"Neither can I believe it. 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.
Martius was thrilled by her enthusiasm.
"And I, too, dear sister, will never deny my Saviour. We will go forth
together, if need be. Let us hope for better things, however. God can
do all things.
"Amen," responded Virgilia. "But, Martius, things cannot continue as
they are now. Each morning, to please my mother, I weave the garlands
for the statues of the gods, I offer sweet oils and spices and
libations at the altar. I could not do otherwise while she was so ill.
Now, she is getting better. Tomorrow, or the next day, I must refuse
to do this. What will happen then?"
They had left the triclinium, and were walking slowly in the garden.
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