“Fear nothing for me, father,” she answered; “I am one of them. They know me. Alas, I am no Christian! I have not abjured their rites! but you, lose not a moment.”

“They are still at some distance,” he said, “though the wind gives us merciful warning of their coming.” He looked about the room, and took up the books of Holy Scripture which were on the shelf. “There is nothing else,” he said, “of special value here. Agellius could not take them. Here, my child, I am going to show you a great confidence. To few persons not Christians would I show it. Take this blessed parchment; it contains the earthly history of our Divine Master. Here you will see whom we Christians love. Read it; keep it safely; surrender it, when you have the opportunity, into Christian keeping. My mind tells me I am not wrong in lending it to you.” He handed to her the Gospel of St. Luke, while he put the two other volumes into the folds of his own tunic.

“One word more,” she said; “your name, should I want you.”

He took up a piece of chalk from the shelf, and wrote upon the wall in distinct characters,

“Thascius Cæcilius Cyprianus, Bishop of Carthage.”

Hardly had she read the inscription when the voices of several men were heard in the very neighbourhood of the cottage; and hoping to effect a diversion in favour of Cæcilius, and being at once unsuspicious of danger to herself, and careless of her life, she ran quickly forward to meet them. Cæcilius ought to have taken to flight without a moment’s delay, but a last sacred duty detained him. He knelt down and took the pyx from his bosom. He had eaten nothing that day; but even if otherwise, it was a crisis which allowed him to consume the sacred species without fasting. He hastily opened the golden case, adored the blessed sacrament, and consumed it, purifying its receptacle, and restoring it to its hiding-place. Then he rose at once and left the cottage.

He looked about; Callista was nowhere to be seen. She was gone; so much was certain, no enemy was in sight; it only remained for him to make off too. In the confusion he turned in the wrong direction; instead of making off at the back of the cottage from which the voices had scared him, he ran across the garden into the hollow way. It was all over with him in an instant; he fell at once into the hands of the vanguard of the mob.