“How can I live on who am so shamed?” he asked passionately. “My friends knew that I could not live, and that is why they wrapped a sword in yonder cloak and sent it me. Also Miriam, you say, is dead.” “Satan sent it to you, Marcus, desiring to fashion of your foolish pride a ladder down which you might climb to hell. Cast aside this base temptation which wears the mask of false honour; face your trouble like a man, and conquer it by innocence—and faith.” “Miriam! What of Miriam?” “Yes, what of Miriam? How would she welcome you yonder, who come to greet her with your blood upon your hands? Oh! son, do you not understand that this is the trial laid upon you? You have been brought low that you might rise high. Once the world gave you all it had to give. You were rich, you were a captain among captains; you were high-born; men called you ‘The Fortunate.’ Then Christ appealed to you in vain, you put Him by. What had you to do with the crucified carpenter of Galilee? Now by the plotting of your foes you have fallen. No longer do you rank high in your trade of blood. You are dismissed its service and an exile. The lesson of life has come home to you, therefore you seek to escape from life rather than bide in it to do your duty through good and ill, heedless of what men may say, and finding peace in the verdict of your own conscience. Let Him Whom you put by in your hours of pomp come to you now. Carry your cross with your shame as He carried His in His shame. In His light find light, in His peace find peace, and at the end her who has been taken from you awhile. Has my spirit spoken in vain with your spirit during all these many weeks, son Marcus? Already you have told me that you believe, and now at the first breath of trouble will you go back upon that which you know to be the Truth? Oh! once more listen to me, that your eyes may be opened before it is too late.” “Speak on, I hear you,” said Marcus with a sigh. So Cyril pleaded with him in the passion of one inspired, and as Marcus hearkened his heart was softened and his purpose turned. “I knew it all before, I believed it all before,” he said at length, “but I would not accept your baptism and become a member of your Church.” “Why not, son?” “Because had I done so she would have thought and you might have thought, and perhaps I myself should have thought that I did it, as once I offered to do, to win her whom I desired above all things on earth. Now she is dead and it is otherwise. Shrive me, father, and do your office.” So there in the prison cell the bishop Cyril took water and baptised the Roman Marcus into the body of the Christian Church. “What shall I do now?” Marcus asked as he rose from his knees. “Once Cæsar was my master, now you speak with the voice of Cæsar. Command me.”