“My business, my lord Marcus,” he said in an educated and refined voice, “is to minister to those who are in trouble.” “Then, sir, your feet have led you aright,” answered Marcus with a sad laugh, “for this is the house of trouble and you see I am its inhabitant.” “I know, and I know the cause.” Marcus looked at him curiously. “Are you a Christian, sir?” he asked. “Nay, do not fear to answer; I have friends who are Christians,” and he sighed, “nor could I harm you if I would, who wish to harm none, least of all a Christian.” “My lord Marcus, I fear hurt at no man’s hand; also the days of Nero have gone by and Vespasian reigns, who molests us not. I am Cyril, a bishop of the Christians in Rome, and if you will hear me I am come to preach to you my faith, which, I trust, may yet be yours.” Marcus stared at the man; it was to him a matter of amazement that this priest should take so much trouble for a stranger. Then a thought struck him and he asked: “What fee do you charge for these lessons in a new religion?” The bishop’s pale face flushed. “Sir,” he answered, “if you wish to reject my message, do it without insult. I do not sell the grace of God for lucre.” Again Marcus was impressed. “Your pardon,” he said, “yet I have known priests take money, though it is true they were never of your faith. Who told you about me?” “One, my lord Marcus, to whom you have behaved well,” answered Cyril gravely. Marcus sprang from his seat. “Do you mean—do you mean—?” he began and paused, looking round him fearfully. “Yes,” replied the bishop in a whisper, “I mean Miriam. Fear not, she and her companions are in my charge, and for the present, safe. Seek to know no more, lest perchance their secret should be wrung from you. I and her brethren in the Lord will protect her to the last.” Marcus began to pour out his thanks. “Thank me not,” interrupted Cyril, “for what is at once my duty and my joy.” “Friend Cyril,” said Marcus, “the maid is in great danger. I have just learned that Domitian’s spies hunt through Rome to find her, who, when she is found, will be spirited to his palace and a fate that you can guess. She must escape from Rome. Let her fly to Tyre, where she has friends and property. There, if she lies hid a while, she will be molested by none.” The bishop shook his head. “I have thought of it,” he said, “but it is scarcely possible. The officers at every port have orders to search all ships that sail with passengers, and detain any woman on them who answers to the description of her who was called Pearl-Maiden. This I know for certain, for I also have my officers, more faithful perhaps than those of Cæsar,” and he smiled. “Is there then no means to get her out of Rome and across the sea?”