“No, not of Leo,” replied Damaris; “why should I trouble Leo, who has the care on him of all the Churches? Thou rememberest the words of Leo himself—‘The whole people of His adoption is royal and sacerdotal; we have the ceaseless propitiation of the omnipotent and perfect Priest; and although He has committed the care of His sheep to many pastors, He Himself, nevertheless, has not abandoned the custody of His beloved flock.’ So, by the counsel of our own wise shepherd, I went as one of the countless flock to the Chief Shepherd of all.” “The Shepherd who cares even for the little wilful kid,” whispered Lucia, “as thou hast so often shown us in the picture in the catacombs; and He has heard thee and made thee glad, and has given thee what thou hast asked?” “Heard me and made me glad indeed,” said the mother; “but scarcely given me what I could have dared to ask or to wish, though with all my soul I _will_ it if He wills it.” “About our Marius, mother?” The mother bowed in acquiescence, and said in a low voice— “I think, dearest, we may have to let him go.” “To the frontiers, among the barbarians, the Huns! But they say all the other barbarians were angels compared with these, who seem half wild beast and half witch.” “There are no half beasts in our Christian creed,” said the mother; “only creatures once ‘very good,’ made in the image of God, now fallen angels and fallen men, and none fallen below the depths of the Redeeming Cross. The roots of the Tree of Life are deeper than the roots of any poison tree.” “But, mother, Marius would be going not to redeem the Huns, but to hunt and slay them; not as a shepherd or a priest, but as a soldier, would he not?” “That is true,” Damaris replied; “but even the shepherd has sometimes to slay the lion and the bear.” “But it is our own Marius,” exclaimed Lucia, passionately escaping from allegory; “he will go to lead our Roman soldiers, some of them, father says, so feebly armed, so effeminate, that they have thrown off the old armour, the heavy helmets and shields, preferring to run the risk on the battle-field rather than to bear the weight on the march, and therefore when the battle comes, often taking refuge in cowardly flight. And against him will be those fierce, nimble Huns, or the tall athletic Goths, who don’t mind being killed, father says, if they can only kill enough of the enemy first. And the enemy will be our Marius, who will never run away, and will be among those ill-armed cowards who will take to flight and let him stay and die!” Damaris’ eyes flashed. “Who knows,” she said, “but that our Marius will inspire his Romans with the old Roman courage, so that they will stay by him, and _not_ die, but conquer; or, if they die, die conquering at their post?” Lucia embraced her mother amidst her tears. “Ah, mother,” she said, “did not some of your old Greek forefathers descend from the three hundred who died at Thermopylæ?”