Then Æmilius approached Perpetua, and entreated her to give way. To cast a few grains on the charcoal meant nothing; it was a mere movement of the hand, a hardly conscious muscular act, altogether out of comparison with the results. Such compliance would give her life, happiness, and would place her in a position to do vast good, and he assured her that his whole life would be devoted to her service. “I cannot,” she said, looking Æmilius full in the face. “Do not think me ungrateful; my heart overflows for what you have done for me, but I cannot deny my Christ.” Again he urged her. Let her consent and he—even he would become a Christian. “No,” said she, “not at that price. You would be in heart for ever estranged from the faith.” “To the rack! Lift her on to the little horse. Domitius Afer left his bequest to the city in order that we should be amused, not befooled,” howled the spectators. “Executioners, do your duty,” said the magistrate. “But if she cry out, let her off. She will sacrifice. Only to the first hole—mind you. If that does not succeed, well, then, we shall try sharper means.” And now the little horse was set up in the midst of the arena, and braziers of glowing charcoal were planted beside it; in the fire rested crooks and pincers to get red hot. The “little horse” was a structure of timber. Two planks were set edgeways with a wheel between them at each end. The structure stood on four legs, two at each extremity, spreading at the base. Halfway down, between these legs, at the ends, was a roller, furnished with levers that passed through them. A rope was attached to the ankles, another to the wrists of the person extended on the back of the “horse,” and this rope was strained over the pulleys by means of the windlasses. The levers could be turned to any extent, so as, if required, to wrench arms and legs from their sockets. And now ensued a scene that refuses description. “We are made a spectacle unto men and angels,” said the apostle, and none could realize how true were the words better than those who lived in times of persecution. Before that vast concourse the modest Christian maiden was despoiled of her raiment and was stretched upon the rack—swung between the planks. Æmilius felt his head swim and his heart contract. What could he do? Again he entreated, but she shook her head, yet turned at his voice and smiled. Then the executioners threw themselves on the levers, and a hush as of death fell on the multitude. Twenty thousand spectators looked on, twice that number of eyes were riveted on the frail girl undergoing this agony. Bets had been made on her constancy, bandied about, taken, and booked. Castor stood up, with face turned to heaven, and extended arms, praying. The creaking of the windlass was audible; then rang out a sharp cry of pain. Immediately the cords were relaxed and the victim lowered to the ground. Blanda threw a mantle over her. “She will sacrifice,” said Æmilius; “take off the cords.”