A tall youth, about nineteen years of age, full of manly vigor
speaking in a rich voice, vibrant with feeling, sprang forward, knelt
at Claudia's feet and kissed her hand, then he embraced his father and
sister.

Claudia's expression relaxed. Had it not been for his absurd belief in
the Jew, who seemed to have set the world mad, she could have loved
this fine-looking young man, whose auburn curls fell over a white
forehead, whose brown eyes gleamed with a mixture of earnestness and
merriment. He was, indeed, a lovable youth.

"Hast thou come back cured, Martius? Then art thou indeed welcome."

"Cured of what, mother?"

"Of thy mistaken worship of Christus."

"No, mother," came the firm reply. Aurelius saw his son's face pale,
saw him straighten up as though he expected a blow on those broad
shoulders, saw his hand clench as if he were in pain. And Aurelius was
sorrowful. He loved Martius for himself and for his mother, whom he
resembled. The lawyer was also, only too well aware of the danger run
by all those who called themselves followers of Christus. The worst
had not yet come. There were only threats now against the members of
this sect who were growing daily more numerous, and more menacing to
the priests and the pagan religion. No one could tell what might
happen by to-morrow, the storm would break suddenly.

He knew Claudia and her blind bigotry. She would not hesitate to