tly, and Heraklas, snatching the
papyrus, wound it closely, and thrust it into his garments.

He hastily replaced the loose brick. No safe place for the papyrus
would the hole be, hereafter.

When he met Athribis afterwards in a corridor, Heraklas felt his
heart beat more quickly against the hidden roll. But the lad was
stern in outward semblance.

"Athribis!" he said.

The slave bent before the lad.

"How wast thou where I saw thee?" demanded Heraklas.

"I was attending to the salted quail. Thou knowest they are drying
on the roof," explained Athribis, meekly.

Heraklas felt compelled to accept the excuse. There were quail
drying, according to the custom of lower Egypt.

"But what was it that I read in his face, as he looked down at me?"
Heraklas asked himself.

Thenceforward, unspoken, yet felt as surely as though expressed,
there existed in Heraklas' mind a constant suspicion of Athribis.

Heraklas carried the papyrus roll with him, day and night. Well did
he know the danger, but he said to himself that he would not be
dictated to by a servant. That was the ostensible reason he gave
himself for not immediately burning the roll. In reality, he knew
that the words of the Christians' Book had pierced his soul. He
dared not burn the book. He stood before its searching words a
convicted sinner.

The suspicion of veiled surveillance that haunted Heraklas made him
cautious of reading his, papyrus at home. He sought places, to read
it abroad. Hidden among the crags beside the sea, or in the vines on
the banks of Lake Mareotis, Heraklas read, and waged the soul-struggle
that had risen within him.

One day Heraklas had hidden himself among the northern crags beside
the great sea. His eyes were bent upon his roll. He had been reading
John's record of the conversation between Christ and the man who was
born blind.

"Jesus said unto him, Dost thou believe on the Son of God?"

The man whose eyes Christ had opened, answered and said, "Who is he,
Lord, that I might believe on him?"

"Dost thou believe on the Son of God?"

It seemed to Heraklas that there came to him, also, Christ's solemn
question. With awe-struck lips, Heraklas whispered, out of a heart
that craved its answer, "Who is he, Lord, that I might believe on
him?"

Heraklas bent above his roll. The answer of the Lord was there. "It
is He that talketh with thee."

The lad dropped his papyrus, and covered his face. He bowed in awe.
For a long time