Читать книгу No. XIII; or, The Story of the Lost Vestal онлайн

19 страница из 55

He had thrown himself down on a couch, his hands folded behind his head, and his whole attitude one of extreme weariness.

“What do you want, Hyacintha?”

“I want news,” she replied; “tell me what you have seen to-day. Do tell me all the truth about the death of the evil man.”

Casca sprang up.

“Hush! Do not speak of that you know not, child. Evil, forsooth! he was good, not evil.”

“That is what I want to be sure of. Be kind, brother, be kind, and tell me the story.”

But Casca sank back again upon his cushion, and said—

“Not to-night. I shall never sleep if I rehearse it. I could not go over it again. Who are below?” he asked, as the sounds of music and singing came from the atrium.

“A few guests, some that my father brought home; no ladies but my mother.”

“Is not Junia there, the sister of Claudius?”

“No, unless she has arrived since I left the banqueting-hall. I would not stay, though father prayed me to sing to the lute. I could not stay, because I wanted to find thee.”

“Dear little sister,” Casca said, “I would not be rough to thee.”