victory!"

Pentaur smiled.

"Oh!" broke forth Timokles earnestly, "I know a death that was a
glorious victory! Carthage knew of it! Didst thou not hear what was
done last year at Carthage? Didst thou not know of the Christian
lady, Vivia Perpetua, and the Christian slave, Felicitas?"

A shudder ran through Pentaur, as Timokles continued:

"Thinkest thou that what they suffered was nothing? Vivia Perpetua
was the best loved of a heathen father's children. How she suffered
in her heart, when her old father came to the prison and besought
her to give up Christ! 'Daughter,' begged the old man, 'have pity on
my gray hairs. Have compassion on thy father!' He wept at her feet.
He begged her to have pity on her little child. But she could not
give up Christ. Wert thou there, O Pentaur, when the governor
examined the prisoners? Didst thou see Vivia Perpetua's old father
press forward, carrying her babe in his arms, and beg her to recant
for the child's sake? Didst thou hear the judge ask her, 'Art thou
then a Christian?' and didst thou hear her answer, 'I am'?"

Timokles paused. Pentaur had groaned. His face was hidden in his
hands.

"And then," continued Timokles, "the wretched father, hearing his
daughter speak those words that doomed her to death, tried to draw
her from the platform. He was struck with a stick, and the judge
condemned Vivia Perpetua and Felicitas, with the other Christians,