Virgilia | Page 5

He would bide
his time--and then--
The young Christian wondered often whether her mother had forgotten
that scene on the day she was taken so ill, had forgotten that she, as
well as Martius, was one of the despised sect. Up to the present,
Virgilia had never refused to twine the garlands to be laid on the altars
of the household gods or at the feet of the special god which Claudia
worshipped in her own room. She had not refused because she felt that
it would agitate her mother too much, and the man who came from the
School of Esculapsius on the Island in the Tiber where the Temple was,
had warned them against exciting the invalid. It might cause her death,
he said.
Virgilia knew, however, that the time must come soon when, if she was
loyal to her faith, she must refuse to offer outward homage to the pagan
gods.

In spite of her belief in Christ and her desire to serve him, her heart
grew cold within her and her limbs trembled at the thought of that
dread time, for she was very delicate and her mother's will was strong.
How could she defy her mother? It was an awful crime in pagan Rome
to refuse to offer libations and flowers before the shrines of the family
gods, a crime punishable by death.
Had she strength to stand firm?

II.
THE "LITTLE FISH."
In the meantime, Martius was still under the roof of his father's house.
It looked now as if he would be allowed to stay there, for his
step-mother's illness and the quiet condition of her mind during her
convalescence, gave rise to the hope that when completely recovered,
she would be no longer so intolerant and would permit the religious
differences to be forgotten.
Aurelius Lucanus was a broad-minded man. In his business as a lawyer
and pleader of cases in the Law Courts of the Forum, he had come into
personal contact with several of the Christians, finding them to be men
and women of the strictest rectitude and following stern moral codes,
such as were notably unobserved by the Roman of that day.
One of his clients was a widow, Octavia, wife of Aureus Cantus, the
Senator, a woman of rare mental gifts and a personality which was at
once gracious and commanding. She had two children, a boy and girl, a
little older than Martius and Virgilia, and the lawyer, while saying
nothing, had noticed that his son was not averse to lingering in the
office when the sweet Hermione came with her mother to consult him
on some subjects dealing with her husband's will and the large property
interests now coming under the widow's control.
Octavia did not live in the handsome house formerly occupied when
her husband was living on the same street where Aurelius Lucanus
dwelt, preferring to leave it in charge of her freedman and his wife,
who had served her family for many years. She occupied a villa about
two miles from the city gates, where there were immense vineyards,
festooned between mulberry trees. The vines were now hung with great
purple clusters of grapes, promises of luscious fruits a little later, when
the time of the Vendemmia should come in October. Then, there would

be feasting and merriment among the servants, but no dancing or
drinking, as was the custom on other grape plantations, so numerous on
the broad Campagna around Rome.
Before Martius had been sent away from home, by his step-mother's
orders, in the main hope that the poison of Christian belief would be
drawn from his mind, he had been a student in his father's office, going
with him daily at nine o'clock and returning at two for the family dinner.
Now, he resumed his studies for the legal profession, and once more
walked proudly by his father's side through the crowded passageways
of the city and the broad, handsome streets of the Forum. Martius was a
little taller than his father.
Aurelius Lucanus was, like many another pagan, no great believer in
the gods, although, partly from regard to prevailing sentiment, partly
because of his business relations, he outwardly gave attention to the
formal customs of the day.
This morning, as father and son entered the Forum, passing by the great
statue of Jupiter standing in front of the temple dedicated to his worship,
Aurelius bowed profoundly, and muttered a prayer, but Martius, his
proud young head held high, passed by, without making his obeisance.
The two were followed, as usual, by a servant, who happened this
morning to be Alyrus, the Moor. He closely observed Martius and a
faint smile or sneer added to the ugliness of his disfigured face. Alyrus
had a fine face, so far as form