e amused the little boy's curiosity so that he soon forgot
his homesickness. When, at length, Ague found the street that led to the
Prefect's house she was fairly carried along by the surging, rushing mob.
To turn was quite impossible; the utmost she could do was to keep her
wits about her, and concentrate her strength so as not to be parted from
the child. Pushed, pulled, squeezed, scolded, and abused by other women
for her folly in bringing a child out into such a crowd, she at last
found herself in the great square. A hideous hubbub of coarse, loud
voices pierced her unaccustomed ears; she could have sunk on the earth
and cried; but she kept up her courage and collected all her energies,
for she saw in the distance a large gilt cross over a lofty doorway. It
was like a greeting and welcome home. Under its protection she would
certainly, find rest, consolation and safety.

But how was she to reach it? The space before her was packed with men as
a quiver is packed with arrows; there was not room for a pin between. The
only chance of getting forward was by forcing her way, and nine-tenths of
the crowd were men--angry and storming men, whose wild and strange
demeanor filled her with terror and disgust. Most of them were monks who
had flocked in at the Bishop's appeal from the monasteries of the desert,
or from the Lauras and hermitages of Kolzum by the Red Sea, or even from
Tabenna in Upper Egypt, and whose hoarse voices rent the air with
vehement cries of: "Down with the idols! Down with Serapis! Death to the
heathen!"

This army of the Saviour whose very essence was gentleness and whose
spirit was love, seemed indeed to have deserted from his standard of
light and grace to the blood-stained banner of murderous hatred. Their
matted locks and beards fringed savage faces with glowing eyes; their
haggard or paunchy nakedness was scarcely covered by undressed hides of
sheep and goats; their parched skins were scarred and striped by the use
of the scourges that hung at their girdles. One--a "crown bearer"--had a
face streaming with blood, from the crown of thorns which he had vowed to
wear day and night in memory and imitation of the Redeemer's sufferings,
and which on this great occasion he pressed hard into the flesh with
ostentatious martyrdom. One, who, in his monastery, had earned the name
of the "oil-jar," supported himself on his neighbors' arms, for his
emaciated legs could hardly carry his dropsical carcass which, f