dy's sake, as well as his
own.

"Emerentia," added the slave, "is generous and accomplished--that is
why the master liked her--but her goodness is not so strong as her
pride and jealousy. The lady is fierce in her feelings. She hates the
Christians, and more so now than ever."

After a few minutes Coryna returned, restrained and quiet, but with the
trace of a tear that had stolen down her fair face.

"My brother," said she with hesitation, "earnestly desired that thou
shouldst come and stay with me for a time. Is this possible? May I
hope it is."

Pathema was taken by surprise. Her home and beloved parents and the
poor of Patara had been much in her heart. Her father had been more
than once in Rome, trying to obtain her liberty, and he had provided
long ago the temporary abode she had been carried to by Christian
friends. This now swept across her vision. But it was quickly
followed by another picture--the self-sacrificing act of the nobleman
in whose mansion she was now a guest. And he was dying--so the
physicians feared. Duty--gratitude--consolation--everything demanded
her presence. Her answer was unhesitating and prompt--

"I will stay with thee."

And Coryna bent down and kissed her, with a feeling that was warmly
returned.

Tharsos was beyond the stage of knowing anyone. In spite of the best
medical skill, fever had quickly set in, and the battle began in
earnest between life and death.

Now was the opportunity for a woman's soldiership--soldiership of the
highest kind--where woman only can excel. The weapons are experience,
presence of mind, patience, endurance and compassion. With all these
Pathema was perfectly armed, her value was speedily recognised, and she
became an unassuming soldier in the strife. There were days and nights
of anxious care and watching, the utmost was performed, and nothing
left undone. Yet Tharsos seemed to be marching straight without
resource to the grim enemy's gloomy gate. The thought was painful
beyond measure, but it seemed to Pathema that the noble-minded man must
die!

While the fever lay upon him he spoke in bits of sentences about the
Nazarene, mysterious, divine! and the devoted disciple Pathema. His
language was now subdued and reverential, tender and touching, as if he
stood in the presence of unearthly beings; then indignant, emphatic,
even wild, as if he were again surrounded by the cruel and inquisitive
multitude--a wildness wholly unlike th