ardly control her thoughts of her brother and of all she wanted to say
to the presbyter.

They presently entered a lofty room where the window-shutters were
closed, and where a number of lamps, already lighted, were hanging over
the cushioned divans on which sat rows of busy scribes of all ages.

"Here we are," said the priest kindly, as he seated himself in an
easy-chair at some little distance from the writers. "Now, tell me fully
what troubles you; but as briefly as you can, for I am sparing you these
minutes from important business."

"My lord," she began, "my parents were freeborn, natives of Augusta
Trevirorum. My father was a collector of tribute in the Emperor's service
. . ."

"Very good--but has this anything to do with the matter?"

"Yes, yes, it has. My father and mother were good Christians and in the
riots at Antioch--you remember, my lord, three years ago--they were
killed and I and my brother--Papias is his name . . ."

"Yes, yes--go on."

"We were sold. My master paid for us--I saw the money; but he did not
treat us as slaves. But now he wants me--he, Sir, is wholly devoted to
the heathen gods-and he wants me . . ."

"To serve his idols?"

"Yes, reverend Father, and so we ran away."

"Quite right, my child."

"But the scriptures say that the slave shall obey his master?"

"True; but higher than the master in the flesh is the Father in Heaven,
and it is better a thousand times to sin against man than against God."

This conversation had been carried on in an undertone on account of the
scribes occupied at the desks; but the priest raised his voice with his
last words, and he must have been heard in the adjoining room, for a
heavy curtain of plain cloth was opened, and an unusually deep and
powerful voice exclaimed:

"Back again already, Irenaeus! That is well; I want to speak with you."

"Immediately, my lord--I am at your service in a moment.--Now, my child,"
he added, rising, "you know what your duty is. And if your master looks
you up and insists on your assisting at the sacrifice or what ever it may
be, you will find shelter with us. My name is Irenaeus."

Here he was again interrupted, for the curtain was lifted once more and a
man came out of the inner room whom no one could forget after having once
met him. It was the Bishop whom Agne had seen on the balcony; she
recognized him at once, and dropped on her knees to kiss the hem of his
robe in all humility. Theophilus accepted the