beaming eyes--though those eyes must have rested on the
most hideous spectacle--looking as though the roll in her lap were the
first enchanting raptures of a lover. The book lying on Melissa's knees
was the gospel of Matthew, which she herself early this morning, while
the girl was still sleeping, had laid by her side to comfort her and give
her some insight into the blessings of Christianity. But these
scriptures, so sacred to Euryale, had seemed to count for less than
nothing to this heathen girl, the sister of Philip the skeptic.

Euryale loved Melissa, but far dearer to her was the book to whose
all-important contents the maiden seemed to have closed her heart in
coldness.

It was for Melissa's sake that, when the high-priest's dwelling was
searched by the new magistrate's spies from cellar to garret, she had
patiently submitted to her husband's hard words. She had liked to think
that she might bring this girl as a pure white lamb into the fold of the
Good Shepherd, who to herself was so dear, and through whom her saddened
life had found new charm, her broken heart new joys. A few hours since
she had assured her friend Origen that she had found a young Greek who
would prove to him that a heathen who had gone through the school of
suffering with a pure and compassionate heart needed but a sign, a word
of flame, to recognize at once the beatitude of Christianity and long to
be baptized. And here she discovered the maiden of whom she had such fair
hopes, with a smile on her lips and beaming looks, while so many innocent
men were being slaughtered, as though this were a joy to her!

What had become of the girl's soft, tender heart, which but yesterday had
been ready for self-sacrifice if only she might secure the well-being of
those she loved? Was she, Euryale, in her dotage, that she could be so
deceived by a child?

Her heart beat faster with disappointment; and yet she would not condemn
the sinner unheard. So, with a swift impulse she took the roll up from
Melissa's lap, and her voice was sorrowful rather than severe as she
exclaimed:

"I had hoped, my child, that these scriptures might prove to you, as to
so many before you, a key to open the gates of eternal truth. I thought
that they would comfort you, and teach you to love the sublime Being
whose exemplary life and pathetic death are no longer unknown to you,
since Johanna told you the tale. Nay, I believed that they might
presently arouse in you the desire