His conjecture was turned into a certainty by an accident. One day, as Hermas was digging the stubborn soil, something dropped out of the fold of his dress. He snatched it up hastily and in confusion, and seemed relieved when he noticed that no one but Onesimus had seen him. But the quick eyes of the Phrygian had observed that what he dropped was a tiny fish rudely fashioned in glass, on which had been painted the one word CΩCΙC, ‘May’st thou save!’ They were not uncommon among Christians, and some of them have been found in the catacombs. The fettered slaves were taken out in gangs every morning under the guardianship of armed drivers, whose whips enforced diligence, and whose swords protected them from assault. The refractory were soon reduced to discipline, but those who worked diligently were not often tormented. In the various works of tillage, Onesimus, hampered though he was by his intolerable manacles, found some outlet for his pent-up anguish and hard remorse. But no one can live without some human intercourse, and one day, when Hermas was working beside him, and none of the rest were near, Onesimus glanced up at him and said the one word Ἰχθὺς, ‘Fish.’ Quick as lightning came the whispered answer Ἰχθύδιον, ‘a little fish,’ by which Hermas meant to imply that he was a weak and humble Christian. ‘And you?’ he asked. ‘Are you one of us?’ Onesimus sadly shook his head. ‘Perhaps I was, or might have been, a Christian once.’ ‘Have you been illuminated and fallen away, unhappy one?’ ‘Ask me no more,’ said Onesimus. ‘I am a lost wretch.’ ‘The Good Shepherd,’ said Hermas, ‘came to seek and save the lost.’ ‘It[*9] is vain to talk to me,’ said Onesimus. ‘Tell me of yourself. You are not a criminal, or a madman, or a barbarian, like these.’ ‘Talk not of them with scorn,’ said Hermas. ‘Are they worse than the harlots and sinners whose friend Christ was?’ Onesimus would not talk of Christ. ‘I never saw you,’ he said, ‘in Cæsar’s household.’ ‘No,’ said Hermas; ‘I was the slave of Pedanius Secundus, the city Præfect. He has no rustic prison, and, being a friend of Nero, he asked his freedman to get leave to send me here.’ ‘But why?’ ‘He bade me do what I could not do. Seeing that I was strong and vigorous, he wanted me to marry one of his slave-girls. The worshippers of the gods know nothing of what marriage means. I loved a Christian maiden; I refused the union with a girl of evil character, who, being beautiful, had been the victim of Pedanius already. He scourged me; he tortured me; he threatened to fling me into his fish-ponds; and, when I still held out, he sent me here.’ ‘Is there no escape from this horrible place?’