sheath and, frantic with horror, sprang through the square opening into the midst of the hall.

"Hold, accursed murderers!" he cried, blinded with rage. "You apostles of sin! What are you doing here?"

Not a sound was heard in the assembly. It was prepared for such attacks. The old man answered quietly:

"We are worshipping God!"

"May you be accursed when you utter that word! You have committed deeds for which even the darkness of night is no protection. You disturb by your diabolical songs the dead resting beneath the earth; you kill human beings and force one another to drink their blood, and when your nerves are roused to execrable excitement by this blood, you extinguish your torches and commit sins whose bare thought inspires horror."

"You will repent what you have said, Manlius Sinister!" cried the clear voice of a woman standing beside the greybeard. It was the one who had first taken the cup. Manlius started as he heard a familiar voice utter his own name, and when the lady now threw back her veil, he beheld in amazement Sophronia's gentle, innocent face, with its mild, calm eyes, divine smile, and the hallowed power of an almost supernatural firmness.

"Sophronia!" groaned Manlius, and his drawn sword fell from his hand. Doubt took possession of his heart. He believed that he was still the sport of a terrible dream, and with heavy tongue faltered:

"Gods of Olympus, let me wake!"

"You are awake!" said Sophronia. "Look me in the face. I am Sophronia, the friend of your childhood."

"But this cup of blood——"

"Blood only for those who believe, the remembrance of blood for those who remember. Touch it with your lips."

With ill-repressed loathing Manlius tried the contents of the cup and stammered in amazement:

"This is wine." Then, in a low tone, seized by a fear hitherto unknown, he asked: "And that dying figure?"

"Is the image of the crucified Saviour."

Manlius perceived with astonishment that it was only a painted picture.

"Do you worship a dead man?"

"A god who became man to die."

"That is impossible."

"How often the gods of Olympus assumed human form in order to enjoy pleasures whose sweetness can be experienced only by human senses. The God of Love, our God, assumed human form in order to be able to feel the sorrows which torture mankind, misery, shame, persecution, and death. The gods of Olympus became human beings to show mortals the path to hell; the God of Love, our God, became a mortal to guide us into the way to heaven! The gods of Olympus are brilliant, royal forms, who demand sacrificed victims, gold, magnificent temples, bloody hecatombs, and promise in return long life, treasures, palaces, and blood-stained victories. The God of Love, our God, is a poor, dead form, who asks nothing except a pure heart, and promises nothing at all for this life; whose image is a symbol that, in this existence, we shall have only sorrow and suffering, but in another world joy and happiness await us——"

While these words were uttered, all who were present involuntarily bared their heads. Manlius did the same, without knowing why. The others knelt down; he, too, fell on his knees.

"I have persecuted you wrongfully," he faltered, extending his arms, "Take vengeance on me."

"The God of Love commands us to forgive our persecutors. Leave this place in peace and confidence. Though you should betray us, torture us, slay us, we will pray for you."

"May I be accursed if I do so. Never can I leave you calmly, for you have filled my heart with unrest. The terrible words of the avenging God arrested me in my path. I read in your face the words of the all-pardoning God. Oh, give me comfort. Must I lose two heavens: one above, the other in your heart?"

"The heaven of love is closed against no one," said Sophronia, pointing upward with holy devotion.

Manlius clasped the outstretched hand, and raising it to his lips, asked with tender emotion:

"And your heart?"

"The God of Love does not forbid earthly love," replied Sophronia, with a radiant smile.

Manlius, his face glowing with happiness, sank at the young girl's feet, resting at her side like a tamed lion, while through the hall rang the hymn of joy which teaches rejoicing with those who rejoice.

The grey-haired patriarch laid his hand upon the new catechumen's head, and the dying God looked in benediction upon them all.

CHAPTER III.

The next day it was old Mesembrius' first care to send for his daughter and speak to her of Manlius, whom, of course, he praised according to his deserts.

The young girl's cheeks glowed during the conversation, and, as her face betrayed, she confessed to her father, with sincere joy, that she had long loved the young soldier.

Mesembrius could not find words to express his pleasure. He embraced Sophronia again and again, and with tears of happiness placed her in the arms of Manlius, who entered at that moment.

"My only blessing," he faltered, in tones trembling with emotion.

"O my father," said Sophronia mournfully, "do not say your only blessing. You have another daughter."

"May my curse rest upon her head. Hasten your marriage, and then go far, far away from here. So far that not even a cloud from this sky can follow you. This soil is already so laden with sins that it trembles every moment under them as if it could no longer bear the burden. Go hence, that you may not perish with the guilty. I only wish to live for the moment that I know you are happy and beyond the two seas; then, for aught I care, death or Carinus may come."

That very hour Manlius returned to Rome to set his house in order, and when he had made all the preparations for the wedding, he again mounted his horse, and late in the evening rode to old Mesembrius' villa.

It was already past midnight. The sky was covered with clouds. He could only move at a walk, when, on reaching a bridge, he saw a dark group of people coming from a side path.

It seemed to be a band of prisoners guarded by soldiers. At that time of wars with the barbarians, robbers and thieves had increased so much that they gave the prætorians uninterrupted work. Manlius supposed that he had met such a company, and quietly returned the salute of the passing soldiers.

Only one circumstance seemed strange—a woman's tall figure, with a long white mantle floating around it, rode at the end of the train. When she saw Manlius stop she stopped too, as if she expected something. They remained thus a short time, looking at each other; then they turned and rode on. It was impossible to distinguish any one's features in the darkness.

Manlius paused again, glanced back, and considered whether to return and ask some question; he did not know himself what.

But pleasanter thoughts soon occupied his mind, and as the clouds parted, allowing a silvery streak to glide over the Tiber, his spirits also brightened, and he dashed joyously forward to the beloved home of Sophronia.

He could already see the colossal outlines of the Mesembrius villa, when he perceived in the road a magnificent lectica, inlaid with mother-of-pearl and hung with silk curtains, such as in those days only the most aristocratic women used in traveling. Two splendidly caparisoned sumpter mules were harnessed to the four