world,--she was selfish, light, and forward. The other, who was the younger, was a perfect contrast to her,--so gentle, docile and affectionate; so considerate about others; so devoted to her mother; so kind and attentive to the poor patient. Irene herself was a type of the Christian matron, in the middle class of life. Fabiola did not find her intelligent, or learned, or witty, or highly polished; but she saw her always calm, active, sensible, and honest. Then she was clearly warm-hearted, generous, deeply affectionate, and sweetly patient. The pagan lady had never seen such a household,--so simple, frugal, and orderly. Nothing disturbed it, except the character of the elder sister. In a few days it was ascertained that the daily visitor was not a Christian; but this caused no change in their treatment of her. Then she in her turn made a discovery which mortified her--that the elder daughter was still heathen. All that she saw made a favorable impression on her, and softened the hard crust of prejudice on her mind. For the present, however, her thoughts were all absorbed in Sebastian, whose recovery was slow. She formed plans with Irene for carrying him off to her Campanian villa, where she would have leisure to confer with him on religion. An insuperable obstacle, however, rose to this project. We will not attempt to lead our reader into the feelings of Sebastian. To have yearned after martyrdom, to have prayed for it, to have suffered all its pangs, to have died in it as far as human consciousness went, to have lost sight of this world, and now to awaken in it again, no martyr, but an ordinary wayfaring man on probation, who might yet lose salvation,--was surely a greater trial than martyrdom itself. It was to be like a man who, in the midst of a stormy night, should try to cross an angry river, or tempestuous arm of the sea, and, after struggling for hours, and having his skiff twirled round and round and all but upset, should find himself relanded on the same side as he started from. Or, it was like St. Paul sent back to earth and to Satan’s buffets, after having heard the mysterious words which only one Intelligence can utter. Yet no murmur escaped him, no regret. He adored in silence the Divine Will, hoping that its purpose was only to give him the merit of a double martyrdom. For this second crown he so earnestly longed, that he rejected every proposal for flight and concealment. “I have now,” he generously said, “earned one privilege of a martyr, that of speaking boldly to the persecutors. This I will use the first day that I can leave my bed. Nurse me, therefore, well, that it may be the sooner.” [Illustration: Moses receiving the Law, from a picture in the Cemetery of “Inter duos Lauros.”] CHAPTER XXVII. THE SECOND CROWN.