when suddenly his eye was caught by a train crossing the market-place, and his ear almost deafened by the acclamations of the people. While slaves and attendants, in extraordinary numbers, both followed and succeeded, in the middle of the group which attracted so much attention was seen a chariot of ivory and gold, drawn by four white horses; and in it sat, bowing his head to the people, and scattering benedictions as he passed with his hands extended wide in graceful dignity, Eugenius, bishop of Margus.

Loud and repeated were the vivats of the multitude; and Theodore heard nothing on every side but warm and joyful praises of his kinsman. "Our good bishop," cried one. "Bless him for ever," exclaimed another. "He alone saved us in peace and prosperity, when all was death and desolation round," said a third. "Ay," rejoined his neighbour, "and Theodosius himself, who would have given him up to death, is now thankful enough to him for having saved the town of Margus." "And well he may be," said a fifth, who overheard what was proceeding; "well he may be thankful to him for saving the finest, if not the largest city of his empire." "I have heard," said another, "that Theodosius has vowed to put him to death, but that he is forced to dissemble for fear of Attila." "He had better dissemble," answered one of those who had spoken before; "put to death! we would sooner give ourselves altogether up to the Huns." "The Huns are very good people," continued another, seeing Theodore and his followers endeavouring to make their way past them. "I love the Huns; they are honest, and keep their word, and are only terrible to their enemies."

Theodore could not but smile, although his heart was full of bitterness; but he thought, at the same time, "If all these people judge thus of the bishop's conduct, how many arguments may he not find in his own bosom to justify the acts he has committed." Thus thinking, he pushed on his horse, and made his way through the crowd towards the dwelling of the bishop, whither the chariot of the prelate seemed to have proceeded before him; for a crowd of men and boys, who had accompanied it with loud acclamations, were now gathered together round the gates, the janitor of which had much ado to keep them from pushing their way into the building. Theodore demanded to see his uncle, and told his name, on which he and all his followers were instantly admitted.

He found the bishop seated near the centre of the hall, with a crowd of attendants near him, while before him stood several Huns in their barbarian garb, one of whom had his hand upon a chain, which was attached to the neck and hands of the miserable, deformed, and mutilated negro, Zercon. He was nearly stripped of his fantastic clothing, and with bare feet, bloody with long journeying, he stood with a haggard but a tearless eye, venting, even at that hour of misery, one of those wild jests which had procured him favour with his former lord.

"Faith, sir," he said, speaking apparently to the bishop, "you had better order me death if you intend to punish me properly; I have tried all other punishments but that, and therefore you have no choice left; as for the horrid prison that you talk of, I once inhabited for fifty years a prison more horrible than any you can devise."

"For fifty years!" exclaimed the bishop, "for fifty years! Say, where was that?"

"Here!" said the negro, striking his hand upon his breast; "here! Match me that, if you can. Let the greatest tyrant that ever cumbered earth show me a prison that will equal this; and herein has dwelt, for fifty years, a being not less sensible of pain, not less alive to kindness, not less capable of gratitude than any; but more patient, more enduring, more courageous than you all. Here, in this loathsome and abhorred prison, has he dwelt, scorned, buffeted, contemned, accused, condemned, and punished without guilt, the sport of fools, and scapegoat of the bad. Everything has been tried upon me that human wickedness could frame or man's endurance bear. Try death, at last! I cannot lose by the exchange."

The eye of the bishop had remained fixed upon the deformed negro, while he poured forth, in an eloquent tone, the words which we have repeated, and only wandered for a moment to the group of strangers who entered the atrium, observing nothing more than that they wore the common garb of the Huns. He was evidently moved by the man's speech, and was about to reply, when Theodore advanced, addressing him by his name. The bishop started up, and, after gazing at him for a moment, folded him in his arms.

"Theodore!" he exclaimed, "now can I welcome you to Margus; a Tadmor in the wilderness; a prosperous city in a land of desolation. But how came you hither?"

"I will tell you shortly, sir," replied Theodore; "but, in the first place, let me ask you, why stands this poor man before you thus?"

"He was sent hither," replied the bishop, "by Attila, that great and mighty king, whose words are as true as his arm is powerful. He promised me long ago to protect and defend you; and this slave, it seems, betrayed your purposed journey into the mountains to the ear of Bleda, your enemy. Therefore is it that Attila sends him hither, to receive what punishment I will. I doom no man to death; but I was about to sentence him to solitude and chains, in the tower by the water side."

"God has spared you a great crime," replied Theodore. "This man betrayed me not. Far from it. He aided to save my life, when, ere another evening sun had set, my fate would have been sealed. Twice has he contributed to deliver me from danger. Oh! set him free, my uncle. Take off that chain! it is not fitting for him. His mind is noble and generous, though his body is as thou seest. But what have we to do with that? God, wise and mysterious, has made him as he is; let us not trample on God's handiwork."

The negro sprang forward, dragging his chain after him; and casting himself at the feet of the young Roman, he dewed his hand with tears. "It is not," he cried, "it is not that you come to save me, but it is that you speak as if I were your fellow-man."

"Far be it from me, my son," said the bishop, "to treat any one possessed of our common nature otherwise than a Christian should do. We are all worms in the eyes of God, the greatest, the proudest, the most beautiful, as well as the lowly and the distorted. Take the chain from him, and let him go free. Now, tell me truly, man, I adjure thee, by whatever thou holdest sacred, tell me, was it thou who bore to Bleda the tidings of this youth's journey, and if so--"

"There is no if!" interrupted the negro, with solemn vehemence: "I opened not my lips. Was I not the first to warn him that Bleda hated him? Did I not convey to the ears of Attila himself timely notice of his brother's purpose, when Bleda whetted the sword against him between Viminacium and Cuppæ? Did I not hear Bleda vow, that, till age palsied his arm, or death closed his eyes, he would pursue that youth with vengeance, and seek the destruction of that bold Arab who dared to struggle with and overthrow him? Did I know all this, and do all this, and yet betray to the tiger thirsting for blood the track of the deer that he sought to overtake? Did I know all this, and do all this, and yet tell to Bleda that he who had shown me pity and sympathy, came, as it were, to offer his throat to the knife within eight hours of that fierce man's dwelling-place? Oh no! I opened not my lips. There were whole tribes of Bleda's people round when the boy Ernac told me that the Roman was about to depart from the land. They bore the tidings to the king; and he gained from Ellac, the eldest son, the course of his whole journey, and the number of people whom they supposed would follow him. The number proved ten times more than they expected, and Bleda had too few with him to attack them