Читать книгу Fabiola; Or, The Church of the Catacombs онлайн

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This operation performed, Syra proceeded to the little parlor opposite the porter’s room, where the higher slaves could see their friends. She held in her hand a basket covered with a napkin. The moment she entered the door a light step came bounding across the room to meet her. It was that of a girl of about sixteen or seventeen, dressed in the poorest attire, but clean and neat, who threw her arms round Syra’s neck with such a bright countenance and such hearty glee, that a bystander would hardly have supposed that her sightless eyes had never communed with the outer world.

“Sit down, dear Cæcilia,” said Syra, with a most affectionate tone, and leading her to a seat; “to-day I have brought you a famous feast; you will fare sumptuously.”

“How so? I think I do every day.”

“No, but to-day my mistress has kindly sent me out a dainty dish from her table, and I have brought it here for you.”

“How kind of her; yet how much kinder of you, my sister! But why have you not partaken of it yourself? It was meant for you and not for me.”