Early in the afternoon I became aware that a great commotion was going on in the house. The door into the narrow passage was broken open by axes; for Magistus always carried the key, and he could not be found. A Roman centurion soon appeared at the window where Magistus had so often stood. Oh what a picture was his brave, handsome, indignant face! Soldiers came in. The brick and mortar were soon torn away. I was lifted out and carried into the open air. I was so overcome with joy that I fainted. The men who beheld my ghastly features and emaciated form were loud in their curses of Magistus. I was laid on a bed in the house, and nurses were assigned me. The kindly centurion did not leave me until I was comfortably fixed and had recovered from my swoon. “Pontius Pilate,” said he, “desired me to present you his congratulations, and to say that he will visit you to-morrow when you have been refreshed and strengthened by food and a night’s rest; and will then hear your story from your own lips.” I thanked him warmly. “And my deliverer?” said I, “my unseen, faithful friend and deliverer! Where is he? Who is he?” No one present knew anything about my deliverer. [Illustration: Ornament] [Illustration: Ornament] XXV. _WHAT HAD HAPPENED._ [Illustration: Initial] Pontius Pilate fulfilled his promise; and I told him my whole story from the time of my resurrection until my happy release by his good centurion. When I was speaking about the invisible friend, the flower let down in the basket, and the parchment with its rude letters, his face grew sad. When I finished by asking him to inform me how and from whom he learned my condition, so that I could discover, reward and love my deliverer as he deserved, he drew a deep sigh and said: “I fear I have done a very hasty and cruel thing! “The man who informed me of your condition was the African who accompanied you to Rome, and who endeavored to rescue the slave from the fish-pond of Hortensius.” “My brave and good Anthony!” I exclaimed eagerly. “He eluded my guards; and although wounded by one of them for his temerity, he rushed into my presence as I was finishing my morning meal. The words he spoke were substantially these: “‘Lazarus, whom you brought from Rome, is confined in a dungeon underneath the house of Magistus, in Bethany. They have starved him nearly to death, and he has been without water for a day and a night. Send help to him speedily, or it will be too late.’” “Noble, courageous Anthony!” I exclaimed. “He shall have half of my possessions!” but I was disquieted by the darkening brow of Pilate. “I asked him,” continued the Roman governor, “if he had been in your employ since our return from Rome. “‘No!’ he replied, ‘I have seen him but once, and that was in prison.’” “He spoke the truth,” said I; “he always spoke the truth!”