the wolves and vultures," said the _cornicularius_, and
he was going to appoint guards till nightfall, when up came the
_stationarii_ and Calphurnius in high wrath.

"You dogs!" he cried, "what trick have you been practising against the
soldiers of Rome?" However, expostulation and reproach were bootless; nor
would it answer here to go into the quarrel which ensued over the dead
body. The magistrates, having got scent of Calphurnius's scheme, had
outwitted the tribune by assigning an earlier hour than was usual for the
execution. Life could not be recalled; nor did the soldiers of course dare
publicly to disobey the Proconsul's order for the exposure of the corpse.
All that could be done, they did. They took her down with rude reverence
from the rack, and placed her on the sand; and then they set guards to
keep off the rabble, and to avail themselves of any opportunity which
might occur to show consideration towards her.

CHAPTER XXXV.

THE CORPO SANTO.

The sun of Africa has passed over the heavens, but has not dared with one
of his fierce rays to profane the sacred relics which lie out before him.
The mists of evening rise up, and the heavy dews fall, but they neither
bring the poison of decay to that gracious body, nor receive it thence.
The beasts of the wild are roaming and roaring at a distance, or nigh at
hand: not any one of them presumes to touch her. No vultures may promise
themselves a morning meal from such a victim, as they watch through the
night upon the high crags which overlook her. The stars have come out on
high, and, they too look down upon Callista, as if they were funeral
lights in her honour. Next the moon rises up to see what has been going
on, and edges the black hangings of the night with silver. Yet mourning
and dirge are but of formal observance, when a brave champion has died for
her God. The world of ghosts has as little power over such an one as the
world of nature. No evil spirit has aught to say to her, who has gone in
her baptismal white before the Throne. No penal fire shall be her robe,
who has been carried in her bright _flammeum_ to the Bridal Chamber of the
Lamb. A divine odour fills the air, issuing from that senseless,
motionless, broken frame. A circle of light gleams round her brow, and,
even when the daylight comes again, it there is faintly seen. Her features
have reassumed their former majesty, but with