r passed swiftly down the path; the eyes
of the slave followed its light but stately steps, till the last glimpse
was gone; and then, sinking once more on his seat, his eyes again
fastened themselves on the ground. His form, mute and unmoving, as a
thing of stone. His heart!--who, in our happier age, can even imagine
its struggles--its commotion?

'May I enter?' said a sweet voice. 'Is thy mistress Julia within?'

The slave mechanically motioned to the visitor to enter, but she who
addressed him could not see the gesture--she repeated her question
timidly, but in a louder voice.

'Have I not told thee!' said the slave, peevishly: 'enter.'

'Thanks,' said the speaker, plaintively; and the slave, roused by the
tone, looked up, and recognized the blind flower-girl. Sorrow can
sympathize with affliction--he raised himself, and guided her steps to
the head of the adjacent staircase (by which you descended to Julia's
apartment), where, summoning a female slave, he consigned to her the
charge of the blind girl.

Chapter VII

THE DRESSING-ROOM OF A POMPEIAN BEAUTY. IMPORTANT CONVERSATION BETWEEN
JULIA AND NYDIA.

THE elegant Julia sat in her chamber, with her slaves around her--like
the cubiculum which adjoined it, the room was small, but much larger
than the usual apartments appropriated to sleep, which were so
diminutive, that few who have not seen the bed-chambers, even in the
gayest mansions, can form any notion of the petty pigeon-holes in which
the citizens of Pompeii evidently thought it desirable to pass the
night. But, in fact, 'bed' with the ancients was not that grave,
serious, and important part of domestic mysteries which it is with us.
The couch itself was more like a very narrow and small sofa, light
enough to be transported easily, and by the occupant himself, from place
to place; and it was, no doubt, constantly shifted from chamber to
chamber, according to the caprice of the inmate, or the changes of the
season; for that side of the house which was crowded in one month,
might, perhaps, be carefully avoided in the next. There was also among
the Italians of that period a singular and fastidious apprehension of
too much daylight; their darkened chambers, which first appear to us the
result of a negligent architecture, were the effect of the most
elaborate study. In their porticoes and gardens they courted the sun
whenever it so pleased their luxurious tastes. In the interior of their
houses the