the babbling of madness," said the Governor angrily.

"I am not mad, most noble Sapricius."

[Illustration: "_I am not mad, most noble Sapricius_"]

"Here, then, is the incense, sacrifice, and save thy life."

"I will not sacrifice," replied Dorothea.

"Then shalt thou die," said Sapricius; and he bade the doomsman take
her to the place of execution and strike off her head.

Now as she was being led away from the judgment-seat, a gay young
advocate named Theophilus said to her jestingly: "Farewell, sweet
Dorothea: when thou hast joined thy lover, wilt thou not send me some
of the fruit and roses of his Paradise?"

Looking gravely and gently at him, Dorothea answered: "I will send
some."

Whereupon Theophilus laughed merrily, and went his way homeward.

At the place of execution, Dorothea begged the doomsman to tarry a
little, and kneeling by the block, she raised her hands to heaven and
prayed earnestly. At that moment a fair child stood beside her,
holding in his hand a basket containing three golden apples and three
red roses.

"Take these to Theophilus, I pray thee," she said to the child, "and
tell him Dorothea awaits him in the Paradise whence they came."

Then she bowed her head, and the sword of the doomsman fell.

Mark now what follows.

Theophilus, who had reached home, was still telling of what had
happened and merrily repeating his jest about the fruit and flowers of
Paradise, when suddenly, while he was speaking, the child appeared
before him with the apples and the roses. "Dorothea," he said, "has
sent me to thee with these, and she awaits thee in the garden." And
straightway the child vanished.

The fragrance of those heavenly roses filled Theophilus with a strange
pity and gladness; and, eating of the fruit of the Angels, he felt his
heart made new within him, so that he, also, became a servant of the
Lord Jesus, and suffered death for His name, and thus attained to the
celestial garden.

Centuries after her martyrdom, the body of Dorothea was laid in a
bronze shrine richly inlaid with gold and jewels in the church built in
her honour beyond Tiber, in the seven-hilled city of Rome.

There it lay in the days when Waldo was a brother at the Priory of
Three Fountains, among the wooded folds of the Taunus Hills; and every
seven years the shrine was opened that the faithful might gaze on the
maiden martyr of Caesarea.

An exceeding great love and devotion did Waldo bear this holy virg