the angry skies, and to
the restless city.

Worn out with anxiety, and watching, sleep fell upon the eyes of Julia, as
she sat half recumbent in a large softly-cushioned chair of Etruscan
bronze. Her fair head fell back on the crimson pillow, with all its wealth
of auburn ringlets flowing dishevelled; and that soft still shadow, which
is yet, in its beautiful serenity, half terrible, so nearly is it allied
to the shadow of that sleep from which there comes no waking, fell over
her pale features.

The mother gazed on her for a moment, with more gentleness in her eye, and
a milder smile on her face, than her indomitable pride often permitted her
to manifest.

"She sleeps"--she said, looking at her wistfully--"she sleeps! Aye! the
young sleep easily, even in their affliction. They sleep, and forget their
sorrows, and awaken, either to fresh woes, as soon to be obliterated, or
to vain joys, yet briefer, and more fleeting. Thoughtlessness to the
young--anguish to the old--such is mortality! And what beyond?--aye,
what?--what that we should so toil, so suffer, to be virtuous? Is it a
dream, all a dream--this futurity? I fear so"--and, with the words, she
lapsed into a fit of solemn meditation, and stood for many minutes silent,
and absorbed. Then a keen light came into her dark eyes, a flash of
animation coloured her pale cheeks, she stretched her arms aloft, and in a
clear sonorous voice--"No! no!" she said, "Honour--honour--immortal honour;
thou, at least, art no dream--thou art worth dying, suffering, aye! worth
_living_ to obtain! For what is life but the deeper sorrow, to the more
virtuous and the nobler?"

A few minutes longer she stood gazing on her daughter's beautiful face,
until the sound of voices louder than usual, and a slight bustle, in the
peristyle, attracted her attention. Then, after throwing a pallium, or
shawl, of richly embroidered woollen stuff over the fair form of the
sleeper, she opened the door leading to the garden colonnade, and left the
room silently.

Scarcely had Hortensia disappeared, before the opposite door, by which the
saloon communicated with the atrium, was opened, and a slave entered,
bearing a small folded note, secured by a waxen seal, on a silver plate.

He approached Julia's chair, apparently in some hesitation, as if he felt
that it was his duty, and was yet half afraid to awaken her. At length,
however, he made up his mind, and addressed a word or two to her, which
were suff