he city, on acquaintances, on vital interests, as through a
dream. Everything seemed to him strange, distant, vain, fleeting. Even
torture ceased to terrify, since one might pass through it while sunk
in thought and with eyes fixed on another thing. It seemed to both that
eternity had begun to receive them. They conversed of how they would
love and live together, but beyond the grave; and if their thoughts
returned to the earth at intervals, these were thoughts of people who,
setting out on a long journey, speak of preparations for the road.
Moreover they were surrounded by such silence as in some desert
surrounds two columns far away and forgotten. Their only care was that
Christ should not separate them; and as each moment strengthened their
conviction that He would not, they loved Him as a link uniting them in
endless happiness and peace. While still on earth, the dust of earth
fell from them. The soul of each was as pure as a tear. Under terror of
death, amid misery and suffering, in that prison den, heaven had begun,
for she had taken him by the hand, and, as if saved and a saint, had led
him to the source of endless life.

Petronius was astonished at seeing in the face of Vinicius increasing
peace and a certain wonderful serenity which he had not noted before. At
times even he supposed that Vinicius had found some mode of rescue, and
he was piqued because his nephew had not confided his hopes to him. At
last, unable to restrain himself, he said,--

"Now thou hast another look; do not keep from me secrets, for I wish and
am able to aid thee. Hast thou arranged anything?"

"I have," said Vinicius; "but thou canst not help me. After her death I
will confess that I am a Christian and follow her."

"Then thou hast no hope?"

"On the contrary, I have. Christ will give her to me, and I shall never
be separated from her."

Petronius began to walk in the atrium; disillusion and impatience were
evident on his face.

"Thy Christ is not needed for this,--our Thanatos [death] can render the
same service."

Vinicius smiled sadly, and said,--"No, my dear, thou art unwilling to
understand."

"I am unwilling and unable. It is not the time for discussion, but
remember what I said when we failed to free her from the Tullianum. I
lost all hope, and on the way home thou didst say, 'But I believe that
Christ can restore her to me.' Let Him restore her. If I throw a costly
goblet into the sea, no god of ours can give it back