and comfort them, and to
re-unite them to those who had once been dear to them. "Come unto me,"
sounded again and again in his ears, and struck so warmly to his heart
that he could not help thinking first of his mother, who, so many a
time, when he was a child, had called to him only to clasp him in her
arms as he ran towards her, and to press him to her heart. Just so had
he often called his poor little dead son, and the feeling that there
could be any one who might still call to him--the forsaken lonely
man--with loving words to release him from his griefs, to reunite him
to his mother, his father, and all the dear ones left behind in his lost
and distant home, took half the bitterness from his pain.

He was accustomed to listen to all that was said in the Emperor's
presence, and year by year he had learnt to understand more of what
he heard. He had often heard the Christians discussed, and usually as
deluded but dangerous fools. Many of his fellow-slaves, too, he
had heard called Christian idiots, but still not unfrequently very
reasonable men, and sometimes even Hadrian himself, had taken the part
of the Christians.

This was the first time that Mastor had heard from their own lips what
they believed and hoped, and now, while fulfilling his duties he
could hardly bear the delay before he could once more seek out the old
pavement-worker, to enquire of him, and to have the hopes confirmed
which his words had aroused in his soul.

No sooner had Hadrian and Antinous gone into the living-room than Mastor
had hastened off across the court to find the Christians. There he tried
to open a conversation with the overseer concerning his faith, but the
old man answered that there was a season for everything; just now
he could not interrupt the work, but that he might come again after
sundown, and that he then would tell him of Him who had promised to
refresh the sorrow-laden.

Mastor thought no more of making his escape. When he appeared again in
his master's presence there was such a sunny light in his blue eyes that
Hadrian left the angry words he had prepared for him unspoken, and cried
to Antinous, laughing and pointing to the slave:

"I really believe the rascal has consoled himself already, and found a
new mate. Let us, too, follow the precept of Horace, so far as we may,
and enjoy the present day. The poet may let the future go as it will,
but I cannot, for, unfortunately, I am the Emperor."

"And Rome may thank