The Roman guard, accustomed to him, received his coins smilingly and scarcely noticed his coming out. For three days before the Sabbath he had worn a green shade over his eyes. “I got dust in them,” said he to the soldiers, “and an old man’s eyes are weak.” Three o’clock, Sabbath, arrived. Beltrezzor was admitted into the private room of the keeper. The amphitheatre was crowded, and crowds were still pressing on the outside for admission. The games and combats were going on, to the great delight of the immense audience, for they occasionally shook the building with shouts of laughter and thunders of applause. The huge lion, irritated by these noises and raging with hunger, sent up roar after roar, which appalled the stoutest hearts among the spectators. Euphorbus, stern and pale, came into his office. “Now for your plan,” said he to Beltrezzor. “It is now or never.” My uncle drew from the ample folds of his robe a package, which he laid on a table. “Now,” said he, “attention! Mary and I are to change places. She is to come out with you, disguised as her uncle. I am to remain in the dungeon, disguised as Mary.” Euphorbus staggered back with protruded eyes. “And to be thrown to the lion yourself?” “It is the only way,” said the old man, slowly and meekly. Euphorbus fell upon his neck and kissed his cheek: “I have heard that heroes were sometimes elevated into gods; but you are the only man of whom I could believe it.” “You see,” continued Beltrezzor, “here is a mask of the finest parchment, painted in imitation of Mary’s face, with long beautiful golden hair attached to the headpiece.” “It is indeed an astonishing likeness. The face is perfect. And where is the mask in imitation of yours?” He untied a string behind his neck, and drew off his hair and beard at once. He was a beardless bald old man. He wore his mask. “Any one wearing this would be mistaken for me. There was one difficulty about the eyes. We got over that by wearing the green shade. There was another about the nose and mouth. She must hold her handkerchief to her face, as is natural in grief. The illusion will be complete. “Here are two flat pieces of cork,” he continued, “to be put into my sandals, which are peculiarly constructed so as to conceal them. That will add an inch to Mary’s height. Then you see my turban is so arranged that a little traction here elevates it an inch more. That will make it right, for she is nearly as tall as I am. The robes you know we can simply exchange.” The old man dwelt upon these details until he convinced Euphorbus that the singular exchange was perfectly feasible. The voice of Simon Magus was now heard in the courtyard. He had just looked into Mary’s window to see that his victim had not escaped. He threw the guard some money. He then spoke to three men who stood before him with long poles in their hands, each pole having an iron hook at the end of it. He spoke so loud that Mary and every one heard him: