Edward Bulwer-Lytton: The Last Days of Pompeii

BOOK THE FOURTH 17. Chapter XVII (continued)

'Kind Sosia, chide me not--I cannot endure to be so long alone,' answered Nydia; 'the solitude appals me. Sit with me, I pray, a little while. Nay, fear not that I should attempt to escape; place thy seat before the door. Keep thine eye on me--I will not stir from this spot.'

Sosia, who was a considerable gossip himself, was moved by this address. He pitied one who had nobody to talk with--it was his case too; he pitied--and resolved to relieve himself. He took the hint of Nydia, placed a stool before the door, leant his back against it, and replied:

'I am sure I do not wish to be churlish; and so far as a little innocent chat goes, I have no objection to indulge you. But mind, no tricks--no more conjuring!'

'No, no; tell me, dear Sosia, what is the hour?'

'It is already evening--the goats are going home.'

'O gods! how went the trial'

'Both condemned.'

Nydia repressed the shriek. 'Well--well, I thought it would be so. When do they suffer?'

'To-morrow, in the amphitheatre. If it were not for thee, little wretch, I should be allowed to go with the rest and see it.'

Nydia leant back for some moments. Nature could endure no more--she had fainted away. But Sosia did not perceive it, for it was the dusk of eve, and he was full of his own privations. He went on lamenting the loss of so delightful a show, and accusing the injustice of Arbaces for singling him out from all his fellows to be converted into a gaoler; and ere he had half finished, Nydia, with a deep sigh, recovered the sense of life.

'Thou sighest, blind one, at my loss! Well, that is some comfort. So long as you acknowledge how much you cost me, I will endeavor not to grumble. It is hard to be ill-treated, and yet not pitied.'