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

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“The governor and judge, however, made short work. A new executioner, one of the soldiers, was easily found, and it was not long before the heads of both Alban and Heraclius were rolling on the turf, and their blood sprinkled on the flowers. But they say in the city to-night that there are many who are full of this superstition, and that there will be many more. Thank the gods I am not one!”

Ebba, who had been standing motionless by the door, murmured something, which was not distinctly heard, and then vanished.

“I believe Ebba is one of them,” Casca said. “If it is so, it will bring us all into trouble, and my father ought to know.”

“Well, a truce to the poor wretches. Now,” said Claudius, “let us talk of other things. Ah! here is Ebba with the light. She will not leave us in darkness.”

Ebba did not speak, but lighted the two hanging lamps, which cast a soft radiance on the room, and on those who were in it. The beautiful childlike face of Hyacintha was brought out from the shadows, and large tears were seen upon her cheeks.