document from the
Italian war office, appointing him major of the battalion with which he
had been taken prisoner.

The sight of these most unexpected presents could not but thrill
Manasseh with pride and exultation. Now at last it was in his power to
wreak vengeance on those who had so grievously wronged him,--to cut his
way, sword in hand, back to his downtrodden fatherland, perhaps even to
exact a rich retribution at the oppressor's hands, and to restore his
country once more to a position of proud independence. Added to all
this, the seductive picture of future fame, of undying renown as a
patriot and liberator, rose before his vision. Already, as hero of the
_Madonna della Scoperta_, he had tasted the intoxication of martial
glory. A strength and self-denial more than human seemed necessary if he
would turn his back coldly on the splendid prospect that opened before
him as his country's avenger and deliverer. What words can do justice to
the conflicting emotions which Manasseh experienced in that hour of
trial? His comrades in arms and many of his dearest friends, he felt
convinced, would turn upon him with mockery and reviling if he should
now still cling to his principles and refuse to disobey the commandment
of his God,--"Thou shalt not kill."

In Italy every house has its image of the crucified Saviour. Manasseh
stood now before one of these crucifixes, lost in troubled thought. To
Jesus, too, the people had cried: "Be our general, lead us against the
Romans, free your nation!" And he had answered them: "I will lead you to
a heavenly kingdom, and will free all mankind." Then he was heaped with
scorn and abuse, was scourged by the Roman lictors, and was finally
dragged before Pontius Pilate and crucified. But not the scourging, not
the crown of thorns, or the cruel nails, or the spear of Longinus,--none
of these was the really hard thing to bear. A man may suffer the
severest physical torture and still utter no cry. The cruelest of all
was the scornful laughter of those to whom he had brought salvation and
eternal life, the blame of his fellow-citizens for whom he so freely
shed his life's blood. That was what only a man of divine nobility and
courage could endure.

"I am but mortal!" cried the tempted man, in anguish. "I cannot attain
unto such heights." And he buckled on his gold-mounted sword.

The crucified form, however, seemed to turn its eyes upon him in mild
reproof and gentle encouragement. "I will