Cleomenes. Here, too, in the terror of a wound from one of those dangerous snakes which are not uncommon in Italian woods, the girl had once flung her arms round the neck of her young lover, and been soothed by him with tender words, -ay, and with kisses, — which she thought spoke of love like that in her own heart.

As Stratonice thought of all this memory became agony; she would have fled away but that she heard a low murmur of voices near the spring, and saw the flutter of a white robe. She came nearer-despair made her step firm and noiseless-she looked through the trees-there, in the clear starlight, she saw Masa's drooping form, and, beside her, bending over her with unutterable fondness, stood Cleomenes. His arms were wreathed round her, her hands were clasped in both his, and even though Masa wept, she did not take them away.

Stratonice could have shrieked but that a suffocating weight oppressed her-it passed away, and she seemed frozen into marble. Yet to her ears every word that Cleomenes said came terribly distinct, and she felt forced to listen.

"I have told thee all, my best-beloved," he said, with an accent of inexpressible sweetness and tenderness, "and thou scornest me not. Oh Masa! thou must-thou dost love me."

"I dare not, Cleomenes-I dare not," faintly answered the girl. "It would be a sin against my father-and more, against my God! I dare not love thee-I cannot. Take away thine arms, and let me go."

He freed her in a moment, and stood leaning against a tree; he looked at her for a while with an expression so mournful-so despairing, that it went to her very heart, and then covered his face with his hands.

"I have deceived myself-thou lovest me not," he said at last; "I will go away and die.”

"Thou shalt not go," cried Mæsa passionately, "thou shalt not go -for I love thee-I do love thee, my Cleomenes!"

And Stratonice, from her hiding-place, witnessed the first embrace of confessed and mutual love between her sister and the beloved of her own heart-her idol for years. She clasped her hands over her brow till they felt like bands of iron, then pressed them together until the red drops seemed ready to ooze from the slender fingers; and, without a word or cry, she sank down, still conscious but utterly powerless, on the grass.

In that moment every womanly feeling, every loving and kindly emotion, fled from the bosom of Stratonice. No wounded pride for slighted love-no bleeding vanity-no girlish sorrow over withered hopes brought relieving tears to her eyes. They were burning; but she could not weep. Desperation-wild hatred-maddening revenge came like serpents hissing around her, and all whispered one and the same word. Could any but the countless starry eyes have beheld her then, as she stood, most terrible in her magnificent beauty, they would have likened her to the glorious, but fallen, archangel who defied the Eternal.

IV.

THE Furies which tortured the crime-stained son of Agamemnon, were not more terrible than the thoughts which now crowded on the soul of Stratonice. First, they were wild, desperate-too horrible to

have any real form-then they shaped themselves into a stern determination, which grew firmer and firmer the more it lingered in her heart. Every feeling of gratitude for years of tender care-every sisterly and filial emotion-were swallowed up in the whirlpool of passionate, all-engrossing, and despairing love. During the long and fearful hours of night the bosom of the Greek girl was racked with jealous agony; the long-suppressed passions of her clime rose up and rioted uncontrolled, and all resolved themselves into the one certainty that, whether by death or life, Cleomenes must be parted from Mæsa.

At the dawn of day, long ere the indolent and luxurious Roman ladies had unclosed their eyes, Stratonice disguised herself in the attire of one of her slaves, and went forth to betray those for whom she would once have died. As the morning breeze passed her by, laying its cool kiss on her hair and brow, and the faint twitter of the waking birds was heard from the wood of Egeria-whose very name brought images of holiness and peace-the contrast to her own tumultuous passions struck forcibly on the throbbing heart of Stratonice; the horrible phantoms fled away before the still, calm reality of light and day, and a vague feeling of remorse and pity for the innocence she was about to betray stole over her. But then came the agonizing memory of Cleomenes and his love -and the girl pressed her hands wildly to her heart as if to drive thence every feeling but that all-engrossing one which led her on to the deed.

Again and again she kept repeating to herself that it would not bring death to that sweet child; for the Christians, if only suspected, were generally allowed time after the first warning, to flee from the threatened persecution. Thus Masa would be parted from her lover without the sin of murder. With these words, Stratonice moved rapidly forward, and, ere the frenzied excitement which goaded her had passed away, she had denounced Mæsa, the daughter of Irenæus, as a concealed Christian.

