“——Woman all exceeds
In ardent sanctitude and pious deeds:
And chief in woman charities prevail
That soothe when sorrows or disease assail.
As dropping balm medicinal instils
Health when we pine, her tears alleviate ills;
And the moist emblems of her pity flow
As heaven relented with the watery bow.”
BARRET.
For many weary days did Lucia watch with fond fidelity the sick couch of
her lover, breathing faithful and earnest prayers for his conversion and
recovery. Though unconscious of her presence, her step and voice haunted
him like a vision—as something known and loved in other days. Reason at
length returned, the light was suffered once more to cheer his eyes, and
looking up he beheld its beams shining upon the kneeling form of Lucia
Claudia.
Her lover uttered her name, and that but once; words could not express
his feelings; to him she seemed alive from the dead; his thought could
it have found a voice had said, “God, thou art merciful to me a sinner.”
He gazed long and intensely upon his living, his beloved Lucia; a slight
scar upon her throat, half hidden among the glittering tresses of
sun-bright hair that shaded her lovely face and bosom, recalled her
peril to his mind. How had she escaped the jealous fury of her husband?
to what strange intervention of Providence did she owe her preservation?
He looked from her to her brother, as if to ask him to narrate the
particulars of her escape. Lucia guessed his meaning, and seating
herself beside him commenced her tale.
“Adonijah, thou wouldest know the history of my wonderful preservation;
listen and adore the mercy that saved me from the consequences of my
unhappy husband’s posthumous jealousy. His strange behaviour during our
brief interview—his passionate farewell, his abrupt departure, and the
terrible import of his last words, filled me with apprehension. Some
dark ambitious scheme was working in his brain, while the sounds of
distant commotion in the camp denoted that Rome was again about to be
plunged into a new revolution.
“There was no one within the house of whom I could ask counsel, for my
faithful Cornelia was absent, engaged in her office of deaconess, and if
present what arm short of Omnipotence could save me from the cruel love,
or rather fierce jealousy, of Nymphidius Sabinus. I resumed my devotions
and, in the words of the Psalmist of Israel, ‘gave myself unto prayer.’
“I was yet kneeling when Marcus abruptly entered the chamber with
consternation and horror depicted on every stern feature. His looks, his
bold intrusion on the privacy of a noble Roman lady, told at once his
errand. He came, I knew, to slay me.
“Assuming courage I did not at that moment feel, I demanded the occasion
of his coming; he briefly communicated the commands of his lord, and
putting a dagger into my hand bade me fall by my own hand rather than by
a less noble one.
“I put back the deadly weapon which Christianity and ‘the coming in of a
better hope’ forbade me to use, and then, actuated by the feeling of
self-preservation inherent in human nature, pleaded earnestly for my
life.
“I thought I saw signs of relenting in his eye, but his dread of
Nymphidius prevailed over his inclination to save me. He caught me by
the hair and raised the dagger to slay me. In humble imitation of my
Saviour, I prayed Him to forgive my murderers; this unnerved the
assassin’s arm, the blow was given, but the wound was slight. Marcus
fell at my feet, and flinging the dagger from him buried his convulsed
features in my garments and wept like an infant.
“I passed this interval in silent prayer. At length the freedman raised
his head, and, telling me ‘that he would report me as dead to his
master,’ staunched the wound in my throat, from which the blood was
flowing profusely, and demanded ‘whither he should convey me.’
“I resolved to enter the Arenaria, my husband’s attempt to destroy me
justifying the step I was about to take. I told him I would leave the
house privately that night. He wrapped me in my veil and pallium, kissed
my hand, and left me. I found no difficulty in gaining the asylum I had
chosen, as an opening existed leading from the sumptuous palace which
had formed my miserable home. The Consul Nymphidius perished that night.
He lost the object of his ambitious hopes, and I the grievous chain of
my unhappy wedlock. Words would fail me to describe its horrors, or the
guilt of that ambitious, licentious man. But from the lion’s mouth the
Lord delivered me, leading me forth into green pastures beside the
waters of comfort. During the stormy revolutions that have convulsed my
native city I have dwelt in peace among the brethren, apart from the
vain world and its vainer things. A strong desire to see the effigy of
my beloved brother Lucius conducted me to the mausoleum of my ancestors,
to which an entrance had been pierced from the Arenaria, where I was
found by Julius, who, supposing me to be a spirit, fled from me in
horror. He took refuge among the brethren, and was by them persuaded ‘to
forsake the unfruitful works of darkness, to serve the living God.’
While listening to the consoling words of Linus, he again caught sight
of me, and, still deeming me an inhabitant of the shades below, swooned
away.”
“Yes, sweet sister,” rejoined Julius, “it was not till I felt thy warm
breath on my cheek, and heard thy dear familiar voice speaking comfort
to my guilty soul, that I knew I held my living Lucia in my arms.” He
paused, and then turning to Adonijah said, “I, too, have a tale to tell;
a sad one over which thy heart will bleed.” The bereaved father then
related the death of the young Lucius and his own remorse and despair,
beseeching Adonijah, as he concluded his touching narrative, “to forgive
the sins of a repentant enemy, and contrite man.”
Adonijah was astonished beyond measure at this change in Julius
Claudius. “Could this be the vain, selfish, cruel, licentious Roman who
owned no law but his own will, whose guileful features, notwithstanding
their feminine beauty, lately expressed nothing but deceit and perfidy?”
His very countenance seemed altered, showing humility and deep
contrition, as if it were the transcript of his new heart. “Could
Christianity be false that brought forth fruits like these?”
Lucia Claudia, wiping the tears from her soft eyes, invited her brother
to join her in an act of devout thanksgiving to Him whose mercy had been
manifested to Jew and Gentile in their persons; and Adonijah united in
the Christian’s prayer with deep fervour, and yet they offered it up in
the name and through the mediation of the crucified Jesus!