“Not a great deal,” answered he, “yet something. Three or four years back an effort was made to rekindle the Christian spirit in these parts, and to do something for the churches of the proconsulate, and to fill up the vacant sees. Nothing has come of it as yet; but steps were taken towards it: one was to obtain a recovery of the Christians who remained in them. I was sent here for that purpose, and in this way heard of you and your brother. When my life was threatened by the persecution, and I had to flee, I thought of your cottage. I was obliged to act secretly, as we did not know friends from foes.”

“You were led here for other purposes towards me, my father,” said Agellius; “yet you cannot have a safer refuge. There is nothing to disturb, nothing to cause suspicion here. In this harvest time numbers of strangers pour in from the mountains, of various races; there is nothing to distinguish you from one of them, and my brother is away convoying some grain to Carthage. Persecution drove you hither, but you have not been suffered to be idle, my father, you have brought home a wanderer.” He added, after a pause, “I am well enough to go to confession to you now. May it be this evening?”

“It will be well,” answered Cæcilius; “how long I shall still be here, I cannot tell. I am expecting my trusty messenger with despatches. It is now three days since he was here. However, this I say without misgiving, we do not part for long. What do you here longer? you must come to me. I must prepare you, and send you back to Sicca, to collect and restore this scattered flock.”

Agellius turned, and leaned against the priest’s shoulder, and laughed. “I am laughing,” he said, “not from lightness of mind, but from the depth of surprise and of joy that you should so think of me. It was a dream which once I had; but impossible! you do not think that I, weak I, shall ever be able to do more than save my own soul?”

“You will save your own soul by saving the souls of others,” said Cæcilius; “my child, I could tell you more things if I thought it good for you.”

“But, my father, I have so weak, so soft a heart,” cried Agellius; “what am I to do with myself? I am not of the temper of which heroes are made.”

“ ‘Virtus in infirmitate perficitur,’ ” said the priest. “What! are you to do any thing of yourself? or are you to be simply the instrument of Another? We shall have the same termination, you and myself, but you long after me.”

“Ah, father, because you will burn out so much more quickly!” said Agellius.