“And that is proper. There is no more grievous crime than murder. I will pray for thee; but I know not if even my prayer can be effective, unless thou make a vow never to touch any one in life with a finger.”
“As it is, I have not killed purposely,” answered Ursus.
But Chilo, who desired to secure himself in every case, did not cease to condemn murder, and urge Ursus to make the vow. He inquired also about Vinicius; but the Lygian answered his inquiries unwillingly, repeating that from Vinicius himself he would hear what he needed. Speaking in this way, they passed at last the long road which separated the lodgings of the Greek from the Trans-Tiber, and found themselves before the house. Chilo’s heart began to beat again unquietly. From dread it seemed to him that Ursus was beginning to look at him with a kind of greedy expression.
“It is small consolation to me,” said he to himself, “if he kills me unwillingly. I prefer in every case that paralysis should strike him, and with him all the Lygians,—which do thou effect, O Zeus, if thou art able.”
Thus meditating, he wrapped himself more closely in his Gallic mantle, repeating that he feared the cold. Finally, when they had passed the entrance and the first court, and found themselves in the corridor leading to the garden of the little house, he halted suddenly and said,—“Let me draw breath, or I shall not be able to speak with Vinicius and give him saving advice.”
He halted; for though he said to himself that no danger threatened, still his legs trembled under him at the thought that he was among those mysterious people whom he had seen in Ostrianum.
Meanwhile a hymn came to their ears from the little house.
“What is that?” inquired Chilo.
“Thou sayest that thou art a Christian, and knowest not that among us it is the custom after every meal to glorify our Saviour with singing,” answered Ursus. “Miriam and her son must have returned, and perhaps the Apostle is with them, for he visits the widow and Crispus every day.”
“Conduct me directly to Vinicius.”