Chapter LX

FOR three days, or rather three nights, nothing disturbed their peace.
When the usual prison work was finished, which consisted in separating
the dead from the living and the grievously sick from those in better
health, when the wearied guards had lain down to sleep in the corridors,
Vinicius entered Lygia's dungeon and remained there till daylight. She
put her head on his breast, and they talked in low voices of love and of
death. In thought and speech, in desires and hopes even, both were
removed unconsciously more and more from life, and they lost the sense
of it. Both were like people who, having sailed from land in a ship,
saw the shore no more, and were sinking gradually into infinity. Both
changed by degrees into sad souls in love with each other and with
Christ, and ready to fly away. Only at times did pain start up in the
heart of Vinicius like a whirlwind, at times there flashed in him like
lightning, hope, born of love and faith in the crucified God; but he
tore himself away more and more each day from the earth, and yielded to
death. In the morning, when he went from the prison, he looked on the
world, on the city, on acquaintances, on vital interests, as through a
dream. Everything seemed to him strange, distant, vain, fleeting. Even
torture ceased to terrify, since one might pass through it while sunk in
thought and with eyes fixed on another thing. It seemed to both that
eternity had begun to receive them. They conversed of how they would
love and live together, but beyond the grave; and if their thoughts
returned to the earth at intervals, these were thoughts of people who,
setting out on a long journey, speak of preparations for the road.
Moreover they were surrounded by such silence as in some desert
surrounds two columns far away and forgotten. Their only care was that
Christ should not separate them; and as each moment strengthened their
conviction that He would not, they loved Him as a link uniting them in
endless happiness and peace. While still on earth, the dust of earth
fell from them. The soul of each was as pure as a tear. Under terror
of death, amid misery and suffering, in that prison den, heaven had
begun, for she had taken him by the hand, and, as if saved and a saint,
had led him to the source of endless life.

Petronius was astonished at seeing in the face of Vinicius increasing
peace and a certain wonderful serenity which he had not noted before.
At times even he supposed that Vinicius had found some mode of rescue,
and he was piqued because his nephew had not confided his hopes to him.
At last, unable to restrain himself, he said,--

"Now thou hast another look; do not keep from me secrets, for I wish and
am able to aid thee. Hast thou arranged anything?"

"I have," said Vinicius; "but thou canst not help me. After her death I
will confess that I am a Christian and follow her."

"Then thou hast no hope?"

"On the contrary, I have. Christ will give her to me, and I shall never
be separated from her."

Petronius began to walk in the atrium; disillusion and impatience were
evident on his face.

"Thy Christ is not needed for this,--our Thanatos [death] can render the
same service."

Vinicius smiled sadly, and said,--"No, my dear, thou art unwilling to
understand."

"I am unwilling and unable. It is not the time for discussion, but
remember what I said when we failed to free her from the Tullianum. I
lost all hope, and on the way home thou didst say, 'But I believe that
Christ can restore her to me.' Let Him restore her. If I throw a costly
goblet into the sea, no god of ours can give it back to me; if yours is
no better, I know not why I should honor Him beyond the old ones."

"But He will restore her to me."

Pettonius shrugged his shoulders. "Dost know," inquired he, "that
Christians are to illuminate Cęsar's gardens to-morrow?"

"To-morrow?" repeated Vinicius.

And in view of the near and dreadful reality his heart trembled with
pain and fear. "This is the last night, perhaps, which I can pass with
Lygia," thought he. So bidding farewell to Petronius, he went hurriedly
to the overseer of the "Putrid Pits" for his tessera. But disappointment
was in waiting,--the overseer would not give the tessera.

"Pardon me," said he, "I have done what I could for thee, but I cannot
risk my life. To-night they are to conduct the Christians to Cęsar's
gardens. The prisons will be full of soldiers and officials. Shouldst
thou be recognized, I and my children would be lost."

Vinicius understood that it would be vain to insist. The hope gleamed
in him, however, that the soldiers who had seen him before would admit
him even without a tessera; so, with the coming of night, he disguised
himself as usual in the tunic of a corpse-bearer, and, winding a cloth
around his head, betook himself to the prison.

But that day the tesserę were verified with greater care than usual; and
what was more, the centurion Scevinus, a strict soldier, devoted soul
and body to Cęsar, recognized Vinicius. But evidently in his iron-clad
breast there glimmered yet some spark of pity for misfortunes. Instead
of striking his spear in token of alarm, he led Vinicius aside and
said,--

"Return to thy house, lord. I recognize thee; but not wishing thy ruin,
I am silent. I cannot admit thee; go thy way, and may the gods send
thee solace."

"Thou canst not admit me," said Vinicius, "but let me stand here and
look at those who are led forth."

"My order does not forbid that," said Scevinus.

Vinicius stood before the gate and waited. About midnight the prison
gate was opened widely, and whole ranks of prisoners appeared,--men,
women, and children, surrounded by armed pretorians. The night was very
bright; hence it was possible to distinguish not only the forms, but the
faces of the unfortunates. They went two abreast, in a long, gloomy
train, amid stillness broken only by the clatter of weapons. So many
were led out that all the dungeons must be empty, as it seemed. In the
rear of the line Vinicius saw Glaucus the physician distinctly, but
Lygia and Ursus were not among the condemned.