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