A PASSAGE OF ARMS.
How many hours passed while Cæcilius was thus employed, he did not know. The sun was declining when he was roused by a noise at the door. He hastily restored the sacred treasure to its hiding-place in his breast, and rose up from his knees. The door was thrown back, and a female form presented itself at the opening. She looked in at the priest, and said, “Then Agellius is not here?”
The woman was young, tall, and graceful in person. She was clad in a yellow cotton tunic, reaching to her feet, on which were shoes. The clasps at her shoulders, partly visible under the short cloak or shawl which was thrown over them, and which might, if necessary, be drawn over her head, seemed to serve the purpose, not only of fastening her dress, but of providing her with sharp prongs or minute stilettos for her defence, in case she fell in with ruffians by the way; and though the expression of her face was most feminine, there was that about it which implied she could use them for that purpose on an emergency. [pg 213]That face was clear in complexion, regular in outline, and at the present time pale, whatever might be its ordinary tint. Its charm was a noble and majestic calm. There is the calm of divine peace and joy; there is the calm of heartlessness; there is the calm of reckless desperation; there is the calm of death. None of these was the calm which breathed from the features of the stranger who intruded upon the solitude of Cæcilius. It was the calm of Greek sculpture; it imaged a soul nourished upon the visions of genius, and subdued and attuned by the power of a strong will. There was no appearance of timidity in her manner; very little of modesty. The evening sun gleamed across her amber robe, and lit it up till it glowed like fire, as if she were invested in the marriage flammeum, and was to be claimed that evening as the bride of her own bright god of day.
She looked at Cæcilius, first with surprise, then with anxiety; and her words were, “You, I fear, are of his people. If so, make the most of these hours. The foe may be on you to-morrow morning. Fly while you can.”
“If I am a Christian,” answered Cæcilius, “what are you who are so careful of us? Have you come all the way from Sicca to give the alarm to mere atheists and magic-mongers?”
“Stranger,” she said, “if you had seen what I have seen, what I have heard of to-day, you would not wonder at my wish to save from a like fate the vilest being on earth. A hideous mob is rioting in the city, [pg 214]thirsting for the blood of Christians; an accident may turn it in the direction of Agellius. He is gone; where is he? Murderous outrages have already been perpetrated; you remain.”
“She who is so tender of Christians,” answered the priest, “must herself have some sparks of the Christian flame in her own breast.”
Callista sat down half unconsciously upon the bench or stool near the door; but she at once suddenly started up again, and said, “Away, fly! perhaps they are coming; where is he?”
“Fear not,” said Cæcilius; “Agellius has been conveyed away to a safe hiding-place; for me, I shall be taken care of; there is no need for hurry; sit down again. But you,” he continued, “you must not be found here.”
“They know me,” she said; “I am well known here. I work for the temples. I have nothing to fear. I am no Christian;” and, as if from an inexplicable overruling influence, she sat down again.