off so cheaply. Now, I
must return to my men. You know where the Bishop lives? Yes, here. And
with regard to your little brother. . . . Stay; do you live in Alexandria?"
"No, my lord."

"But you have some relation or friend whom you lodge with?"

"No, my lord. I am . . . I have . . . I told you, I only want to see my
lord the Bishop."

"Very strange! Well, take care of yourself. My time is not my own; but
by-and-bye, in a very short time, I will speak to the city watchmen; how
old is the boy?"

"Nearly six."

"And with black hair like yours?"

"No, my lord--fair hair," and as she spoke the tears started to her eyes.
"He has light curly hair and a sweet, pretty little face."

The prefect smiled and nodded. "And if they find him," he went on,
"Papias, you say, is his name where is he to be taken?"

"I do not know, my lord, for--and yet! Oh! my head aches, I cannot
think--if only I knew. . . . If they find him he must come here--here
to my lord the Bishop."

"To Theophilus?" said Constantine in surprise. "Yes, yes--to him," she
said hastily. "Or--stay--to the gate-keeper at the Bishop's palace."

"Well, that is less aristocratic, but perhaps it is more to the purpose,"
said the officer; and with a sign to his servant, he twisted his hand in
his horse's mane, leaped into the saddle, waved her a farewell, and
rejoined his men without paying any heed to her thanks.

CHAPTER XIV.

There was much bustle and stir in the hall of the Episcopal palace.
Priests and monks were crowding in and out; widows, who, as deaconesses,
were entrusted with the care of the sick, were waiting, bandages in hand,
and discussing their work and cases, while acolytes lifted the wounded on
to the litters to carry them to the hospitals.

The deacon Eusebius, whom we have met as the spiritual adviser of Marcus,
was superintending the good work, and he took particular care that as
much attention should be shown to the wounded heathen as to the
Christians.

In front of the building veterans of the twenty-first legion paced up and
down in the place of the ordinary gate-keepers, who were sufficient
protection in times of peace.

Agne looked in vain for any but soldiers, but at last she slipped in
unobserved among the men and women who were tending the wounded. She was
terribly thirsty, and seeing one of the widows mixing some wine and water
and offer it to one of the wounded men who pushed it away, she took
courage and begged the d