“I cannot forswear Christ,” said Baudillas with a firmness that surprised none so much as himself. But, indeed, the fall of Marcianus, so far from drawing him along into the same apostasy, had caused a recoil in his soul. To hear his fellow‐ministrant deny Christ, to see him extend his hands for the incense—that inspired him with an indignation which gave immense force to his resolution. The Church had been dishonored, the ministry disgraced in Marcianus. Oh, that they might not be thus humbled in himself! “Baudillas Macer,” said the magistrate, “take advice, and be speedy in making your election; your fellow, who has just furnished a breakfast to the wolves, hesitated a moment too long, and so lost his life. By the time he had resolved to act as a wise man and a good citizen, not the gods themselves could deliver him. _Flamen_, hand the shell with the grains to this sensible fellow.” “I cannot offer sacrifice.” “You are guilty of treason against Cæsar if you refuse to sacrifice to his genius. Never mind about Nemausus, whose image is there. Say—the genius of Cæsar, and you are quit.” “I am his most obedient subject.” “Then offer a libation or some frankincense.” “I cannot. I pray daily to God for him.” “A wilful man is like a stubborn ass. There is naught for him but the stick. I can do no more. I shall sentence you.” “I am ready to die for Christ.” “Then lead him away. The sword!” The deacon bowed. “I am unworthy of shedding my blood for Christ,” he said, and his voice, though low, was firm. Then he looked around and saw the Bishop Castor in the zone allotted to the citizens and knights. Baudillas crossed his arms on his breast and knelt on the sand, and the bishop, rising from his seat, extended his hand in benediction. He, Castor, had not been called to sacrifice. He had not courted death, but he had not shrunk from it. He had not concealed himself, nevertheless he had been passed over. Then the deacon, with firm step, walked into the center of the arena and knelt down. In another moment his head was severed from the body. The attendants immediately removed every trace of the execution, and now arrived the moment for which all had looked with impatience. The magistrate said: “Bring forward Perpetua, daughter of Aulus Harpinius Læto, that has lived.” At once Æmilius sprang into the arena and advanced before Petronius. “Suffer me to act as her advocate,” said he in an agitated voice. “You know me, I am Lentulus Varo.”