yours, particularly your trouncing poor old Faltonius. The nobility
admired you, but shook their heads over your stock-farming. The
populace were enthusiastic about you, but, like the upper classes,
were uneasy because of your expressed intention to marry at the
end of your service and to marry a specified man, who had been
your boyish lover. All classes acclaimed you as a woman, but
nearly everybody was dubious about you as a Vestal.

"Now nobody has any hesitation about feeling that you are all
a Vestal should be, a priestess whose prayers are certain to be
heard and answered."

Brinnaria made a wry face.

"My prayers were not heard yesterday," she sighed. "Almo
was not killed. I was praying hard to have him dead and have
it all over with and done with forever."

Lutorius turned on her a slow, benignant, indulgent smile.

"Daughter," he said, "you must remember that you are not
the only Vestal. Four Vestals were praying that Almo be saved,
each praying not only with her lips but with every fibre of her
being. And your heart and soul were praying silently with them
and against the fierce prayers of your lips."

"It is not so," she denied. "Every fibre of me was praying as
my lips prayed. My prayers were genuine."

"I am sure you thought so," Lutorius agreed. "It was natural