Caleb was not the only one who heard the evil tidings of the ship _Luna_; it came to the ears of the bishop Cyril also, since little of any moment passed within the city of Rome which the Christians did not know. Like Caleb, he satisfied himself of the truth of the matter by an interview with the captain of the _Imperatrix_. Then with a sorrowful heart he departed to the prison near the Temple of Mars. Here the warden told him that Marcus wished to see no one, but answering “Friend, my business will not wait,” he pushed past the man and entered the room beyond. Marcus was standing up in the centre of it, in his hand a drawn sword of the short Roman pattern, which, on catching sight of his visitor, he cast upon the table with an exclamation of impatience. It fell beside a letter addressed to “The Lady Miriam in Tyre. To be given into her own hand.” “Peace be with you,” said the bishop, searching his face with his quiet eyes. “I thank you, friend,” answered Marcus, smiling strangely, “I need peace, and—seek it.” “Son,” asked the bishop, “what were you about to do?” “Friend,” answered Marcus, “If you desire to know, I was about to fall upon my sword. One more minute and I should have been dead. They brought it me with the cloak and other things. It was thoughtful of them, and I guessed their meaning.” Cyril lifted the sword from the table and cast it into a corner of the room. “God be thanked,” he said, “Who led my feet here in time to save you from this sin. Why, because it has pleased Him to take her life, should you seek to take your own?” “Her life?” said Marcus. “What dreadful words are these. Her life! Whose life?” “The life of Miriam. I came to tell you. She is drowned upon the seas with all her company.” For a moment Marcus stood swaying to and fro like a drunken man. Then he said: “Is it so indeed? Well, the more reason that I should make haste to follow her. Begone and leave me to do the deed alone,” and he stepped towards the sword. Cyril set his foot upon the shining blade. “What is this madness?” he asked. “If you did not know of Miriam’s death, why do you desire to kill yourself?” “Because I have lost more than Miriam. Man, they have robbed me of my honour. By the decree of Titus, I, Marcus, am branded as a coward. Yes, Titus, at whose side I have fought a score of battles—Titus, from whom I have warded many a blow—has banished me from Rome.” “Tell me of this thing,” said Cyril. So Marcus told him all. Cyril listened in silence, then said sternly: “Is it for this that you would kill yourself? Is your honour lessened by a decree based upon false evidence, and given for reasons of policy? Do you cease to be honourable because others are dishonourable, and would you—a soldier—fly from the battle? Now, indeed, Marcus, you show yourself a coward.”