alsehood and
constant duplicity, this divided allegiance to two masters, had poisoned
the existence of a man by nature truthful; and Gorgo knew for whose sake
and for what reasons he had subjected himself to this moral martyrdom. It
was a lesson to her to see him lying there, and his look of anguish
warned her to become, heart and soul, a Christian as she felt prompted.
She would confess Christ for love's sake-aye, for love's sake; for in
this hour the thing she saw most clearly in the faith which she purposed
to adopt, and of which Constantine had so often spoken to her with
affectionate enthusiasm, was Everlasting Love.

Never in her life had she felt so much at peace, so open to all that was
good and beautiful; and yet, outside, the strife grew louder and more
furious; the Imperial tuba sounded above the battle-cry of the heathen,
and the uproar of the struggle came nearer and nearer.

The battering-ram had made a large breach in the southern wall, and,
protected by their shed, the heavy-armed infantry of the twenty-second
legion had forced their way up; but many a veteran had paid for his
rashness with his life, for the storming party had been met by a perfect
shower of arrows and javelins. Still, the great shield had turned many a
spear, and many an arrow had glanced harmless from the brazen armor and
helmets; the men that had escaped pressed onwards, while fresh ranks of
soldiers made their way in, over the bodies of the fallen. The
well-drilled foe came creeping up to the barricade on their knees, and
protected by bronze bucklers, while others, in the rear, flung lances and
arrows over their heads at the besieged. A few of the heathen fell, and
the sight of their blood had a wonderful effect on their comrades. Rage
surged up in the breasts of the most timid, and fear vanished before the
passion for revenge; cowardice turned to martial ardor, and philosophers
and artists thirsted for blood. The red glare of strife danced before the
eyes of the veriest book-worm; fired by the terrible impulse to kill, to
subdue, to destroy the foe, they fought desperately and blindly, staking
their lives on the issue.

Karnis, that zealous votary of the Muses, stood with Orpheus, on the very
top of the barricade throwing lance after lance, while he sang at the top
of his voice snatches of the verses of Tyrtaeus, in the teeth, as it
were, of the foe who were crowding through the breach; the sweat streamed
from his bald head and hi