CHAPTER XV.
DRAWING TO THE LIGHT.
In the old home of Gabii, under the tender care of Euphrosyne and in thesoothing company of Glyceria, little by little, stage by stage, Domitiarecovered.
There was a horrible past to which no reference might be made. The trueBritish slave, Eboracus, was ever at hand to help--when needed. Never aday, never half a day, but his honest face appeared at the door to inquireafter his dear lady, and as her senses came flickering back, it was he towhom she clung to take her in his arms into the trellised walk, or whenstronger to lead her where she could pick violets for Glyceria, and topile about the feet of the little statue of the Good Shepherd. He took hera row on the lake and let her fish--he found nests of young birds andbrought them to her; and all at once disclosed great powers ofstory-telling; he told marvellous British tales as to a little child, ofthe ploughing of Hu Cadarn, of Ceridwen and her cauldron. And he wouldsing--he fashioned himself a harp, of British shape, and sang as heaccompanied himself, but his ballads were all in the Celtic tongue thatDomitia could not understand--nevertheless it soothed and pleased her tolisten to his music.
Longa Duilia did not visit her often. She made formal duty calls at longintervals, and as Domitia became better, these visits grew proportionatelyfewer.
Duilia, as she herself said, was not created to be a nurse. She knew thatsome were fitted by nature to attend to the sick, and all that sort ofthing--but it was not her gift. Society was her sphere in which she floatedand which she adorned, but she was distraught and drooping in a sick-room.She wished she had the faculty--and all that sort of thing--but all womenwere not cast in the same mould, run out of the same metal--and, my dear,parenthetically--some are of lead, others of Corinthian brass--and which arewhich it is not for me to say--she thanked the Gods it was so.
Nor did the visits and efforts to amuse, of Duilia, avail anything towardsDomitia's cure. On the contrary, she was always worse after her mother hadbeen with her. The old lady ripped up ill-healed sores, harped on oldassociations, could not check her tongue from scolding.
"My poor dear child--I never made a greater blunder in my life--I, too, whohave the pedigree at my finger's ends--as to fancy that there was anyconnection with those Flavians. My dear! yellow hair is quite out offashion now, quite out. Look at mine, a raven's wing is not darker. It wasthrough Vespasia Polla--I thought we were related--stupid that I was--it wasthe Vipsanians we were allied to, not those low and beggarly Vespasians.As the Gods love me, I believe Polla's father was an army contractor. ButI have made it all right. I have smudged out the line I had added to thefamily tree, and as for the wax heads of those Flavians, I have had themmelted up. Will you believe it--I had the mask of Domitian run into a potand that stupid Lucilla did not put a cover on it, and the rats have eatenit--eaten all the wax. I hope it has clogged their stomachs and given themindigestion. They doubtless thought it was dripping. But I really havemade a most surprising discovery. I find there was an alliance with theCocceii--most respectable family, very ancient, admirable men all--and sothere is a sort of cousinship with the present admirable prince. Hisbrother Aulus--rather old perhaps--but an estimable man--is--well--may be--in aword, I intend to give a little supper--a dainty affair--all in the beststyle--so sorry you can't be there, my dear Domitia--but of courseabsolutely impossible. Your state of health and all that sort of thing.Don't be surprised if you hear--but there, there--he is rather old though,for one who is only just turning off the very bloom of life and beauty."
After such a visit and such talk the mind of Domitia was troubled forseveral days. She became timid, alarmed at the least noise, anddistraught. But then the poor crippled woman succeeded in comforting andlaying her troubles, and the painful expression faded from her face. Itbecame placid, but always with a sadness that was inseparable from theeyes, and a tremulousness of the lips, as though a very little--a roughword or two--would dissolve her into tears.
With the spring, the growing light, the increasing warmth, the burstinglife in plant and insect, she began to amend more steadily, and relapsesbecame fewer.
One sweet spring day, when Glyceria had been carried forth into thegarden, and Domitia sat on the turf near her with purple anemones in herlap, that she was binding into a garland, the paralyzed woman was startledby hearing Domitia suddenly speak of the past.
She spoke, and continued weaving the flowers, "My Glyceria, I intend thisfor the little temple of my father. It is all I can do for him--to giveflowers where his ashes lie--but it does not content me. There were twowhom I loved and looked up to as the best of men, and both are gone--goneto dust: my own dearest father, and my lover, my husband, Lamia. I cannotbear to think of them as heaps of ashes or as wandering ghosts. When thatthought comes over me, I seem to be as one drowning, and then darkness isbefore my eyes. I cannot cry--I smother."
"Why should you think of them as wandering ghosts or as heaps of dust?"
"I know that they are dust--I suppose they are shadows. But of anythingelse, all is guess-work, we know nothing--and that is so horrible. I lovetwo only--have loved two only--and they are no more than shadows. No, no! Imean not that." She flung her arms about Glyceria, and laid her cheekagainst that of the sick woman. "No, I do love you, and I love Euphrosyneand I love Eboracus. But I mean--I mean in a different manner. One was myfather, and the other my husband. It is so terribly sad to think they arelost to me like yesterday or last summer."
