could they do? They could not awake the
dead master, that he might repeat the emancipation."

"Had no one else read the letter?"

"Possibly! But these could only witness that they had read it, not that
it was genuine."

"I see no escape but in flight--hasty flight."

"Hasty flight with the infant, and the young mother hardly
convalescent, is impossible. And to fly! it is not my custom. Rather
resistance by force."

"Thou, and I, and the lame Philemon, the force against the lancers of
the Tribune! For he stands behind."

"I believe it! I saw his passionate look rest on her--on her neck--I
could throttle him!"

"You are a dead man before you raise a hand against him."

"It is dark, hopeless night around us. Oh, where shall we find counsel,
where a beam of hope, of light?"

"In the Church," spoke softly, but decidedly, a sweet voice. Felicitas
put her arm round the neck of her beloved.

"Thou!"

"Thou here?"

"Yes, as thou didst not come back, I sought for thee; it is always so
between us. The boy sleeps; I laid him in my bed. I found you both so
deep in conversation, that you did not hear my step on the soft garden
sand."

"What hast thou heard?" cried Fulvius, full of fear.

But the radiant, cheerful face, the smooth brow, the happy smile of his
young wife, soon quieted his anxiety.

"I only heard that you wanted light in the darkness, and there came
into my mind, as always, the word 'Church,' the name 'Johannes.'"

Fulvius was satisfied, almost joyful, because she had heard nothing of
the lurking misfortune. He stroked tenderly her beautifully arched
head, and said:

"And yet thou art not one of those devotees whose piety, or rather
hypocrisy, peeps through the knees of their garments, worn threadbare
by the altar steps."

"No; I am, alas, not pious enough. But it does not help me if I do go
often to confession. Johannes always smiles when I have finished, and
says: 'Thou hast only _one_ sin; that is, Falvius.' But when I hear of
darkness and light, I always think of the Church and Johannes. It is an
experience of my earliest childhood," said she slowly, reflectively.

"What experience?" asked Crispus, becoming attentive.

"I had been obliged for many weeks, on account of a disease in the
eyes, to wear a bandage, to remain in darkness, I know not how long. I
was hardly six years old. I then heard the voice of Krates, the master,
who was skilful in medicine, and had himself treated me. 'Take he