uld scourge
her from off the face of the redeemed earth and destroy the seducer of
souls forever. "Down with the idols! Down with Serapis! Down with the
heathen!" Their shouts thundered and bellowed all about Agne; but, just
as the uproar and crush were at the worst, a tall and majestic figure
appeared on a balcony above the cross and extended his hand in calm
and dignified benediction towards the seething mass of humanity. As he
raised it all present, including Ague, bowed and bent the knee.

Agne felt, knew, that this stately man was the Bishop whom she sought,
but she did not point him out to her little brother, for his aspect was
that of some proud sovereign rather than of "the good, kind man" of whom
she had dreamed. She could never dare to force her way into the presence
of this great lord! How should the ruler over a million souls find time
or patience for her and her trivial griefs?

However, there must be within his dwelling sundry presbyters and
deacons, and she would address herself to one of them, as soon as the
crowd had dispersed enough for her to make her way to the door beneath
the cross. Twenty times at least did she renew her efforts, but she made
very small progress; most of the monks, as she tried to squeeze past
them, roughly pushed her back; one, on whose arm she ventured to lay her
hand, begging him to make way for her, broke out into shrieks as though
a serpent had stung him, and when the crush brought her into contact
with the crown-bearer he thrust her away exclaiming:

"Away woman! Do not touch me, spawn of Satan tool of the evil one! or I
will tread you under foot!"

Retreat had been as impossible as progress, and long hours went by
which to her seemed like days; still she felt no fatigue, only alarm
and disgust, and, more than anything else, an ardent desire to reach the
Bishop's palace and take counsel of a priest. It was long past noon when
a diversion took place which served at any rate to interest and amuse
the crying child.

On the platform above the doorway Cynegius came forth--Cynegius, the
Emperor's delegate; a stout man of middle height, with a shrewd round
head and a lawyer's face. State dignitaries, Consuls and Prefects had,
at this date, ceased to wear the costume that had marked the patricians
of old Rome--a woollen toga that fell in broad and dignified folds from
the shoulders; a long, close-fitting robe had taken its place, of purple
silk brocade with gold flowers. On the