"They are not lost. You will see them again."
"See my father! See my Lamia!"
"Yes--I know it will be so."
"O, Glyceria, do not say such things. You make my heart jump. How can itbe? They have been."
"They are and will be. Death is swallowed up in Life."
"That is impossible. Death is death and nothing more."
Then Glyceria took the hand of Domitia, and looking into her eyes, saidsolemnly: "Dost thou remember having asked me about the Fish?"
"Yes--this amulet," answered the noble lady, and she detached the cornelianfrom her throat, and held it in the hand not engaged by Glyceria. "Yes--Irecollect--there was some mystery, but what was it?"
"The Fish is a symbol, as I said once before, and it is no amulet."
"Of what is it the symbol?"
"Of One who died--who tasted of the bitterness of the parting of soul andbody, and who went into the region of Shadows and returned--the soul to thebody, and rose from the dead, and by the virtue of His resurrection givespower to all who believe in Him to rise in like manner."
"And he could tell about what the ghosts do--how they wander?"
"I cannot say that. There would be no comfort in that. He rose to give usjoy and to rob death of its terrors."
"But what has this to do with the Fish?"
"You know what the word Fish is in Greek."
"Very well."
"Take each letter of that word, and each letter is the first of words thatcontain the very substance of the Christian belief--Jesus Christ, the Sonof God, the Saviour."
Domitia looked at the little cornelian fish; she could not understand.
"I believe that one could die and wake again. I have fainted and comeround. And he might say what was in the spirit world into which he hadbeen--but the region of ghosts is very dreary, very sad."
"Nay, He can do more. As He rose, He can raise us to new life, and He willdo it, for He is God. He made us, and He will recall us from death."
"What--my father! Lucius! I shall see them again--not as shadows, but asthey were--?"
"Not so--not as they were, mortal; but raised to an immortal life."
"I shall kiss my darling father--put my arms around my Lucius from whom Ihave been parted so long, and so cruelly, and who has been so--so true tome."
Then Domitia burst into tears.
Glyceria stroked her hand.
"There--you see how joyous is our hope. Death is nothing--it is only agood-bye for a bit to meet again."
/> "O, Glyceria! O, if I could see them--O Glyceria! O, you should not havesaid this if it be not true. My heart will break. O, if it might be so! ifI could! but once only--for a moment----"
"Nay, that would not suffice; forever, never to be separated; no moretears, no more death."
"O, Glyceria--not another word--I cannot bear it. My heart is over full.Another time. My head, my head! O, if it might--it could be!"
Next day Glyceria saw by the red eyes of Domitia that she had slept littleand had wept much. She did not turn the conversation to the same topic;she wisely waited for the noble lady to begin on it herself, and shejudged that she would take some time to consider what had been spokenabout and to digest it.
And in fact Domitia made no further allusion to the matter for some days.But after about a week, when alone with the paralyzed woman, she said toher abruptly: "You have never been in Syria?"
"No, dear lady."
"I have--and I have been on the confines of the desert and looked away, asfar as the eye could reach, and have seen nothing but sand and barrenrock. Behind me a rose-garden, syringas, myrtle and citron trees, andmurmuring streams, before me--no green leaf, only death. It is to me, as Istand now and look back on my life as if it were that barren desert; andthe fearful thing is--I dare not turn and look the other way, for it isinto impenetrable night. But no, my life is not all desolation, there arejust two green spots in it where the date palms stand and there arewells--my childhood, when I sat on my father's knee and cuddled into hisarms; and once again, when I was recovering from the loss of him and wasbasking in the joy of my love for Lucius Lamia. All the rest--" she made agesture of despair--"Death."
"Dearest lady! I would like to turn you about and show you that where youthink only blackness reigns, lies a beautiful garden, a paradise, and Oneat the gate who beckons and says, Come unto Me, all you that labor and areheavy laden, and I will give you rest."
"Ah! but that may be all fancy and dream work like the promises of theMagi, and the mysteries of Isis."
Glyceria got no further than this. Domitia was disposed to talk with heron her hope, and on the Christian belief, but always with reserve and somemistrust.
There were old prejudices to be overcome, there was the consciousness thatthe promises so largely made by the votaries of the many cults from Eastand South who came to Rome were unfulfilled, and this made her unable toplace confidence in the new religion held by slaves and ignorant people,however alluring it might seem.
Among the very few who came to Gabii during her illness and convalescence,was Flavia Domitilla, the widow of Flavius Clemens, who had been put todeath by Domitian. Domitilla had been banished, but returned immediatelyon the death of the tyrant. She had suffered as had Domitia. In her mannerand address there was something so gentle and assuring, that the poorex-empress, in the troubled condition of her brain, was drawn to her, andafter her visits felt better. She knew, or rather supposed, that Domitillawas a Christian. Her husband had been one, and had suffered for his faith.
It was with real pleasure that she ran to welcome her one morning, whenthe steward entered and announced: "The Lady Flavia Domitilla."