in the applause that flowed from the encircling host of sensation-loving, heartless spectators.

After a fierce and prolonged battle, several other gladiators had ploughed the sand in strange quick succession. Here, face downward, was a Samnite with his oblong shield; yonder lay a bare headed retiarius with his net and three-pointed lance. Twenty feet from Demonicus, a horseman clad in cuirass and helmet was stretched upon his back wounded and dying, with his round shield and lance lying near. His handsome black charger had instantly wheeled round, and it now stood over him with lowered neck in beautiful faithfulness, a tribute to its master's care and kindness. The other combatants were being hooked and drawn away like logs into the spoliarium, the grim receptacle for slaughtered men; the expiring horseman's turn would soon come. His rival had also reeled and tumbled down, the result of exhaustion from a severe wound received earlier in the fray. Aided by an official called a lanista, the victor's struggles to rise up and, when risen, to keep on his feet, were pitiable in the extreme. Deprived of its rider, his spirited grey horse, itself slightly wounded, was bounding round the arena like a frightened antelope. And considering that there was a circumference of 900 feet in which to galop and wheel, it gave its pursuers no small degree of trouble.

This state of affairs, coupled with the usual breathing time before the next act in the tragic drama, allowed the horde of onlookers an opportunity for a little conversation and even merriment. In the presence of such horrifying sport with human life, the heathen heart revealed its kinship with the fallen angels of "Paradise Lost." Nevertheless in that Roman pandemonium there were exceptions—a few hearts of a different cast, in which was at work a silent influence, destined in regal hands to reform the world.

CHAPTER V.

THE INFLUENCE WORKING.

Up in the colonnade reserved for women were two Greek ladies, natives of Asia Minor: Myrtis, a matron of high rank, and her young friend Coryna, a maiden of medium height and of perfect mould, with a wealth of braided auburn hair. The matron wore a stola, a long tunic girded in broad folds under the breast, and a white palla, a wide upper garment, loosely over her shoulders. Her companion had a white robe with a broad purple border, and over it an azure palla covered with golden stars. Both ladies had refined feelings and elegant manners. They were in the Colosseum for the first time.

"What dost thou think of all this, my Myrtis?" enquired Coryna, with a marked expression of pain in her sympathetic countenance.

"Think," answered Myrtis, striving to repress her agitation; "in the dexterity of the combatants I had a gruesome interest, but upon the prostrate, dying men I cannot look"; and the stout but comely woman of tender feeling turned her fair head farther away from the ghastly sight below.

"It is horrible," remarked Coryna, casting a furtive glance into the arena.

"I cannot remain," said Myrtis, "but what would Titanus say?" and she glanced down over the intervening galleries to the podium, where her illustrious Roman husband sat.

Beside him was Coryna's brother, Tharsos, a distinguished young officer, wearing a toga, with a white lacerna or mantle of elegant form.

Behind Titanus stood his young son, Carnion, a raven-haired boy of twelve, dressed in the toga praetexta, a becoming garment of white with a wide edge of purple, and suspended from his neck the bulla, a round ornament of gold, worn especially by the children of the noble. He held in his hand a cluster of lilies, a little gift meant for Coryna, but which he had forgotten to hand over when entering the amphitheatre.

"See how Carnion is disturbed!" observed Coryna; "the dear boy turns away his head and will not look at the expiring horseman right underneath."

The mother saw her child's attitude with pleased eyes, indeed they were often on him.

"Though tender-hearted, yet my Carnion is brave and strong," said she with a smile of pride.

"He is a soldier, every bit of him," added Coryna. "How different from his elder brother, Dinarchus!"

"Yes, my Dinarchus is a great reader, a young philosopher, a hermit, dear boy. He is now deep in the study of the Christian books. I would my Carnion were at home with him to-day, but he expected to see a wild-beast fight."

"Observe thy husband and my brother—see how calmly they look on!"

"They are soldiers, Coryna, and accustomed as we know to the spectacle of wounds and blood. To them, the arena must be as nothing to a field of battle when the clash of sword and spear is past."

"Oh, it must be racking, revolting!" exclaimed the other, pained at the mental vision of mangled heaps of slain; "and our beloved ones hate the sight."

"They also dislike what they see before them," said Myrtis. "They love skill, but they have no love for wanton play with human life."

"I wish all Rome hated such idle butchery," remarked Coryna earnestly, but rather loudly.

Overhearing these remarks, spoken in the Latin tongue, a number of ladies sneered and smiled. All, or nearly all, who made that wide investing terrace a wreath of brightness and beauty, were dead to pity. At the most they could only feel regret for a wounded favorite or a dying hero.

"I would all the empire were of thy mind, Coryna, and then no such sad spectacle would stain our own beloved, humaner land.

"Christianity is the deadly enemy of all this wicked work. May it prosper!" said the young lady fervently.

"There are no Christians here, I venture to say, civil or military," responded Myrtis. "No follower of the humane Jesus would come within these walls, unless wronged and led, or bent on some heroic deed. But we worshippers of a hundred gods can thank our divinities for no good influence. I hate the gods: may they forgive me!" and the reflective lady smiled at her own bold scepticism.

"They are myths, so my brother says," added Coryna, with a look of decision and relief.

"Tharsos is almost a Christian," remarked Myrtis, "and with him I strongly sympathize."

"He is. But see, he is telling thy husband something, and look how earnestly Carnion watches his words. Of a surety something strange or startling is going to present itself next. The uncertainty about the time of the Christian's appearance must be removed, but my brother's signal will tell."

CHAPTER VI.

THE INDIGNATION OF THARSOS.

Tharsos was speaking with deep but suppressed feeling.

"I have heard of the maiden," he continued, "and have seen her in my native province. Her good deeds to the poor and the suffering have been countless. Her whole life has been work and pity and self-sacrifice. It represents the highest moral beauty."

"Strange," remarked Titanus sympathetically, "that the maiden has held up under prison life so long."

"Though meek and modest," replied Tharsos, "she possesses a fortitude that bears incredible strain. I almost believe, indeed I do believe, that her power must come from Him whom they call Jesus of Nazareth."

"Our laws are evil," said Titanus reflectively, "or such a woman would have known no strain but daily duty. But thou art becoming Christian, Tharsos, yet I do not reproach thee—it were good if all men were."

At this stage the riderless steed kicked a pursuing guard on the palm of his uplifted hand, raised in self defence, and the spectators laughed heartily. Carnion's attention was diverted for a little from the serious conversation, and he stepped a few feet away.

"'Evil,' didst thou say! Our heathen system is corrupt and cursed, an only too ready tool of ignorant malice. For no other