Flying from the house of the prætor with the speed of one who is pursued by a spectre, the Greek girl reached her home. Fear lest she should be suspected, a vague apprehension as to the result of her deed, and a lingering remorse which grew stronger and stronger now that it was utterly in vain, oppressed her by turns. With the swiftness of an antelope she gained the secret entrance of the garden, and soon reached the house in safety and undiscovered. There, in her own chamber, Stratonice felt all her strength flee from her; she cast away the thick mantle which had disguised, and threw herself on the floor, laying on the cold marble her burning brow as if to give relief to its wild throbbings, and trembling at every sound.

Then, by a sudden impulse, she passed to the chamber next her own which was her sister's. Masa lay in a slumber which might once have been disturbed, for the dark eyelashes were still heavy with tears. But it was all calmness now, and a sweet happy smile wandered round the childlike mouth. Broken words came at times from the lips of the dreaming girl. Stratonice bent down to listen, and distinguished that name which lay ever like a silent melody in her own heart-the name of Cleomenes!

She rushed from the couch, and, casting her arms with frenzied exultation in the air, while her disordered tresses and flashing eyes, gave her the appearance of a Mænad or a Pythoness, Stratonice thanked the gods who had strengthened her for the deed she had done.

That night when Irenæus, under the influence of gentle and domestic feelings to which the austere zealot seldom gave way, had gathered his wife and daughters round him in peace and affection—that night the awful warning came.

For a moment the young maiden-she was hardly more than a child-trembled under the terrible blow, she uttered a shriek, and threw herself into her father's arms.

"Hush! I am with thee," murmured Irenæus, almost concealing his daughter's small and slight form in his embrace. Then turning to the bearer of the secret summons, he said firmly, though drops of agony stood on the father's brow, "Thou seest she neither confesses nor denies the charge until the appointed time. Go!"

By degrees firmness and strength came to the young Christian maiden; she stood upright, and folded her small hands on her bosom, saying,

"Father, doubt me not, I have no fear now." Domitilla flung herself at the feet of her husband.

"Oh! Irenæus

save thyself and her there is time. Fly, I beseech thee, this night -this very hour.”

Irenæus looked at his daughter; she returned the gaze with eyes in which shone resolution equal to his own, and put her hand in his.

"Mother," she said in low and serene tones, "the daughter of Irenæus may not fly. I am weak, but the holy faith I follow will make me strong. I will cling to it and acknowledge it even unto death.” A glow of rapturous exultation lighted up the face of Irenæus. "Domitilla, Stratonice-worshippers of false gods," he cried, "see what it is to be a Christian. My child," continued the old man, as thou wilt, I forbid thee not-I glory in thee. Rather than that thou shouldst deny thy faith, I would see thee die a martyr's death. Fear not, Mæsa, my beloved, for such a death is most blessed. Let us go and pray that thou mayest have strength to meet it."

And without another word he led his daughter away.

"do

Thus did the early fathers of the faith show a resolution so heroic and so constant, that martyrdom was esteemed a glory-a thing to be desired rather than dreaded. And thus did their devotion to their holy religion triumph over every other human feeling, making the timorous firm, and the feeble strong; giving to delicate and timid woman the courage of manhood, and endowing manhood with a heroism and endurance almost superhuman. In our days we can sit by our peaceful firesides and read how the early Christians died-nay, more, joyfully surrendered their best-beloved to death without a tear; and it seems like an idle tradition, an amusing and incredible tale. May the fearful realities of such times never come nearer to us than now.

V.

THE Forum of Rome was appointed as the place of assembly where, week by week, the suspected or acknowledged Christians were accused and condemned. It was a noble and spacious hall, adorned with all the magnificence of the time. The days had gone by when the rulers of republican Rome, severe in their simplicity, sent forth their judgments from beside the warrior's tent and the farmer's plough. Even the sway of Dioclesian, who gave no countenance to luxury, failed to restrict the unbounded love of splendour which was the destruction of Rome. How would the ghosts of those stern old Romans

have looked with disgust and contempt on their ancient forum thronged with statues, not of heroes, but of crime-laden and effeminate emperors, whom they would have deemed too abject to wield a woman's distaff-too vile to crawl under the loathed garments of a slave.

