then as suddenly think and feel that I have done wrong, and
so suffer. I see and experience nothing but suffering, whichever way I
turn. Truly we are riddles. Piso, you cannot conceive of my loss. It was
our only child--and the only one we shall ever know. I wish that I
believed in the gods that I might curse them.'

And much more in the same frantic way. Time will blunt his grief; but it
will bring him I fear no other or better comfort. He hopes for oblivion
of his loss; but that can never be. He may cease to grieve as he grieves
now; but he can never cease to remember. I trust to see him again ere
long, and turn his thoughts into a better channel.

* * * * *

I did not forget to keep my promise to the wife of Macer. In truth I had
long regarded it as essential to our safety almost, certainly to our
success, that this man, and others of the same character, should be
restrained in some way in their course of mistaken zeal; and had long
intended to use what influence to that end I might possess. Probus had
promised to accompany me, and do what in him lay, to rescue religion
from this peril at the hands of one of her best friends. He joined me
toward the evening of the same day on which I had seen the wife of
Macer, and we took our way toward his dwelling.

It was already past the hour of twilight when we reached the part of the
city where Macer dwells, and entered the ruins among which his cabin
stands. These ruins are those of extensive and magnificent baths
destroyed a long time ago, and to this day remaining as the flames left
them. At the rear of them, far from the street and concealed from it by
arches and columns and fragments of wall, we were directed by the rays
of a lamp streaming from a window, to the place we sought. We wound our
way among these fallen or still standing masses of stone, which
frequently hid from us the object of our search, till, as we found
ourselves near the spot, we were arrested by the sound of a single voice
uttering itself with vehemence and yet solemnity. We paused, but could
not distinguish the words used; but the same conviction possessed us as
to its cause. It was Macer at prayer. We moved nearer, so that, without
disturbing the family, we might still make ourselves of the number of
hearers. His voice, loud and shrill, echoed among the ruins and conveyed
to us, though at some distance, every word that he uttered. But for the
noise of carriages and pa