the door; and it was not till he had made all fast that he followed his master, who had lighted the lamps in one of the large rooms adjoining the peristyle, and opened a brass-plated cupboard in the wall. While Aurelius and Herodianus were busy packing up all their valuables, and particularly large quantities of gold coin, Magus, in the garden behind the house and adjoining the pillared court, was saddling three capital horses.

He had just finished tightening the girths of the second, a fine Cappadocian, when three thundering knocks at the front entrance echoed through the house.

“What, already?” muttered the Goth. “Then indeed....”He flung the saddle on the third horse with double haste, and then listened in breathless anxiety. Meanwhile Herodianus had gone to the door.

“Who is there?” he asked wrathfully. “Open the door,” answered a gruff voice.

“By Pluto! My master only receives visitors in the day time.”

“Open it!” repeated the voice. “In the name of the city-prefect.”[59] Herodianus just waited to make sure that the bar was fast in the staples; then he ran as quickly as he was able back to the peristyle.

“My lord, are you ready?” he said breathlessly to Aurelius, who was girding on a short sword. “The spies have come two hours too soon.”

“Then may the gods befriend us! I thought it was a messenger from Cinna....”

“No indeed—from the city-prefect. Hark, they are shaking the house to the foundations....”

“I will speak to them,” said Aurelius. “Do you meanwhile arm yourself and see whether the road by the garden door is clear. As soon as you are ready, give me a signal.”

Herodianus flung the valuables they had packed, and five or six bags of coin, into a large leather sack, which lay on the floor; then he hurried into the garden, gave the sack over to Magus, who swung it lightly over his shoulder, bid him mount, and, with cautious steps, went to reconnoitre from the side gate. Aurelius had gone out into the ostium, which was still being shaken with the blows at the door.

“Stop that!” he cried, as loud as he could shout. “Who dares to use such violence here? I am a Roman citizen and will have you punished for your insolence.”

“Open the door, or we will break it in,” said a voice outside.

“It will be the worse for you if you do.—Who are you, that come to attack my house by force?”

“Hold your tongue. I am here in the name of the city-prefect.”

“And what do you want with me?”

“That you shall soon know. Open the door, or by Jupiter...!”

“Very good, I will open it.”

He went forward and took hold of the bolt; as he did so he heard that some of the men outside were on horseback; this discovery chilled his blood and almost paralyzed him. He stood motionless with his hand on the bolt, which he had half thrust out of the staple.

Just then a shrill whistle from the atrium reached his ear; it gave him new life.

“In a minute—directly,” he shouted to the men, who were again rattling at the door with their spears and swords. “This bar sticks—I will call the slaves.”

With these words he flew into the garden, where Magus, who had whistled in the corridor between the atrium and the peristyle, was in the act of mounting his horse. Aurelius flung himself into the saddle; the side gate was open. Herodianus went forward slowly on the Cappadocian, which, since his misadventure in the Field of Mars, he had ridden pretty constantly. Aurelius followed on his often-proved Andalusian, and Magus came last. Hardly had the slave come through the gate, when the master’s steed started and pricked his ears in alarm; at the same time they heard distant hoofs.

“They are riding round the hill,” said the freedman.

“Then we must turn to the left, towards the Porta Asinaria,” cried Aurelius. “Hurry! We are riding for our lives.”

The horses rushed on like the wind. The neighborhood in which they found themselves, south of the Caelian, was a very quiet one, and the few passers-by, men on foot and chiefly of the lowest class, made way in astonishment for the cavalcade that stormed by. In a few minutes they were outside the walls of the city.

The night was bright and starry, and Magus, looking round as they turned a corner, could plainly see, at about three hundred paces behind them, a troop of horsemen pursuing them at full gallop.

“One, two—four—six,” he said to himself. Then he laid his hand on his sword-hilt and struck spurs into his horse, which had fallen a little behind.

“Curse them!” said Aurelius. “We are going far out of our way; the nearest road is by Ardea.”

Magus looked once more through the darkness and his keen eyes, accustomed to the gloomy nights of the northern seas, presently detected a cross-road at five or six hundred paces to the south-east and cutting across the plain to join the Appian and Ardeatinian Ways. He pointed it out to his master.

“Very good; let us try it.”

The spot indicated by the Goth was reached in a minute. The horses heads were abruptly turned and they made a good pace across the open country, along an unpaved bridle-path. The hoofs of the pursuers rang out through the silent night—suddenly they ceased. The pursuers too had reached the turning into the crossroad.

“They ride like the WalkÜre!” exclaimed the Goth.

