“Yes, dearest lady, I am free--free from the fetters which bound me, no longer a slave, but a _child_ of a loving Father.” Hyacintha’s questioning eyes were turned wistfully upon Anna as she spoke. She could hardly understand her. The sunlight flickered through the branches upon Hyacintha’s spotless robe, and touched the ruddy gold of her hair with glory. Her little sandalled feet peeped out beneath the hem of her robe, as they rested on the mossy turf. Her beautifully-formed hands were folded in a sort of happy expectation as to what Anna might say next, what the message might be from her home beyond the stormy sea, and her whole attitude was one of attention and wonder as to what was coming. Casca watched his sister with eyes of tender brotherly admiration, and he wondered it had never struck him before, how beautiful she was! “Poor Ebba,” Hyacintha said, “the child of a loving Father! I do not understand. I know you left our home, in Britain, after they had killed the man on the hill-side, near Verulam. I know my father was angry at your loss, put a price on your head, but I know no more.” “Nor need I tell you all that happened, for it would serve no good end, nor would I throw over your brightness so dark a cloud as the story of my life since we met would surely throw.” “I was baptised by the holy Amphibalus on the night of my escape. Then our little band wandered towards the fastnesses of Wales, after hiding in a cave at Radburn. We were settling in a village, in peace and rest, converts daily brought in by the teaching of Amphibalus, when we were surprised by the barbarians, and to escape them a band of thirty fell into the hands of a Roman convoy under Valens and Claudius.” “Claudius! good, dear Claudius!” Hyacintha exclaimed; “nay, I do not believe he hunted you down.” “He did as he was commanded, and many fell. Some were carried to Radburn as prisoners. I was one, and Agatha, the mother’s sister of Heraclius, who perished before the holy Alban rather than take his life,--Agatha was my support and stay. We were thrown into a dungeon together, from which we were dragged to witness the martyrdom of Amphibalus. “I remember little more after that, till I found myself committed to the care of old Ezra, the Jew, by brave Claudius, who rescued me from death, and bade me say to you, dear Hyacintha, that he had fulfilled his vow made to the gods and to you, and had saved the life of the slave whom you loved.” “Whom I must love always,” Hyacintha murmured. “But how was it done?” “I have since heard from Ezra that his daughter died on her toilsome journey from Verulam to Radburn, and that Claudius, finding him weeping over her body, took it up and carried it to the dungeon, where he left it with Agatha, and carried me away. I have never heard what befel Agatha--my friend and mother--for a mother in Christ she was, truly, to me.” Severus’s letter to his son became intelligible now. The boy sprang to his feet.