Sebastian, in the meantime, was unconscious of these amiable negotiations for his safety; for, like Peter between two guards, he was slumbering soundly by the wall of the court. Fatigued with his day’s work, he had enjoyed the rare advantage of retiring early to rest; and the marble pavement was a good enough soldier’s bed. But, after a few hours’ repose, he awoke refreshed; and now that all was hushed, he silently rose, and with outstretched arms, gave himself up to prayer. The martyr’s prayer is not a preparation for death; for his is a death that needs no preparation. The soldier who suddenly declares himself a Christian, bends down his head, and mingles his blood with that of the confessor, whom he had come to execute; or the friend, of unknown name, who salutes the martyr going to death, is seized, and made to bear him willing company,[186] is as prepared for martyrdom, as he who has passed months in prison engaged in prayer. It is not a cry, therefore, for the forgiveness of past sin; for there is a consciousness of that perfect love, which sendeth out fear, an inward assurance of that highest grace, which is incompatible with sin. Nor in Sebastian was it a prayer for courage or strength; for the opposite feeling, which could suggest it, was unknown to him. It never entered into his mind to doubt, that as he had faced death intrepidly for his earthly sovereign on the battle-field, so he should meet it joyfully for his heavenly Lord, in any place. His prayer, then, till morning, was a gladsome hymn of glory and honor to the King of kings, a joining with the seraph’s glowing eyes, and ever-shaking wings, in restless homage. Then when the stars in the bright heavens caught his eyes, he challenged them as wakeful sentinels like himself, to exchange the watchword of Divine praises; and as the night-wind rustled in the leafless trees of the neighboring court of Adonis, he bade its wayward music compose itself, and its rude harping upon the vibrating boughs form softer hymns,--the only ones that earth could utter in its winter night-hours. Now burst on him the thrilling thought that the morning hour approached, for the cock had crowed; and he would soon hear those branches murmuring over him to the sharp whistle of flying arrows, unerring in their aim. And he offered himself gladly to their sharp tongues, hissing as the serpent’s, to drink his blood. He offered himself as an oblation for God’s honor, and for the appeasing of his wrath. He offered himself particularly for the afflicted Church, and prayed that his death might mitigate her sufferings.