ance of a cave. Its opening was large enough to admit a
horse and rider.

"Soldiers of Caesar!"--the whisper went from mouth to mouth there in
the light of the lantern.

The horsemen halted.

"I shall soon be done with this traitor to friend and king," thought
the tribune, dismounting and approaching the cave.

That group of people under the light, seeing symbols of Roman authority
and hearing its familiar voice, fell aside with fear in their faces. A
woman standing in the entrance of the cave addressed Vergilius, her
voice trembling with emotion.

"Good sir," said she, "if you mean harm to those within I pray you go
hence."

"I know not who is within," he answered, as both he and David passed
her. Fearing treachery, they drew their swords. Just beyond the
entrance of the cave both halted. A man stood before them, his face
full of high authority, his hand raised as if to command silence. He
was garbed like a toiler and somewhat past middle age, his beard and
eyebrows long and gray. A lantern hung near his head, and well beyond
him, resting peacefully on the farther floor of the cave, were horses,
sheep, and oxen. The man spoke not save by the beckon of his hand.
Without a word they followed him. The light of the lantern seemed now
to glow with exceeding brightness. They stopped. On the straw before
them lay a beautiful young maiden, a child upon her breast. Her arms,
which encircled the babe, her hands, her head, her whole body, and the
soul within had a glow of fondness. Nature had clothed her for its
great event with a fulness of beauty wonderful and yet familiar. In
her soft, blue eyes they saw that peace and love which are a part of
the ancient, common miracle of God. They saw more, even the light of
the world, but were not able to understand. Calmly she looked up at
them. Waving strands and masses of golden hair lay above her shoulders
and about the head of the child upon her bosom. It was lustrous,
beautiful hair, and seemed to glow as the bearded man came near with
the lantern. What was there in the tender, peaceful look of the
mother, what in her full breasts, what in the breathing of the child,
what in the stir of those baby hands to make the soldier bare and bow
his head? He leaned against the rock wall of the cave and covered his
eyes and thought of his beloved Arria, of his dream of home and peace
and little children. The sword fell from his hand. A great sickness
of the soul ca