There were eight of the Christians. Heraklas, peering from a distance behind, saw the light held high, as the men paused beside the Christians. Absolutely exhausted, most of them, by the forced march of the desert, and by the lack of enough food, they were asleep, and Heraklas noted with a great pity their gaunt faces. Athribis bent eagerly forward, scanning one worn countenance after another. "Hold the light this way--more this side--here!" he said. Athribis laid his hand on one sleeper's shoulder, and turned him, slightly. "This is he!" joyfully exclaimed Athribis. "This is he! I had feared he was not among these, after all. This is he! I would know him anywhere! I never saw that brand, though. That is what made him look differently to me at first. But this is he! This is he!" "Cease thy prating!" warned his companion, fearfully. "If the men of this ship were not so drunk, thou wouldest have little time to talk! Thinkest thou I care nothing for my head? Hasten! Wake him, if thou wilt, but hasten! Thinkest thou the petty coin thou gavest me will pay me for my head? Hasten! They think I am guarding these prisoners safely." "Small time wilt thou spend guarding them, if thou knowest where aught is to drink!" responded Athribis sarcastically. "How much hast thou drank today?" The wearied Timokles slumbered on, regardless of the light and talking. Back in the dark, Heraklas clasped his hands. A mighty sob rose in his throat. The Christian was indeed Timokles! How worn he was! And that brand upon his cheek! Athribis bent forward. Timokles' eyes were opening. "Athribis!" exclaimed Timokles faintly, as, after a prolonged gaze, he recognized the slave. "Ah, my Christian master! My Christian master!" jeered Athribis, "I see you once again. My Christian master!" The hands of the unseen Heraklas clinched at that tone. Timokles looked around, bewildered. A quiver passed over his lips. Athribis reminded him of home. "Is my mother here?" asked Timokles. A sorrow deeper than tears looked from his eyes. Athribis smiled. "Thy mother!" he said. The tone was a sufficient answer. Timokles' eyes fell. "Thou wilt never see her again," went on Athribis. "Thy mother hateth thee! She is faithful to Egypt's gods, if thou art not! I came here only to be certain thou wert on the ship." "Camest thou from her to me on that errand?" asked Timokles calmly. Athribis laughed, and turned to go. "Farewell, my Christian master! Farewell!" said the slave, mockingly. There was an instant's silence. The great lion sighed from his cage. Then answered Timokles' low voice, "O Athribis, may my God become thine, also!" A laugh came, as the slave's reply. Athribis and his conductor went away. The light faded from the hold. Heraklas crept near the Christians. "Timokles!" he whispered. "Timokles! O Timokles, my brother!" CHAPTER VIII. From the bound Christians came no answer to Heraklas' cry, though there was a startled movement among them.