reason could the enemies of the accomplished maiden lead her into this arena"; and Tharsos writhed under the thought that justified his grave charge.

Titanus was astonished to see a man so loyal and reflective, and hitherto so quiet and self-possessed, now quivering with indignation.

"Be tranquil, my friend, thou canst not mend matters, and thou hast done thy duty. Hast thou not told me of thy hastening to the Praefect to plead for postponement or release, and that this dignitary had already gone to the Colosseum, with all of the lesser magistrates who had any possible power?"

"I would that I had received the tidings earlier," was the answer, spoken in a low tone of deep sadness, even despair.

"Content thee, my dear Tharsos, thou hast done thy best; and strive to think that speedy death, even if cruel and revolting, is better than prolonged prison-hardship and degradation."

Tharsos turned and looked up at the serried mass of living faces behind him, his indignation now controlled, yet he saw no one—none but the beautiful face of his affectionate sister whom he warmly loved; and there flashed into his heart—"What if she were the victim!" His colour changed and his lips tightened. Some strange thought seemed to enter him, and he arose from his seat.

"Thou wilt, of course, wait and see the maiden?" said Titanus with a perplexed inquiring look.

But Tharsos stood up to his full height, and cast one withering look towards Titanus, as much as if to say—"What, witness the butchery of one like my own sister!" Turning haughtily on his heel, he strode two steps back to the staircase, muttering something in which there was the distinct word Lion, and in a moment he was down and out of view.

CHAPTER VII.

THE PERPLEXITY OF CARNION.

Amidst the laughter and the babel of voices, Carnion's quick ear caught the magic word—Lion!

Turning round into his former place, "Is there a lion coming at last, my father?" he asked eagerly, while his dark eyes sparkled with emotion.

"Yes, my son."

"I am very sorry that Tharsos has gone," remarked the boy, looking at the vomitory (opening) of the staircase.

"He had, he was—rather, he preferred to go; perhaps it is better," said Titanus with a troubled absent look.

"What kind of lion is coming father?" enquired Carnion, his chief interest being in that direction.

"A great lion from Libya, my son, a beast fierce and hungry."

"And with what beasts is it going to fight? Will they be wild-boars, or bears, or tigers, or elephants? How I should love to see a big battle among them all! Tell me, father, what are the beasts to be." And the beautiful boy fairly shook with excitement.

The father did not speak for a moment. His brows lowered over large brown eyes, a crimson wave of shame and anger swept over his handsome face, followed by a subduing wave of pity, and then he spoke in a tone that surprised the ardent boy.

"Carnion," said he, "there is little likelihood that the lion will have anything to fight with."

"Why not, father?" asked the boy, feeling quite disappointed. "Will it only go round the arena and roar?"

"Were that all, my son, I should be exceedingly glad."

The boy was perplexed:—"What dost thou mean, father?"

"I mean, my son, that the lion is to find its prey in the form of a defenceless virtuous woman!"

The boy was amazed and his eyes were piercing. "My father," said he tremulously, "is it the lady Tharsos spoke of?"

"Yes, Carnion."

"Oh father, how cruel!" exclaimed the boy in great distress. "Will nobody fight for her and save her?"

"If any man be found bold enough to face the most formidable brute that ever sprang into the arena—that, and that only may save her," answered Titanus. "But the conditions are hard, so hard that I may say the case is well-nigh hopeless, and the man that would undertake it would either be a fool, impelled by inordinate greed, or filled with god-like self-sacrifice. Neither shield, nor spear, nor sword—nothing but a bronze dagger is to be allowed her defender, should one come forward, and he is to be naked but for a slight girdle around his loins."

"Is there no man compelled to fight, oh father?"

"No one, my son. The defence is voluntary. Both Demonicus and Telassar volunteered; the former is dead, and I fear the latter will back out. Who else would venture, I know not."

"Father," said the boy, in a trembling tone, yet with a ring of purpose in it, "wilt thou permit my absence for a little time?"

"Certainly, my son: it was in my mouth to bid thee look into the street for a little time; or if thy desire be to speak a word with mother thou mayest, but tell my name to the designator (seat-attendant). 'Titanus' is enough."

Carnion disappeared.

CHAPTER VIII.

WAITING FOR THE VICTIM.

On the departure of Tharsos, Myrtis had turned and said—

"Thy brother's signal, as thou hast told me, Coryna. Come! let us go."

"It is, but—not yet, dear Myrtis," was the answer in a voice of gentle firmness.

"And in the face of thy brother's strong desire thou art waiting to witness the foul torture and death of a lady refined and good—our fellow-countrywoman too!"

"I shall not behold that," replied the maiden with earnest, hopeful light in her dark hazel eyes: "some brave man will appear; but if not, then I shall turn my back or fly when"—She dared not finish, and Myrtis added—

"When the lion springs. Oh! my Coryna, let us go. This is the work of demons."

"I cannot, Myrtis, I cannot. I shall know the end sooner here."

"There can be but one end, my dear. The cruel crafty managers, bribed to get rid of the maiden without more delay, as Tharsos informed thee, planned this well. What man with a mere dagger could slay a lion? A naked man too. Coryna, the whole work is contemptible, contemptible!" And the deep blue eyes of Myrtis flashed forth her scorn, as she looked down into the arena and scanned it swiftly round till her attention rested anxiously at the eastern end.

"The Romans love effect," Coryna answered bitterly, as she unconsciously twisted her long gold necklace around her thumb,—"The solitary fight will be a striking contrast to the battle that has been."

"There will be no fight, my dear. Who would take such a risk for a woman, a Christian too? But I shall wait with thee, Coryna, and get a glimpse of the poor maiden, and let us hope that her God will help her."

Coryna did not speak, but her expressive face told her gratitude and hope.

The conversation was stopped by the loud blast of trumpets, indicating that another awful act was to begin; and the great hum of voices ceased. The sand was clear of everything, as if a bare, vast, oval table, and all faces were turned toward the eastern extremity of the arena, morbidly hungering for more scenes of skill and blood.

CHAPTER IX.

IN THE ARENA.

Pathema was taken from prison, where she had been shut up for a long time; and the officer in charge was about to open a small door into the arena to lead her in, when a dark-haired boy, the son of illustrious parents, came forward with tears streaming down his noble face, and presented her with a cluster of white lilies. Accepting the flowers speechlessly but gracefully, the doomed maiden bent down with a full heart and kissed him. The lilies reminded her of Him who was made perfect through suffering, and they gave her renewed strength.

"Thy name, my darling?"

"Carnion," was the answer, broken and low.

Stooping down, Pathema put a gentle trembling arm around the boy and kissing him again, she said—

"My lovely