and make no sign.
When my service is done, I hide like a rat in its hole, wishing to be
seen by none. But he never forgets, and he never forgives, and I have
scorned him. Oh, I would to God that I were dead!"

"Art thou Christian?" Nicanor asked curiously.

"Ay," she answered, without spirit.

"Once I was at a Christian church," said Nicanor.

"Art thou of the faith?" she asked, quickly and eagerly.

"Not I," said Nicanor. "What good may it do a man? And if it doeth no
good, any faith will do to swear by. It hath not done thee much good,
this faith of thine, since it leaves thee in this pass."

"I trust it," she said quietly.

"Nay," said Nicanor, in all seriousness. "It is I whom thou must trust.
It is not thy faith will help thee here, but I, and the wit I have and
the strength I have, because I am the only one near thee. How then, if
it be I, can it be thy faith?"

"I trust it," she repeated vaguely, as though she did not quite
understand his meaning. He laughed shortly.

"I had rather trust myself. See now, if the door were opened, couldst
thou escape from here?"

"I have no money--nowhere to go," she answered.

Nicanor shook his head.

"Money I have not, but I could see that friends received thee."

She shrugged her shoulders, a gesture half resignation, half despair.
And with the movement, the elusive familiarity returned; the flickering
memory leaped to life. Black straight hair, framing a gray face and
burning eyes; a girl, a lean wisp of a thing, with chained wrists and a
ragged frock which only half concealed a long red welt on a brown
shoulder--he had seen them all before. The memory grew and would not be
denied; suddenly forced itself into words.

"Art thou she who was bought at Thorney of a slave-driver by one
Valerius, and claimed sanctuary of a Christian cross by the church of
Saint Peter?"

Her glance at him was startled.

"Yea; but how dost thou know of it?" she asked in turn.

"I saw thee sold," said Nicanor, and looked at her with new eyes. "When
Valerius pursued thee to the foot of the cross, I ran also. It was I who
went for the priest, and came back and found no one. Often since, I have
wondered what became of thee and the folk who had gathered." He laughed.
"But it made a good tale. More than once I have used it, and fitted to
it endings of mine own."

"While I lay grasping the cross, a man in the crowd cried out: 'Girl,
the priest cometh! Run thou quickly to him!' And I, be