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

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The ceremony was performed in haste, and then the little band dispersed, to escape observation, some in one direction, some in another, but all to meet in a thick wood, near a place called Radburn, three miles distant from the city of Verulam.

Ebba, or Anna, as we must now call her, was committed to the care of a recent convert, named Agatha, who had concealed a little band of Christians in her house in the city, and who was an aunt to the soldier who had thrown away his sword and died rather than execute the savage commands of the Governor and Judge. There was no time for many words. Agatha kissed Anna on the forehead and said—

“I welcome thee, my daughter, to the inheritance of the saints, be it death or be it life.” And then in silence the two women pursued their way through the flower-scented meadow-land, and reached the shelter of the tangled wood at Radburn before the sun rose.

A cave in this wood, the mouth of which was covered with brushwood, was the appointed meeting-place. Here Amphibalus the priest had been hiding since Alban had permitted him to escape. And here, worn out with the events of the previous day, on beds made of dry leaves and heather, Anna lay down with her new friend to rest.