LYGIA was grieved to lose Pomponia Graecina, whom she loved with her whole
soul, and she grieved for the household of Aulus; still her despair passed away.
She felt a certain delight even in the thought that she was sacrificing plenty and
comfort for her Truth, and was entering on an unknown and wandering existence.
Perhaps there was in this a little also of childish curiosity as to what that life
would be, off somewhere in remote regions, among wild beasts and barbarians.
But there was still more a deep and trusting faith, that by acting thus she was
doing as the Divine Master had commanded, and that henceforth He Himself
would watch over her, as over an obedient and faithful child. In such a case what
harm could meet her? If sufferings come, she will endure them in His name. If
sudden death comes, He will take her; and some time, when Pomponia dies,
they will be together for all eternity. More than once when she was in the house
of Aulus, she tortured her childish head because she, a Christian, could do
nothing for that Crucified, of whom Ursus spoke with such tenderness. But now
the moment had come. Lygia felt almost happy, and began to speak of her
happiness to Acte, who could not understand her, however. To leave everything,
-- to leave house, wealth, the city, gardens, temples, porticos, everything that is
beautiful; leave a sunny land and people near to one -- and for what purpose? To
hide from the love of a young and stately knight. In Acte's head these things
could not find place. At times she felt that Lygia's action was right, that there
must be some immense mysterious happiness in it; but she could not give a clear
account to herself of the matter, especially since an adventure was before Lygia
which might have an evil ending, -- an adventure in which she might lose her life
simply. Acte was timid by nature, and she thought with dread of what the coming
evening might bring. But she was loath to mention her fears to Lygia; meanwhile,
as the day was clear and the sun looked into the atrium, she began to persuade
her to take the rest needed after a night without sleep. Lygia did not refuse; and
both went to the cubiculum, which was spacious and furnished with luxury
because of Acte's former relations with Caesar. There they lay down side by
side, but in spite of her weariness Acte could not sleep. For a long time she had
been sad and unhappy, but now she was seized by a certain uneasiness which
she had never felt before. So far life had seemed to her simply grievous and
deprived of a morrow; now all at once it seemed to her dishonorable.
Increasing chaos rose in her head. Again the door to light began to open and
close. But in the moment when it opened, that light so dazzled her that she could
see nothing distinctly. She divined, merely, that in that light there was happiness
of some kind, happiness beyond measure, in presence of which every other was
nothing, to such a degree that if Caesar, for example, were to set aside Poppae,
and love her, Acte, again, it would be vanity. Suddenly the thought came to her
that that Caesar whom she loved, whom she held involuntarily as a kind of
demigod, was as pitiful as any slave, and that palace, with columns of Numidian
marble, no better than a heap of stones. At last, however, those feelings which
she had not power to define began to torment her; she wanted to sleep, but
