“Dost thou believe in One God in Three Persons?”
“I firmly believe in all the Christian Church teaches.”
“And in Jesus Christ, who was born and died for our sins?”
“Yes, in all that you believe.” The reply was more faint.
“Make haste, make haste, Orontius,” cried Fabiola, pointing to the fountain.
He was already at its basin, filling full his two hands, and coming instantly, poured their contents on the head of the poor African, pronouncing the words of baptism; and, as she expired, the water of regeneration mingled with her blood of expiation.
After this distressing, yet consoling, scene, they entered the house, and instructed Torquatus about the burial to be given to this doubly-baptized convert.
Orontius was struck with the simple neatness of the house, so strongly contrasting with the luxurious splendor of Fabiola’s former dwelling. But suddenly his attention was arrested, in a small inner room, by a splendid shrine or casket, set with jewels, but with an embroidered curtain before it, so as to allow only the frame of it to be seen. Approaching nearer, he read inscribed on it:
“The blood of the blessed Miriam, shed by cruel hands!”
Orontius turned deadly pale; then changed to a deep crimson; and almost staggered.