It was a duel of silence betwixt those twain,
That slender youth through whose translucent flesh
Blushed the bright blood of innocence and truth.
That burly man corrupt in every vein
With the thick fœcal currents of debauch.
Ruth and Eunicé would not cower or cry:
Eunicé's spirit partook of that high strain
Which was her martyr father's, and she now
Triumphed to see transfigured to more fair
Than ever with his glorious hardihood
The youth that worthily bore her father's name
And worthily held the empire of her heart.
In confidence of Stephen which subtly too
Wrought to make him more confident of himself,
Eunicé stood confronting the event.
Felix succumbed and was the first to speak:
"Well, youngster, thou hast struck an attitude!
What wilt thou? And what doest thou here? Knowest not
Thou beardest thus the lion in his lair?"
Felix's air of pride and lordliness
Was ever such flatulent swell of windy words.
Stephen some space disdained him loftily
With dumb and blank refusal of reply;
Then grudged him this: "I into the wolf's den
Enter to rend the ravin from his paw."
The youth thus having spoken half-way turned
Toward the two women and with instant voice,
Low-toned yet less to be inaudible
To Felix than for intimate passion of love,
Said: "Haste, fly! I will follow as I may."
Ruth with Eunicé had not reached the door
When, frantic to be balked of his desire,
Felix lunged after them with lusty stride
Seeking to stay the damsel in her flight.
For all her fear she still forbore to cry,
But could not check her impulse of appeal
To Stephen, and she uttered forth his name.
The eager agile stripling had no need
To hear that call from his belovéd; he,
Already at her side, had, with clenched fist,
Which flashing like a scimitar came down,
Smitten Felix on the forearm with such might
That for the moment it was numbed with pain,
And dropped as palsied from its reach for her.
Eunicé with backhanded movement quick
Seized, as she flew following her mother forth,
On Stephen's girdle behind her and drew him,
Willingly led in that captivity,
To share their flight and rescue from their foe.
Beside himself with rage at his defeat,
And aching still with pain from Stephen's blow,
Felix now stamped and shouted: "Slaves! What, ho!
Rascals, where are ye all?" Some, trembling, came,
But ere their master could possess his wits
To give them orders, Paul before him stood.
Worse crazed at that sight, Felix fiercely cried:
"Him! Him! Are ye all blind? Seize him, I say!"
Betwixt their terror of Felix and their awe
Of Paul, august in his unmovéd calm
And venerable with virtue and with age,
Well-known to them besides as one who wrought
With other power than mortal, the poor slaves
Hung helpless to perform their master's hest.
"These do not need to seize me, here I am,"
Said Paul, "and of no mind to fly; I came
Hastily summoned as to some distress
Here, what I know not, that I might relieve."
"Smite him upon the mouth," Felix broke forth,
"And make him feel distress to need relief!"
The freedman's truculence waxed with every word,
And swaggering forward he his hand upraised
As if himself to strike the blow he bade;
When, with a maniple of soldiers armed
Accompanied, Julius the centurion stood
Abruptly at the door.
Stephen with his charge
Had met the band of soldiers on their way
Just as, with circumspection looking back,
He saw Paul, by a different path arrived,
And earlier, enter at Felix's abode.
He quickly acted on a counsel new.
For, with a farewell of, "Now ye are safe,
Yet hie ye to the uttermost remove
From Felix," to the women spoken, he
Turning walked back with Julius who his pace
Now slacked to listen while the stripling told
What had befallen and how he feared for Paul
Imperilled in that violent house alone.
"Come in good time, however hither called,"
Felix to Julius said, with such a tone
As seemed to ask how he was thither called.
"Thy servant Syrus begged that I would come,"
Said Julius, "for the safety of thy house
Endangered by two women and a boy,
Who had found entrance and were threatening thee."
In truth, that sly young slave of Felix's—
For reason ill-affected toward his lord,
As much enamored of the Christian folk
For their fair manners, and the comely looks
Of some of them, and the beneficent
Working of wonders seen or heard from Paul—
Had summoned Julius in the true behoof
Of Ruth with her Eunicé and of Stephen;
This, shrewdly under guise of service shown
His master. Julius understood the guile
And humored it, while Felix's thick wits
Spread ample cover to render Syrus safe.
"Of course," so Julius added, "it had not seemed
Needful to come, but that I also heard
A prisoner of my charge would here be found,
For whose safe keeping I am answerable."
Then glancing in a kindly neutral way
At Stephen, he, with show of grave rebuke
That could not wholly hide his lively sense
Of whimsical humor in the part he played
As mediator in such case, went on:
"This Hebrew youth confesses that, in haste
Of spirit, he offered thee some disrespect."
With language purposely made light and vague
Thus the centurion glozed Stephen's offence,
Discreetly shunning to let Felix know
That he knew from the offender's own report
How, for good cause, as to a happy end,
The indignant youth inflicted on him there
The shame and anguish of that timely blow.
"What wilt thou, my lord Felix," Julius asked,
"Wilt thou forgive the lad outright? Or pleasest
Thou rather I condignly deal with him?"
It was astutely so proposed, to save
Appearances to Felix and for him.
Gross-witted as he was, he yet was proud,
And such end of the incident appeared
At once some homage to his dignity
And an escape unhoped from threatened shame.
He condescended loftily to leave
The case of Stephen in the centurion's hands;
And the centurion presently retired
With Paul and Stephen both. Stephen he bade
See to it that he never thenceforth act
Less worthily of himself than he that day
Had done, and with no other reprimand
Dismissed him to rejoin his company.
As for Drusilla, she now had her proof;
And seeing his purpose prosper Simon was glad.