“‘Not so!’ exclaimed Corvinus, ‘not so do you depart, cowardly worshipper of an ass’s head![9] You have concealed your abode from us, but I will find you out; till then bear this token of my determined purpose to be revenged!’ So saying he dealt me a furious blow upon the face, which made me reel and stagger, while a shout of savage delight broke forth from the boys around us.” He burst into tears, which relieved him, and then went on: “Oh, how I felt my blood boil at that moment! how my heart seemed bursting within me; and a voice appeared to whisper in my ear scornfully the name of ‘coward!’ It surely was an evil spirit. I felt that I was strong enough--my rising anger made me so--to seize my unjust assailant by the throat, and cast him gasping on the ground. I heard already the shout of applause that would have hailed my victory and turned the tables against him. It was the hardest struggle of my life; never were flesh and blood so strong within me. O God! may they never be again so tremendously powerful!” “And what did you do, then, my darling boy?” gasped forth the trembling matron. He replied, “My good angel conquered the demon at my side. I thought of my blessed Lord in the house of Caiphas, surrounded by scoffing enemies, and struck ignominiously on the cheek, yet meek and forgiving. Could I wish to be otherwise?[10] I stretched forth my hand to Corvinus, and said, ‘May God forgive you, as I freely and fully do; and may He bless you abundantly.’ Cassianus came up at that moment, having seen all from a distance, and the youthful crowd quickly dispersed. I entreated him, by our common faith, now acknowledged between us, not to pursue Corvinus for what he had done; and I obtained his promise. And now, sweet mother,” murmured the boy, in soft, gentle accents, into his parent’s bosom, “do you not think I may call this a happy day?” CHAPTER III. THE DEDICATION. While the foregoing conversation was held, the day had fast declined. An aged female servant now entered unnoticed, and lighted the lamps placed on marble and bronze candelabra, and quietly retired. A bright light beamed upon the unconscious group of mother and son, as they remained silent, after the holy matron Lucina had answered Pancratius’s last question only by kissing his glowing brow. It was not merely a maternal emotion that was agitating her bosom; it was not even the happy feeling of a mother who, having trained her child to certain high and difficult principles, sees them put to the hardest test, and nobly stand it. Neither was it the joy of having for her son one, in her estimation, so heroically virtuous at such an age; for surely, with much greater justice than the mother of the Gracchi showed her boys to the astonished matrons of republican Rome as her only jewels, could that Christian mother have boasted to the Church of the son she had brought up.