Part 15 (1/2)

”And you absolutely refuse to grant my request?”

”Alas, Marcellus, how can I be guilty of the death of my friend? You have no mercy on me. Forgive me if I refuse so unreasonable a proposal.”

”The will of the Lord be done,” said Marcellus. ”I must hasten back.

Alas! how can I carry with me this message of despair?”

The two friends embraced in silence, and Marcellus departed, leaving Lucullus overcome with amazement at this proposal.

Marcellus returned to the Catacombs in safety. The brethren there who knew of his errand received him again with mournful joy. The lady Caecilia still lay in a kind of stupor, only half conscious of surrounding events. At times her mind would wander, and in her delirium she would talk of happy scenes in her early life.

But the life which she had led in the Catacombs, the alternating hope and fear, joy and sorrow, the ever present anxiety, and the oppressive air of the place itself, had overcome both mind and body. Her delicate nature sank beneath the fury of such an ordeal, and this last heavy blow completed her prostration. She could not rally from its effects.

That night they watched around her couch. Every hour she grew feebler, and life was slowly but surely pa.s.sing away. From that descent unto death not even the restoration of her son could have saved her.

But though earthly thoughts had left her and earthly feelings had grown faint, the one master pa.s.sion of her later years held undiminished power over her. Her lips murmured still the sacred words which had so long been her support and consolation. The name of her darling boy was breathed from her lips though his present danger was forgotten; but it was the blessed name of Jesus that was uttered with the deepest fervor.

At length the end came. Starting from a long period of stillness, her eyes opened wide, a flush pa.s.sed over her wan and emaciated face and she uttered a faint cry, ”Come, Lord Jesus!” With the cry life went out, and the pure spirit of the lady Caecilia had returned unto G.o.d who gave it.

CHAPTER XII.

POLLIO'S TRIAL.

”Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings thou hast ordained praise.”

It was a large room in a building not far from the imperial palace. The pavement was of polished marble, and columns of porphyry supported a paneled dome. An altar with a statue of a heathen deity was at one end of the apartment. Magistrates in their robes occupied raised seats on the opposite end. In front of them were some soldiers guarding a prisoner.

The prisoner was the boy Pollio. His face was pale, but his bearing was erect and firm. The remarkable intelligence which had always characterized him did not fail him now. His quick eye took in everything. He knew the inevitable doom that impended over him. Yet there was no trace of fear or indecision about him.

He knew that the only tie that bound him to earth had been severed.

Early that morning the news of his mother's death had reached him. It had been carried to him by a man who thought that the knowledge of this would fortify his resolution. That man was Marcellus. The kindness of Lucullus had gained him an interview. His judgment had been correct.

While his mother lived, the thought of her would have weakened his resolution; now that she was dead, he was eager to depart also. In his simple faith he believed that death would unite him at once to the dear mother whom he loved so fondly.

With these feelings he awaited the examination.

”Who are you?”

”Marcus Servilius Pollio.”

”What is your age?”

”Thirteen years.”

At the mention of his name a murmur of compa.s.sion went round the a.s.semblage, for that name was well known in Rome.

”You are charged with the crime of being a Christian. What have you to say?”

”I am guilty of no crime,” said the boy. ”I am a Christian, and I am glad to be able to confess it before men.”

”It is the same with them all,” said one of the judges. ”They all have the same formula.”