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Updated: November 4, 2025
It is a superstition, come down to modern times, that night air is injurious. Many ancient Roman dwellings show that rooms used for sleeping sometimes had no windows at all, the sole means of ventilation being provided by the doorway, which was curtained, opening into a larger room, or by a small trap door in the ceiling. The furniture in Virgilia's room was very simple.
Martius, by nature, mother is not cruel. It is only our religion that she hates, not us. But when the moment comes that she asks me to give up Christ, I will face hunger and privation, even death, itself, for His sweet sake." The light of that exaltation which filled the martyrs of ancient days with strength to face a shameful and awful death was on Virgilia's face, it was the look of a saint.
Bring the diadem sent by the emperor to Virgilia and the necklace, the gift of Adrian." Even in his anguish of soul, the lawyer smiled, grimly. When the Senator sent to reclaim his valuable gift, he would not find it. At least, he would have contributed that much to Virgilia's future happiness. His wealth was so great that he would not miss the game.
So tall was she that Virgilia's head was almost on a level with that of her stalwart brother.
On her humble couch lay the Old One, who had been a Princess in the court of Herod sixty years before, beautiful, admired. Her face was very quiet and the expression was sweet. Death had touched her lightly when he bore her into the presence of the Lord whom she had loved. The finished rug which she had made for Virgilia's wedding present lay under the scarlet and white awning on the Terrace.
A lawyer, though a man highly honored and received at the palace, was nevertheless, considered of medium rank. The mother of a Senator took a different position. And all this had been caused merely by a chance meeting with Adrian Soderus, when he had been charmed by Virgilia's lovely face.
He felt himself equal to the task. Eudoxia Pence, after receiving the news of Virgilia's engagement, felt more easy in her mind; she knew, now, just what ground she stood on and saw just what she had to do. She realized that she had rather liked Daffingdon Dill all along and had secretly been hoping that he and Virgilia would hit it off.
She felt that she was trapped; Virgilia Jeffreys had set a snare for her once more. She was conscious of the sidelong glance out of Virgilia's narrow green eyes, and of Virgilia's sharp nose and vibrating nostrils and fine intent eyebrows; they were all at work upon her to subdue her to Virgilia's will. She felt very feeble, very defenceless, greatly embarrassed, thoroughly uncomfortable.
Virgilia's interest, her enthusiasm, her co-operation had reared itself above him and toppled over on him just like a high, ponderous wall; the bricks bruised him, the dust of scattered mortar filled his lungs and his eyes. "Such a mind!" he thought; "such readiness; such a fund of information!" Never before had anybody offered so panting, so militant a participation in his doings.
She held Virgilia's hand as if she could never let it go, while the young girl told her of Jesus and His love, and read to her the precious letter of Paul, the Apostle, a copy of which Martius had made in the days of his exile. Here, they heard of the martyrdom of the Apostle, and his burial in the vineyard of Lucia, the Roman matron.
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