the riot in which she
was apprehended. The priests and priestesses of the temples had sent the
poor wretches and paid them.

The place of execution was on the north-east of the city, outside the
walls, and towards the mountain. It was where slaves were buried, and it
was as hideous as such spots usually were. The neighbourhood was wild,
open to the beasts of prey, who at night used to descend and feast upon
the corpses. As Callista approached to the scene of her suffering, the
expression of her countenance had so altered that a friend would scarce
have known it. There was a tenderness in it and a modesty which never had
been there in that old time. Her cheek had upon it a blush, as when the
rising sun suddenly touches some grey rock or tower yet it was white and
glistening too, so much so that others might have said it was like silver.
Her eyes were larger than they had been, and gazed steadfastly, as if at
what the multitude did not see. Her lips spoke of sweet peace and deep
composure. When at length she came close upon the rabble, who had been
screaming and yelling so fiercely, men, women, and boys suddenly held
their peace. It was first from curiosity, then from amazement, then from
awe. At length a fear smote through them, and a strange pity and
reverence. They almost seemed inclined to worship what stirred them so
much, they knew not how; a new idea had visited those poor ignorant souls.

A few minutes sufficed to put the rack into working order. She was laid
down upon its board in her poor bedimmed tunic, which once flashed so
bright in the sun,--she who had been ever so delicate in her apparel. Her
wrists and ankles were seized, extended, fastened to the moveable blocks
at the extremities of the plank. She spoke her last word, "For Thee, my
Lord and Love, for Thee!... Accept me, O my Love, upon this bed of pain!
And come to me, O my Love, make haste and come!" The men turned round the
wheels rapidly to and fro; the joints were drawn out of their sockets, and
then snapped in again. She had fainted. They waited for her coming-to;
they still waited; they got impatient.

"Dash some water on her," said one. "Spit in her face, and it will do,"
said a second. "Prick her with your spike," said a third. "Hold your wild
talk," said a fourth; "she's gone to the shades." They gathered round, and
looked at her attentively. They could not bring her back. So it was: she
had gone to her Lord and her Love.

"Lay her out for