ace around her thumb,--"The
solitary fight will be a striking contrast to the battle that has been."

"There will be no fight, my dear. Who would take such a risk for a
woman, a Christian too? But I shall wait with thee, Coryna, and get a
glimpse of the poor maiden, and let us hope that her God will help her."

Coryna did not speak, but her expressive face told her gratitude and
hope.

The conversation was stopped by the loud blast of trumpets, indicating
that another awful act was to begin; and the great hum of voices
ceased. The sand was clear of everything, as if a bare, vast, oval
table, and all faces were turned toward the eastern extremity of the
arena, morbidly hungering for more scenes of skill and blood.

CHAPTER IX.

IN THE ARENA.

Pathema was taken from prison, where she had been shut up for a long
time; and the officer in charge was about to open a small door into the
arena to lead her in, when a dark-haired boy, the son of illustrious
parents, came forward with tears streaming down his noble face, and
presented her with a cluster of white lilies. Accepting the flowers
speechlessly but gracefully, the doomed maiden bent down with a full
heart and kissed him. The lilies reminded her of Him who was made
perfect through suffering, and they gave her renewed strength.

"Thy name, my darling?"

"Carnion," was the answer, broken and low.

Stooping down, Pathema put a gentle trembling arm around the boy and
kissing him again, she said--

"My lovely one, God bless thee!"

The guard in uniform opened the door and led the innocent victim into
the great arena.

"The maiden comes: see, yonder," said Coryna, looking intently towards
her.

Myrtis spoke not, but strained her eyes to see.

The Christian maiden approached slowly in charge of the guard till she
was placed in front of the pavilion where sat the emperor, clothed in a
purple robe and on his head a laurel crown. Leaving her there, the
guard withdrew without delay that the keeper might unbar a heavy iron
gate for the wild beast to enter in and devour.

Pathema stood alone, a graceful form in flowing garments, within those
spacious walls. Clothed in mockery in the white robe of a vestal
virgin, yet she was a chaste virgin of Jesus Christ. Bound with a
white fillet, her rich black hair, of lavish length, lay back in
glistening waves. Her soft dark eyes were modestly towards the ground;
once only were they raised, and then to a purer