They galloped on, breathlessly, but with uncanny noiselessness, past huts and isolated villas, trees and hedge-rows, till they reached the wooden bridge over the Almo, across which Magus led the way and the others followed. An interminable line of houses, standing out in silhouette against the western sky, here marked the line of the Via Appia. From thence it was only a few hundred paces to the Via Ardeatina.[60] Meanwhile the distance between the pursued and the pursuers had neither increased nor diminished perceptibly; only one of the city-prefect’s horsemen had left his comrades behind and gained upon them every minute. They were just crossing the Via Appia, when this man threw his spear and it passed close by the head of Herodianus’s horse. The beast shied on one side and reared; then it rushed on with increased swiftness after Magus and the Batavian.

Five or six minutes more slipped by. Neither of the fugitives now thought of depending in any way on the others; a glance backwards, a movement, might be fatal. The distance between the foremost horseman and his company might now be about two thousand paces, and he was close on the freedman’s heels. They had long since struck into the Via Ardeatina, and could not now be very far from the Oracle of the Faun,[61] where the road turned off that led to Lavinium and from thence to Laurentum[62] and Ostia. The soldier urged his horse with a desperate effort to overtake Herodianus, and drawing his sword he drove it up to the hilt into the Cappadocian’s flank. The horse fell as if struck by lightning, while Herodianus flew head foremost out of the saddle, and must have broken every bone in his body, if a hillock covered with soft turf had not lain in the way. The horseman, who could not at once check his pace, shot over the mound and some paces farther. This gave Herodianus time to pick himself up and draw his sword, and hardly had he got on his feet and made ready to defend himself, when the man sprang back upon him; desiring him to give up his sword and surrender.

“Not so fast!” said Herodianus, whose anger had risen as he got over the shock. “This hillock will serve for a fortress, and you may besiege me in it if you will.”

“Idiot!” shouted the man. “I give you one more chance; throw down your sword, or I will kill you.”

He put spurs to his horse, to take the mound at a leap and ride down Herodianus; but at this instant Aurelius appeared on the field, sword in hand. He was only just in time to save his worthy retainer, but he fell with such fury upon the mercenary that, after attempting a short defense, he hastened to withdraw; Aurelius had, however, given him a deep cut on the arm.

“Where is your horse?” asked he.

“There—by the ditch; the villain has killed it.”“Come and mount behind me,” said Aurelius. “Hi! Magus—what are you doing?”

The Goth had dashed past with his bridle hanging loose.

“Magus!” shouted his master anxiously. “What are you going to do?” And then turning to Herodianus he added: “Well, make haste.—My horse can carry two.”

“Pooh! Do you take your old friend for a shirker? Sooner will I fall into the hands of that gang, than bring you to destruction too.”

“Here! Jump up here!” shouted the Goth. He held the soldier’s horse by the bridle. The rider was lying in the dust about a hundred paces off.

“Hail to the victor!” cried Herodianus. “That is what I call prompt reprisal.”

“He is a German like myself,” shouted Magus, “and is not ashamed to run down one of his own kith and kin! But I was down upon him, by Odin’s raven!”

Herodianus, with a gasping effort, threw himself into the saddle.

“On we go!” he exclaimed, as he settled himself and seized the bridle, and they started afresh along the echoing road. Only just in time, for they heard the little group check their horses as they came up with their comrade, who had become unconscious from his heavy fall and from loss of blood.

“Pick him up, Aeolus,” cried the leader of the little band. “The dark mass down there behind the trees is Ardea. We can leave him at the tavern.”

While one of the men stopped to rescue his senseless comrade, the others mended their pace and rode on after the fugitives. But their steeds were not equal to it. Before they had reached Ardea one fell, the blood flowing from his nostrils, and the others panted so terribly, that the captain saw that the chase was hopeless and gave the order to slacken. In about twenty minutes they reached the northern gate of the town and knocked up the innkeeper.

Aurelius and his companions had meanwhile ridden at their original pace to a spot about a thousand paces beyond the little town. There they stopped; and finding that there was nothing to be seen or heard between them and Ardea, they allowed themselves a minute to breathe and to swallow a draught of Setian wine,[63] after which they went forward at an easier gallop. Thus, in about an hour, they reached Antium, still in the silence of the night. The town seemed dead, there was not a human being to be seen in the deserted streets. At the north-west end of the harbor the trireme lay at anchor and, to his great satisfaction, Aurelius found the boat ready on the shore to carry him and his friends on board. He, then, was not the first to arrive.

“Ho! Chrysostomus!” he cried, turning his horse towards the strand. “How are things going on?”

“Well, my lord. We have been waiting here ever since it grew dark. Your friends have all arrived. Half an hour since the old man came, the one with white hair—Cocceius Nerva—he was the last.”

Herodianus and Magus went forward, and Aurelius followed. The Roman’s horse and the one Magus had ridden were left behind; Aurelius’s Andalusian they took with them. The boat pushed off, cut across the dark waters of the harbor and carried the party safe on board.