nt. Many minutes passed
before the old man rose, dried his moist eyes, pressed his lips to the
cold hand of the dead and said sadly:

"So young--so handsome--a masterpiece of the Creator's hand!... Only
to-day as gay as a lark, the pride and joy of his mother-and now! How
many hopes, how much triumph and happiness are extinct with that life. O
Lord my Saviour, Thou hast said that not only those who call Thee Lord,
Lord, shall find grace with our Father in Heaven, and that Thou hast
shed Thy blood for the salvation even of the heathen--save, redeem
this one! Thou that are the Good Shepherd, have mercy on this wandering
sheep!"

Stirred to the bottom of his soul the old man threw up his arms and
gazed upwards rapt in ecstasy. But presently, with an effort, he said to
the deaconess:

"You know, Sister, that this lad was the only son of Berenice, the
widow of Asclepiodorus, the rich shipowner. Poor, bereaved mother! Only
yesterday he was driving his guadriga out of the gate on the road to
Marea, and now--here! Go and tell her of this terrible occurrence. I
would go myself but that, as I am a priest, it might be painful to her
to learn of his tragic end from one of the very men against whom the
poor darkened youth had drawn the sword. So do you go, Sister, and treat
the poor soul very tenderly; and if you find it suitable show her very
gently that there is One who has balm for every wound, and that we--we
and all who believe in Him--lose what is dear to us only to find it
again. Tell her of hope: Hope is everything. They say that green is the
color of hope, for it is the spring-tide of the heart. There may be a
Spring for her yet."

The deaconess rose, pressed a kiss on the eyes of the dead youth,
promised Eusebius that she would do her best and went away. He, too,
was about to leave when he heard a sound of low sobbing from one of the
benches. He stood still to listen, shook his old head, and muttering to
himself:

"Great God--merciful and kind.... Thou alone canst know wherefore Thou
hast set the rose-garland of life with so many sharp thorns," he went up
to Agne who rose at his approach.

"Why, my child," he said kindly, "what are you weeping for? Have you,
too, lost some dear one killed in the fray?"

"No, no," she hastily replied with a gesture of terror at the thought.

"What then do you want here at so late an hour?"

"Nothing--nothing," she said. "That is all over! Good God, how long I
must have been sitt