e gigantic laborer, hearing this, bent down and kissed Chilo's hand.

"What is thy name, brother?" inquired the Greek.

"At holy baptism, father, the name Urban was given me."

"Urban, my brother, hast thou time to talk with me freely?"

"Our work begins at midnight, and only now are they preparing our
supper."

"Then there is time sufficient. Let us go to the river; there thou wilt
hear my words."

They went, and sat on the embankment, in a silence broken only by the
distant sound of the millstones and the plash of the onflowing river.
Chilo looked into the face of the laborer, which, notwithstanding
a somewhat severe and sad expression, such as was usual on faces of
barbarians living in Rome, seemed to him kind and honest.

"This is a good-natured, dull man who will kill Glaucus for nothing,"
thought Chilo.

"Urban," inquired he then, "dost thou love Christ?"

"I love him from the soul of my heart," said the laborer.

"And thy brethren and sisters, and those who taught thee truth and faith
in Christ?"

"I love them, too, father."

"Then may peace be with thee!"

"And with thee, father!"

Again silence set in, but in the distance the millstones were roaring,
and the river was plashing below the two men.

Chilo looked with fixed gaze into the clear moonlight, and with a slow,
restrained voice began to speak of Christ's death. He seemed not as
speaking to Urban, but as if recalling to himself that death, or some
secret which he was confiding to the drowsy city. There was in this,
too, something touching as well as impressive. The laborer wept;
and when Chilo began to groan and complain that in the moment of
the Saviour's passion there was no one to defend him, if not from
crucifixion, at least from the insults of Jews and soldiers, the
gigantic fists of the barbarian began to squeeze from pity and
suppressed rage. The death only moved him; but at thought of that
rabble reviling the Lamb nailed to the cross, the simple soul in him was
indignant, and a wild desire of vengeance seized the man.

"Urban, dost thou know who Judas was?" asked Chilo, suddenly.

"I know, I know!--but he hanged himself!" exclaimed the laborer.

And in his voice there was a kind of sorrow that the traitor had meted
out punishment to himself, and that Judas could not fall into his hands.

"But if he had not hanged himself," continued Chilo, "and if some
Christian were to meet him on land or on sea, would it not be the duty
of