followed him her heart beat high with painful and yet hopeful excitement.
She kept her hands tightly clasped and tried to pray, but she could
hardly control her thoughts of her brother and of all she wanted to say
to the presbyter.

They presently entered a lofty room where the window-shutters were
closed, and where a number of lamps, already lighted, were hanging over
the cushioned divans on which sat rows of busy scribes of all ages.

"Here we are," said the priest kindly, as he seated himself in an easy-
cliair at some little distance from the writers. "Now, tell me fully
what troubles you; but as briefly as you can, for I am sparing you these
minutes from important business."

"My lord," she began, "my parents were freeborn, natives of Augusta
Trevirorum. My father was a collector of tribute in the Emperor's
service . . ."

"Very good--but has this anything to do with the matter?"

"Yes, yes, it has. My father and mother were good Christians and in the
riots at Antioch--you remember, my lord, three years ago--they were
killed and I and my brother--Papias is his name . . ."

"Yes, yes--go on."

"We were sold. My master paid for us--I saw the money; but he did not
treat us as slaves. But now he wants me--he, Sir, is wholly devoted to
the heathen gods-and he wants me . . ."