If only she dare believe that this Jesus of Nazareth was the Messiah for whom her people had looked for so long! but surely He, that long-looked-for King, would come with imperial pomp and greatness; not, as these his followers said, as the child of a humble mother, to die a shameful death, such as malefactors died! Ah! that death of Christ! therein was hidden the _Life_, though she knew it not as yet, nor could discern it. The little congregation were to separate at dawn, and Casca was led by Anna through the long and tortuous galleries to another entrance than that by which they had come in. It was scarcely more than a hole in the hill-side, and concealed by the immense profusion of the rare yellow-berried ivy, which still hangs upon the Walls of the Appian Way. When they reached the opening, Anna said-- “We must part here, dear master. I counsel you to conceal the manuscript carefully, and read it with prayer in secret. We may meet no more; for you pass now to the grand life of Antonius, and I must remain in the Jews’ quarter, and you must run into no danger in seeking me out. But I am often to be found here at dark after sunset, and before sunrise, and it may be that the desire of my heart may be granted, and you will seek baptism at the hands of the Father in Christ who spoke to us this night. Ah! it is morning now; speed on your way.” Then Anna swept the overhanging branches of ivy over the opening with her hand, and disappeared, while Casca turned towards the city along the Appian Way. The first faint pallor of the dawn was touching the colossal figures on the tombs, as Casca passed along. In the dim and shadowy light these monuments of the past seemed even more majestic than in the broad glare of the noonday sun. The boy’s heart was filled with a yearning longing after some certainty about the future life which was almost pain. All the great warriors who had fallen in battle for their country covered with glory, whom these monuments commemorated--where had they gone? That dim region of the dead, whence the old traditions said some favoured ones had been snatched by the strong arm of the gods, and returned to those who loved them--where was it? Had it, indeed--as many thought in Rome--no existence but in the songs of the poet and in the marble of the sculptor? If the great multitude of whom nothing remained but their ashes in the urns which were deposited in the grand monuments were utterly gone; if the life which had ended on the battle-field, or by their own hand was over--quite over--how short it was! All hopes and fears, and learning and culture, at an end. Death! which must then mean nothingness?