se would be
possible for many reasons. Proclamations have been made about me,
rewards have been offered for my apprehension, and above all, my last
appearance in the Coliseum before the emperor himself was sufficient to
take away all hope of pardon. Yet even if it were possible I could not
consent. My Saviour cannot be worshiped in this way. His followers must
confess him openly. 'Whosoever,' he says, 'is ashamed to confess me
before men, of him will I be ashamed before my Father and the holy
angels.' To deny him in my life or in outward appearance is precisely
the same as denying him by the formal manner which the law lays down.
This I cannot do. I love him who first loved me and gave himself for me.
My highest joy is to proclaim him before men; to die for him will be my
noblest act, and the martyr's crown my most glorious reward."

Lucullus said no more, for he found that all persuasion was useless. The
remainder of the time was passed in conversation about other things.
Marcellus did not waste these last precious hours which he passed with
his friend. Filled with gratitude for his noble and generous affection,
he sought to recompense him by making him acquainted with the highest
treasure that man can possess--the religion of Christ.

Lucullus listened to him patiently, more through friendship than
interest. Yet some, at least, of Marcellus's words were impressed upon
his memory.

On the following day the trial took place. It was short and formal.
Marcellus was immovable, and received his condemnation with a calm
demeanor.

The afternoon of the same day was the time appointed for him to suffer.
He was to die, not by the wild beasts, nor by the hand of the gladiator,
but by the keener torments of death by fire.

It was in that place where so many Christians had already borne their
witness to the truth that Marcellus sealed his faith with his life. The
stake was placed in the center of the Coliseum, and the fagots were
heaped high around it.

Marcellus entered, led on by the brutal keepers, who added blows and
ridicule to the horrors of the approaching punishment. He looked around
upon the vast circle of faces, hard, cruel, and pitiless; he looked upon
the arena and thought of the thousands of Christians who had preceded
him in suffering, and had gone from thence to join the noble army of
martyrs who worship forever around the throne. He thought of the
children whose death he had witnessed, and recalled once more