, a costume
which Christendom had received from the Egyptian priests of Isis.

Before every cross of the many which were cut in the box-trees the nuns
stood still and folded their hands in adoration. They always walked
alone, and dumb as shadows they glided past each other when they
chanced to meet; for communication was reduced to the absolutely
necessary.

In the middle of the garden a spring flowed from beneath a
dark-coloured rock, surrounded by cypresses; marble seats were fixed in
the rock.

It was a retired, lovely spot; wild roses formed a sort of arbour, and
almost entirely concealed a rough bas-relief sculptured in the rock,
representing the martyrdom of St. Stephen.

Near this spring sat, eagerly reading in a roll of papyrus, a beautiful
maiden, clad in a snow-white garment, held up on the left shoulder by a
golden clasp. A spray of ivy was twined in the dark brown hair, which
flowed back from the brow in soft waves. It was Valeria.

When the columns of her home at Neapolis had been overthrown, she had
found an asylum within these strong walls. She had become paler and
graver in this lonely dwelling, but her eyes still beamed with all
their former beauty.

She read with avidity; the contents of the papyrus seemed to entrance
her; her finely-cut lips moved involuntarily, and at last she began to
read aloud in a low voice:

"His child to Hector of the brazen helm
Was given in marriage; she it was who now
Met him, and by her side the nurse, who bore
Clasped to her breast, his all-unconscious child,
Hector's loved infant, fair as morning star;
Silent he smiled as on his boy he gazed,
But at his side, Andromache in tears,
Hung on his arm, and thus the chief addressed:
'Dear lord, thy dauntless spirit will work thy doom;
Nor hast thou pity on this thy helpless child,
Or me, forlorn to lie thy widow soon:
For thee will all the Greeks with force combined
Assail and slay: for me, 'twere better far,
Of thee bereft, to lie beneath the sod;
Nor comfort shall be mine, if thou be lost,
But endless grief: to me nor sire is left,
Nor honoured mother;
But, Hector, thou to me art all in one,
Sire, mother, brethren! thou, my wedded love!'"

She read no further; her large eyes grew moist; her voice died away;
her head sank upon her bosom.

"Valeria!" said a mild voice, and Cassiodorus bent forward ove