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

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To our notions this dreadful act would have brought upon the girl a lifelong misery, and she would have been for ever withdrawn from the society of her friends and relations. But it was widely different then. The sharp and highly-polished stiletto was always at hand, and a prick from it, which drew blood, was frequently administered to a careless or idle slave.

If the wound had by chance been deeper than was intended—well, it was only the loss of a piece of property, and the master would bear it!

One slave, more or less, was not of very great moment to a wealthy proprietor. And the slave herself, unless, as in the case of Ebba, who had suited the whims of her mistress, was scarcely missed.

Junia was a bold, dark-eyed girl, with the free and confident manner which was sufficiently dangerous in a society like that in which she moved. She was conscious that her British extraction on one side placed her on a lower level than the proud Roman ladies of Verulam, but if conscious of it, she never showed it, and was perfectly unabashed and self confident.