So dark was it that Alyrus did not observe that he was followed; did
not see a strange figure with a sheep-skin flung over his back not far
behind him, slipping from one doorway to another, hiding behind
pillars, keeping the Moor ever in view.

Lucius the shepherd knew only one thing, intelligently, and that was
the knowledge of the Lord Jesus Christ. Even the most ignorant can
learn this. The knowledge had been obtained one day, when, seeing a
company of men and women crossing the Campagna, he had, out of
curiosity, followed them to their gathering-place, where he had
learned the truth about Jesus. Outside of this Lucius was absolutely
unlearned, and almost as stupid as his own sheep. He had not wit
enough to know that when he sang a Christian hymn where any and all
could hear it his life was in the greatest danger. He was stupid,
downright stupid, but he had a keen eye, knew whom to trust and was
possessed of an insatiable curiosity.

Because, by instinct, he knew that Alyrus was up to some mischief, he
followed him to see where he went. There was another reason. In the
house of Aurelius Lucanus dwelt a small scullery maid, who assisted
the slaves in the kitchen, doing all the dirty work and being struck
and sworn at for any mistake. She earned a few cents a day. Lucius was
waiting outside in the alley-way, as was his daily custom after
finishing his work, to exchange a word with his daughter, whom he
dearly loved.

I have said that in the lawyer's household were three Christians, one
was Alexis, the Greek, and another was Lidia, the scullery-maid, who
had been baptized by the white-haired elder in the Catacomb, beside