“How can he fight?” said Lycoris, “he is blind. Only see how helplessly he stands there; he does not know which way to turn.” “Blindness cannot save a criminal from punishment.” “Punishment, by all means; but the master of the ceremonies said a fight!” “Well, and why not?” said the young man scornfully. “The Nazarenes declare, that their cross is a mighty weapon, and that their God shows them a path even in darkness.” Lycoris turned away; her eye fell on Barbillus. The handsome and expressive head of the oriental priest had a strange, fixed and lifeless look. And, in truth, the scene, which was now going forward in the arena, was well calculated to excite and impress such a man as Barbillus. He, absolutely bereft of convictions, felt the power of faith come home to his soul as a strange phenomenon. Brought up in his early youth by priests, and then trained at Athens in philosophy and sophistry, he had always been accustomed to regard everything supernatural from the vantage ground of mere self-interested trickery. The more devoutly and zealously his credulous followers gave themselves up to this jugglery, the more convinced he felt, that all faith was the result of a sickly hallucination--particularly in women, a disorder of the system, which must be dissipated like mist by the rough breath of reality. And that this ecstatic frenzy should carry grave and ripe men so far, that they could cling to it in defiance of the law of the land, and sacrifice their lives to a death of excruciating torment--this to the sensitive physique of the Asiatic was astounding, shocking! It was incomprehensible; a man--to all appearance a well-educated man, while his lofty brow indicated superior capacity--and that man believed! That man was at the point of death in witness of his belief--and he did not even tremble. Barbillus pressed his hand to his heart, which seemed to be rising into his throat, and his breath rattled as he drew it. The door, which barred the egress of the wild beasts from the dens, now opened. A lion came bounding into the arena, paused, looked round him, licked his fangs, and gave a mighty roar. Suddenly he started back a step or two. Calenus, who till this minute had stood upright, had dropped on to his knees; and clasping his cross with both hands, he held it up towards heaven, praying audibly: “Jesus Christ, my Lord and Saviour! behold me about to die for Thy sake. And in dying I declare before all men: Thou alone art the Light and the Truth. O God, my God, have mercy upon me, for Thy Son’s sake, who died upon the cross for the redemption of the world.” Dull murmurs, jeering laughter, and a few words of pity were heard as the blind man ended his prayer. The priest of Isis had turned paler than ever and perfectly rigid; he leaned forward; the veins in his forehead swelled, and his lips quivered. A thousand dancing flashes mocked his sight. His whole spirit was in torment under a fearful and paralyzing vision.