“You have much to do truly,” said Claudius, impatiently. “Of such labours of the brain I know nought; but this, I say, I believe your sister hungers for a sight of you, and yearns to clasp your hand in hers. She cannot speak of her faith, which has slowly risen like the sun upon her soul, and dispersed the darkness. She may and does love those around her as her children, but she cannot talk openly with them, lest haply they should be condemned and punished with a punishment even more severe than that which might fall on her. But delay your departure if you will--it is not for a rough soldier like me to enter into the reasons which a subtle and learned scholar may have for remaining here. I know what a true heart means, and I have a strong sword-arm to prove it, but as to the brain of you philosophers and poets, I know nothing of it, having, as you will say, but a small share thereof myself.” “Nay, now, good Claudius, do not misjudge me; do not be angry. We will be ready in the next week; meantime let us renew our close friendship, and let me show you the treasures of the past and of the present, contained within the walls of yonder stately pile of buildings, which is the museum of the world!” Claudius’s temporary vexation passed away, and the two friends found themselves knit together by a hundred subtle ties in the far-off past of their early life. Claudius listened with surprise to Casca, as he detailed all the varied phases of thought through which he and many hundreds of men had passed in Alexandria. Casca was a Christian--that is to say he had been baptised, and if questioned as to his faith, he would have given a direct answer that he believed in the true God and his Son Jesus Christ. But there could be no doubt that the learning of the schools had the greatest charm for him, and if he studied the manuscripts of the Gospels, it was more in a critical than a faithful spirit. He considered the writing of St. Luke’s Gospel so perfect that he gloried in its study, and he showed Claudius a beautiful copy inscribed by his own hand, with notes on the margin, for which he told him he had won high praise and distinction. The old heathen worship, he said, was dying, and the temples were more and more deserted day by day. But Casca had not embraced the faith of Christ with the simplicity of a child; it was rather the acceptance of a finer theory than any he had yet discerned. That witness within himself, of which Claudius had spoken to Hyacintha long before, was wanting; and lost in the mazes of thought, and yielding to the delight of learning, Casca had missed the humble faith in a personal Saviour, which had taught the brave Claudius self-restraint and self-forgetfulness, and made him, the valiant hero of a hundred fights, humble in his own eyes.