er strong mind acted, as on other
subjects, untrammelled and free. I was not sorry that Milo had brought
before her mind a fact which, however revolting in its horror to such a
nature as hers, could not but heal while it wounded.

'Milo,' said Julia, as I ended, 'say now that you have been jesting;
that this is a piece of wit with which you would begin in a suitable way
an extraordinary day; this is one of your Gallienus fictions.'

'Before the gods,' replied Milo, 'I have told you the naked truth. But
not the whole; for Curio left me not till he had shown how each had
died. Of the ten, but three, he averred, resisted, or died unwillingly.
The three were Germans from beyond the Danube--brothers, he said, who
had long lain in prison till their bones were ready to start through the
skin. Yet were they not ready to die. It seemed as if there were
something they longed--more even than for life or freedom--to say; but
they might as well have been dumb and tongueless, for none understood
their barbarous jargon. When they found that their words were in vain,
they wrung their hands in their wo, and cried out aloud in their agony.
Then, however, at the stern voice of Fronto, warning them of the hour,
they ceased--embraced each other, and received the fatal blow; the
others signified their pleasure at dying so, rather than to be thrown to
wild beasts, or left to die by slow degrees within their dungeon's
walls. Two rejoiced that it was their fate to pour out their blood upon
the altar of a god, and knelt devoutly before the uplifted knife of
Fronto. Never, said Curio, was there a more fortunate offering. Aurelian
heard the report of it with lively joy, and said that 'now all would go
well.' Curio is a good friend of mine; will it please you to hear these
things from his own lips?'

'No,' said Julia; 'I would hear no more. I have heard more than enough.
How needful, Lucius, if these things are so, that our Christian zeal
abate not! I see that this stern and bloody faith requires that they who
would deal with it must carry their lives in their hand, ready to part
with nothing so easily, if by so doing they can hew away one of the
branches, or tear up one of the roots of this ancient and pernicious
error. I blame not Probus longer--no, nor the wild rage of Macer.'

'Two, lady, of the captives were of Palmyra; the Queen's name and yours
were last upon their lips.'

'Great God! how retribution like a dark pursuing shadow hangs upo