ing here--I--I know I must go; yes, I know it."

"And are you alone-no one with you?"

She shook her head sadly. The old man looked at her narrowly.

"Then I will take you safe home," he said. "You see I am an old man and
a priest. Where do you live, my child?"

"I? I..." stammered Agne, and a torrent of scalding tears fell down her
cheeks. "My God! my God! where, where am I to go?"

"You have no home, no one belonging to you?" asked the old man. "Come,
child, pluck up your courage and tell me truly what it is that troubles
you; perhaps I may be able to help you."

"You?" she said with bitter melancholy. "Are not you one of the Bishop's
priests?"

"I am a deacon, and Theophilus is the head of my church; but for that
very reason..."

"No," said Agne sharply, "I will deceive no one. My parents were Arians,
and as my beliefs are the same as theirs the Bishop has driven me away
as an outcast, finally and without pity."

"Indeed," said Eusebius. "Did the Bishop do that? Well, as the head of a
large community of Christians he, of course, is bound to look at things
in their widest aspect; small things, small people can be nothing to
him. I, on the contrary, am myself but a small personage, and I care
for small things. You know, child, that the Lord has said 'that in
his Father's kingdom there are many mansions,' and that in which Arius
dwells is not mine; but it is in the Father's kingdom nevertheless. It
cannot be so much amiss after all that you should cling to the creed of
your parents. What is your name?"

"Agne."

"Agne, or the lamb. A pretty, good name! It is a name I love, as I, too,
am a shepherd, though but a very humble one, so trust yourself to me,
little lamb. Tell me, why are you crying? And whom do you seek here? And
how is it that you do not know where to find a home?"

Eusebius spoke with such homely kindness, and his voice was so full of
fatherly sympathy that hope revived in Agne's breast, and she told him
with frank confidence all he wanted to know.

The old man listened with many a "Hum" and "Ha"--then he bid her
accompany him to his own house, where his wife would find a corner that
she might fill.

She gladly agreed, and thanked him eagerly when he also told the
doorkeeper to bring Papias after them if he should be found. Relieved
of the worst of her griefs, Agne followed her new friend through the
streets and lanes, till they paused at the gate of a small garden and he
said: "Here we ar