“Wait in patience, my good old man,” said Sebastian, with the kindest look and accent, “and let me speak first with thy sons. They know what I mean, which thou canst not yet; but with God’s grace thou too shalt soon. Your father, indeed, is right in saying, that for his sake and your mother’s you have been deliberating whether you should not prefer them to Him who told you, ‘He that loveth father or mother more than Me, is not worthy of Me.’ You cannot hope to purchase for these your aged parents, eternal life by your own loss of it. Will you make them Christians by abandoning Christianity? will you make them soldiers of the Cross by deserting its standard? will you teach them that its doctrines are more precious than life, by preferring life to them? Do you want to gain for them, not the mortal life of the perishable body, but the eternal life of the soul? then hasten yourselves to its acquisition; throw down at the feet of your Saviour the crowns you will receive, and entreat for your parents’ salvation.”
“Enough, enough, Sebastian, we are resolved,” cried out together both the brothers.
“Claudius,” said one, “put on me again the chains you have taken off.”
“Nicostratus,” added the other, “give orders for the sentence to be carried out.”
Yet neither Claudius nor Nicostratus moved.
“Farewell, dear father; adieu, dearest mother,” they in turn said, embracing their parents.
“No,” replied the father, “we part no more. Nicostratus, go tell Chromatius that I am from this moment a Christian with my sons; I will die with them for a religion which can make heroes thus of boys.” “And I,” continued the mother, “will not be separated from my husband and children.”
The scene which followed baffles description. All were moved; all wept; the prisoners joined in the tumult of these new affections; and Sebastian saw himself surrounded by a group of men and women smitten by grace, softened by its influences, and subdued by its power; yet all was lost if one remained behind. He saw the danger, not to himself, but to the Church, if a sudden discovery were made, and to those souls fluttering upon the confines of life. Some hung upon his arms; some clasped his knees; some kissed his feet, as though he had been a spirit of peace, such as visited Peter in his dungeon at Jerusalem.
Two alone had expressed no thought. Nicostratus was indeed moved, but by no means conquered. His feelings were agitated, but his convictions unshaken. His wife, Zoë, knelt before Sebastian with a beseeching look and outstretched arms, but she spoke not a word.
“Come, Sebastian,” said the keeper of the records, for such was Nicostratus’s office; “it is time for thee to depart. I cannot but admire the sincerity of belief, and the generosity of heart, which can make thee act as thou hast done, and which impel these young men to death; but my duty is imperative, and must overweigh my private feelings.”