He had hardly ceased speaking, when they heard steps outside the dungeon door. The gaoler rushed out, and Quintus heard the murmur of voices coming nearer and nearer. Suddenly his heart stood still. “Many thanks,” he heard just outside. “Leave me alone now, worthy Haemon; you know me well enough to feel sure that you run no risk, in admitting me without a witness.” Quintus gazed anxiously at the door. It was his father’s voice. In an instant the door opened, and Titus Claudius stood before him. For a long time neither could utter a word; they stood looking at each other as pale and silent as the dead. Their lips quivered, but this was the only outward sign of their cruel suffering. But they understood each other; each was struggling for such composure as might enable him to speak. It was the father, who first succeeded; but it was in a hollow, forced voice that he said, as he clenched his hands convulsively: “It is here--here--that we meet!” The words conveyed such deep and unspeakable anguish, that Quintus shuddered from head to foot. “Father ...” he began, and then he broke into sobs. He turned his face to the wall in despair, and pressed his cheek against the cold stone as though entreating its pity. “Quintus,” the priest went on--and his voice was as gentle and mild as a child's, “is it true, that you spent the night in the catacomb with the Nazarenes?” The young man looked round. “Yes, Father,” he said. “Did you not know the law?” “I knew it, Father.” “And what were you doing among the rebels?” “Who calls them rebels?” retorted Quintus, recovering his self-possession. “All who respect the government, for the law has branded them so. Answer me, Quintus; What were you seeking in the society of these reprobates?” “What I never found in the society of their persecutors, what all my life-long I have vainly longed and hoped for: peace and salvation for my soul.” “Then it is true--it is true...?” “What, Father?” “That you are not merely their protector, but, in fact, one of them.” “As you say.” Titus Claudius turned paler and more ghastly than before. “Wretched boy!” he said; “then you are a lost man! The crime of being a Nazarene is punished with death.” “I know it.” “You know it? And you tread the law under foot?” “In my soul I carry a higher law.”