felt the touch upon his heel." That was sufficient, just then, to rouse
out of its hiding-place his old vague fear of evil--of one's "enemies."
Such distress was so much a matter of constitution with him, that at
times it would seem that the best pleasures of life could but be
snatched hastily, in one moment's forgetfulness of its dark besetting
influence. A sudden suspicion of hatred against him, of the nearness of
enemies, seemed all at once to alter the visible form of things. When
tempted by the earth-bound philosophy of the early period of his
development, "he hardly knew how strong that old religious sense of
responsibility, the conscience, as we call it, still was within him--a
body of inward impressions, as real as those so highly valued outward
ones--to offend against which, brought with it a strange feeling of
disloyalty, as to a person." Later on, when the "acceptance of things"
which he found in Marcus Aurelius had offended him, and seemed to mark
the Emperor as his inferior, we find that there is "the loyal conscience
within him, deciding, judging himself and every one else, with a
wonderful sort of authority." This development of conscience from a
vague fear of enemies to a definite court of appeal in a man's judgment
of life, goes side by side with his approach to Christianity. The pagan
idealism of the early days had never been able to cope with that sense
of enemies, nor indeed to understand it; but in the light of his growing
Christian faith, conscience disentangles itself and becomes clearly
defined.

Another element in the spiritual development of Marius is that which may
be called his consciousness of an unseen companion. Marius was
constitutionally _personel_, and never could be satisfied with the dry
light of pure reason, or with any impersonal ideal whatsoever. For him
the universe was alive in a very real sense. At first, however, this was
the vaguest of sentiments, and it needed much development before it