y life is one twinkle of the eye, and
resurrection is only from the grave; beyond that not Nero, but Mercy
bears rule, and there instead of pain is delight, there instead of tears
is rejoicing.

Next she began to speak of herself. Yes! she was calm; but in her breast
there was no lack of painful wounds. For example, Aulus was a cataract
on her eye; the fountain of light had not flowed to him yet. Neither was
it permitted her to rear her son in Truth. When she thought, therefore,
that it might be thus to the end of her life, and that for them a moment
of separation might come which would be a hundred times more grievous
and terrible than that temporary one over which they were both suffering
then, she could not so much as understand how she might be happy even in
heaven without them. And she had wept many nights through already, she
had passed many nights in prayer, imploring grace and mercy. But she
offered her suffering to God, and waited and trusted. And now, when
a new blow struck her, when the tyrant's command took from her a dear
one,--the one whom Aulus had called the light of their eyes,--she
trusted yet, believing that there was a power greater than Nero's and a
mercy mightier than his anger.

And she pressed the maiden's head to her bosom still more firmly. Lygia
dropped to her knees after a while, and, covering her eyes in the folds
of Pomponia's peplus, she remained thus a long time in silence; but when
she stood up again, some calmness was evident on her face.

"I grieve for thee, mother, and for father and for my brother; but I
know that resistance is useless, and would destroy all of us. I promise
thee that in the house of Caesar I will never forget thy words."

Once more she threw her arms around Pomponia's neck; then both went out
to the oecus, and she took farewell of little Aulus, of the old Greek
their teacher, of the dressing-maid who had been her nurse, and of all
the slaves. One of these, a tall and broad-shouldered Lygian, called
Ursus in the house, who with other servants had in his time gone with
Lygia's mother and her to the camp of the Romans, fell now at her feet,
and then bent down to the knees of Pomponia, saying,--"O domina! permit
me to go with my lady, to serve her and watch over her in the house of
Caesar."

"Thou art not our servant, but Lygia's," answered Pomponia; "but if they
admit thee through Caesar's doors, in what way wilt thou be able to watch
over her?"

"I know not, do