"Has all gone well, my little dove?" asked her father.

"Perfectly well so far, my father," she replied; but there was
anxiety in her eyes until the gate again opened and admitted the
male contingent of the procession. No sooner had she seen them
safely advancing up the box avenue than she murmured something about
preparing for the meal, and, desiring a dismissal from her father,
disappeared into the women's apartments, while the old man smiled at
her pretty maidenly modesty.

Of the three men who were advancing, one, Marcus AEmilius, about
seven or eight and twenty years of age, was much what the Senator
must have been at his age--sturdy, resolute, with keen eyes, and
crisp, curled, short black hair. His younger brother, Lucius, was
taller, slighter, more delicately made, with the same pensive
Italian eyes as his sister, and a gentle, thoughtful countenance.
The tonsure had not yet touched his soft, dark brown locks; but it
was the last time he would march among the laity, for, both by his
own desire and that of his dead mother, he was destined to the
priesthood. Beside these two brothers came a much taller figure.
The Arvernii seem to have been Gael rather than Cymri, and the
mountain chief, Titus Julius Verronax, as the Romans rendered his
name of Fearnagh, was of the purest descent. He had thick, wavy
chestnut hair, not cut so short as that of the Romans, though kept
with the same care. His eyebrows were dark, his eyes, both in hue
and brightness, like a hawk's, his features nobly moulded, and his
tall form, though large and stately, was in perfect symmetry, and
had the free bearing and light springiness befitting a mountaineer.
He wore the toga as an official scarf, but was in his national garb