also becoming a meek and beautiful Christian?" said Demonicus with a sneer.

Annoyed at the tone, Timon answered firmly—"The lady's life is a blessing to Patara."

"Soft one, weak one, coward!" hissed Demonicus.

"The lady is a goddess!" cried Timon, galled into defiance, "and the coward is he that would lay foul hands upon her."

"Draw! defend thyself!" roared Demonicus, and the two men faced each other with drawn swords and glaring eyes.

At this juncture, Pathema and Miriam appeared upon the scene, and without hesitation the former gently and earnestly entreated them not to slay one another. As if by mutual consent, the enraged men lowered their sword-points and turned them into the sheaths. Demonicus was agreeably surprised and he cooled down quickly—before him after all was the trophy wanted. Timon did not want it—the lady's voice and courage strengthened his heart's bent in the right course, and he quietly walked away. Demonicus stepped aside; even his rough heart could be moved to a certain degree of respect, while Pathema, pale and sad, walked noiselessly into the church and sat down with Miriam in the nearest empty seat.

The shepherd had finished with his earnest simple story of redemption, illustrating it by reference to what he knew so well—the spotless, passive lamb. He was now telling the attentive listeners that the lamb would one clay become a lion, that all human governments would be broken in pieces, and that Jesus Christ would rule the earth in righteousness and peace. "It may be," added he with emphasis, "that that hope-inspiring day is at hand!"

Revolutionary doctrine like this the debased Demonicus rejoiced to hear. Like the Jewish pretence before Pilate, it was enough, and the love of lucre spurred him on. He waited not a moment more, but hurried boldly into the church. Accusing Pathema of taking part in sedition, he seized her by the arm and ordered her to rise up and follow him.

Startled at this interruption, the people looked round, while Orestes stopped and made his way swiftly to Pathema's aid, thinking in all simplicity that a robber or a madman had entered the church. The gladiator was strong, but the shepherd was stronger, and ere the former could draw his sword he was pinned to the floor as with an oaken hand. The spectacle was like the grappling of prostrate giants.

"Thou art guilty of sedition and violence!" yelled Demonicus.

Others of his official order passing by and hearing the noise, came quickly to his aid, the accusation was repeated, and the shepherd meekly submitted—he never meant to defy the law.

Miriam pleaded for her beloved mistress in tears, but she was rudely thrust aside as too insignificant for arrest.

Then were Pathema and Orestes and others led out of the church and into the street. They formed a silent, little company, surrounded and followed by an excited jeering crowd. And as the crowd increased in strength—"Death to the detested Christians!" was the noisy frequent cry.

With bowed head and weary heart, and with her sense of modesty painfully shocked, Pathema passed on with her fellow-Christians to the humiliating place of safe-keeping for the night.

Their trial came off next day, but it was a mockery. Fanatical hate and bribery did their foul work—there was no justice whatever, and sentence of death was passed!

An appeal was made to Rome.

To that great city Pathema and her fellow prisoners were finally transported, and there they were imprisoned.

Among the poor and sick and dying of Patara and its neighbourhood, was no one more missed and mourned than the compassionate maiden who languished and wept in a far away Roman prison—wept, not so much for her own wrongs, as for the griefs and pains of others.

"O Lord, I cry to Thee—
Unending night, a mournful robe,
Enwraps my form, and veils my sight
From flower, and stream, and all I love—
My bondage break, O God!

"If I no more behold
My Crito, Lord, on him look down
With watchful eye, and send Thy light,
Restore his strength, and make him Thine;
Regard my love for him.

"Biona's tender care
Provide for, Lord, and guard from ill;
The father's wound, in pity heal.
Remember all the desolate
For whom I weep and pray.

"My parents, Lord, uphold;
Their grief assuage; Thy Spirit send
And teach of Him who suffered more
Than mortal man, to ransom me
From death—the Christ, my strength.

"Yet, Lord, how hard to die
So soon. Oh! to behold the sun,
To breathe the air, to clasp the flowers,
Embrace my 'loved, now loved tenfold;
But, Lord, Thy will be done!"

CHAPTER IV.

THE AMPHITHEATRE.

The Colosseum or amphitheatre in Rome was a gigantic, costly building, oval in shape, 100 feet in height, 1900 feet in circumference, and capable of seating 100,000 spectators—a huge egg laid by Imperial power and demoniac love of pleasure. Its external wall rose up in three rows of columns, Doric, Ionic and Corinthian, forming 80 arcades or arches in each row, and was capped by a solid wall with Corinthian pilasters and small square windows. There was no roof, shelter from sun or rain being given by a movable awning called the velarium. The higher arcades were adorned with statues and chariots, and admitted light and air. Four of the basement arches at the extremities were the entrances for the great, while the remaining seventy-six were for the common people. Rising from the top of a low wall or balcony that stood on the ground many feet inward, was the gradus or slope of seats, which extended half-way up the high surrounding shell. The highest seats were a colonnade or portico reserved for women. On the slope under the portico, were the three maeniana or galleries, separated by walls and by landing places for the many staircases. The uppermost gallery, with benches of wood, was for the pullati or common people; the next below, for the popularia; and the farthest down, of stone or marble and cushioned, for members of the equestrian order. Below this was the inner wall or balcony (referred to above), called the podium, the place of honour, on which sat the Emperor and his family, senators, chief magistrates, vestal virgins, and distinguished visitors. The Emperor occupied a pavilion, named the suggestus, while the others sat on cushioned chairs or reclined on couches. The podium was about 15 feet from the ground, its edge bordered with metal trellis work, and its front faced with marble, to prevent the ascent of wild beasts when frightened or enraged. The arena was the immense space within, being about 281 feet by 176, and it was covered with sand, to keep the combatants from slipping and to absorb their blood. Here some of the martyrs of Jesus poured out their life, to gratify horrible curiosity, and to satiate the hunger of lions.

On a certain day in the latter half of the third century after Christ, and while the pagan Roman empire still held powerful sway, many thousands of people had assembled in the amphitheatre to witness a series of blood-curdling sights and combats. Among these sad spectacles was the suffering of a noted Christian from the rugged province of Lycia.

Demonicus, the great gladiator of Patara city, had fallen, his left cheek was embedded in the sand, his brawny upper arm lay out limp beside his broken sword, and his life-blood was streaming away. He would indulge in the love of strife and watch the footsteps of the innocent for glittering gold no more. His conqueror, Telassar, a big bearded warrior from Rhaetia, stood erect and proud, with his right foot on the gladiator's neck, and drinking