Cæcilius looked at him with such calmness and benevolence, that at length Juba turned away his eyes with something of irritation. He said, “If I am a priest, I am here to claim you as one of my children.”
Juba winced, but said scornfully, “You are mistaken there, father; speak to those who own you. I am a free man.”
“My son,” Cæcilius answered, “you have been under instruction; it is your duty to go forward, not back.”
“What do you know about me?” said Juba; “he has been telling.”
“Your face, your manner, your voice, tells a tale; I need no information from others. I have heard of you years ago; now I see you.”
“What do you see in me?” said Juba.
“I see pride in bodily shape, treading down faith and conviction,” said Cæcilius.
Juba neighed rather than laughed, so fierce and scornful was its expression. “What you slaves call pride,” he said, “I call dignity.”
“You believe in a God, Creator of heaven and earth, as certainly as I do,” said the priest, “but you deliberately set yourself against Him.”
Juba smiled. “I am as free,” he said, “in my place, as He in His.”