On the gorgeous seats which occupied the place of the ancient rostra, reclined the judges-men, whose splendid garments and careless attitudes, made them seem more like guests at a feast than senators whose fiat was to be that of life or death. Before them stood the Christians, a band as various in age, sex, and station, as that which had met at the catacombs. One by one they were called upon to answer the accusation or deny their faith by casting incense on the altar of Janus, whose temple was within the precincts of the forum. One by one did those simple and faithful followers of the apostles go to their trial and their doom; some with wild energy pouring forth anathemas on the idol and its worshippers, thereby gaining more quickly the longed-for death; others, in calm endurance, uttering no words of anger or reproach, but meekly and silently meeting their doom.

"Masa, the daughter of Irenæus, stand forth!" cried the cold stern voice of Galerius, the second in the empire, a harsh and merciless judge.

Firmly and calmly the young maiden glided from her father's side, and stood before the tribunal still covered with her veil. The judge motioned her to take it off, and the pale sweet face of the daughter of Irenæus was revealed to his rude eyes.

"Poor child! thou art young to die thus," said a compassionate voice; it came from him who sat next to Galerius, a man of middle age, whose mild features and fair hair contrasted strongly with the dark-looking, cruel-eyed judge.

"Thou wert always soft-hearted, Constantius Chlorus," answered Galerius, with a sneer. "But the will of the emperor must be done, nevertheless. Fair damsel! I would not be harsh to thee; the altar is near thee, throw on it but a few grains of incense and thou art free. Surely, the task is easy."

But Mæsa stood immovable.

"Give her the censer !" cried Galerius. "Come, maiden, wilt thou do this?"

"I will not," came from the girl's lips in a tone most sweet, and yet most firm. "I am a Christian."

One deep sigh, as of agonized suspense, was heard from the midst of the Christian band, and from the multitude beyond rose a half-suppressed shriek,-they came from the father and mother of the doomed Mæsa.

"Fool!” said the judge, "Who taught thee to believe such mad

ness?"

"I did," cried Irenæus, stepping forth beside Mæsa. "I am the Christian father of this Christian child. I was Irenæus, the soldier of Probus, the victor of the Sarmatians, the honoured of the senate; now I am a martyr for the faith of the holy Galilean, ready to die with this my devoted and dutiful child.”

The gentle countenance of Constantius was full of pain.

"Noble Irenæus," he said, "we will not listen to thee-our ears are deaf. Go away to thy house; let one suffice for the sacrifice."

But Galerius, full of savage pleasure, ordered his guards to lead the new criminal to the altar of incense. To the surprise of all, Irenæus

walked unresistingly thither, and stood before the statue of Janus. Then he cried with a loud voice,

"Cursed idol! worshipped blindly by the votaries of a cursed faith, thus does the servant of the one true God execute vengeance upon thee!"

And, with a blow from that aged but once-powerful arm, which had crushed the enemies of Rome like so many grasshoppers, Irenæus dashthe statue from its pedestal, and it fell, broken in a thousand pieces, on the temple floor.

A cry of horror, of revenge, of exultation, burst from the Romans and the Christians. All was confusion in the assembly; and Irenæus would have been torn in pieces by the indignant multitude, had not Galerius commanded the guards to secure and protect him. Thus the old man was borne away, and Mæsa stood in the midst of the Forum, alone and unprotected.

Not unprotected; for suddenly a young man leaped from the crowd, and stood by the maiden's side. It was Cleomenes. Even in that dread time a gleam of joy came over Mæsa's countenance at the faithfulness of him she loved; but in a moment she whispered mournfully,

"Cleomenes, why art thou here?-must I bring death on thee,

too?"

He did not answer her; but turned to the younger of the judges. "O Constantius! I appeal to thee for the sake of this young maiden. How can she be guilty, even if she have been made to conform to her father's faith? Noble Chlorus, thou hast known me from my youth; here I pray thee to grant me this maiden's life. Romans," he cried, turning to the multitude," let the daughter of the condemned Irenæus be forgotten in the wife of Cleomenes the Greek."

"He is a

At this name a cry of pleasure rose up from the crowd. good man; let him take the girl. Long live Cleomenes the Greek !” were severally heard from the changeable populace.

"Let her cast the incense-but one grain, and she is free," said the judges.

Cleomenes led Mæsa to the shrine; he placed the censer in her hand; he stood before her, with his sweet, loving, and beseeching eyes. The daughter of Irenæus looked at him, pressed his hands to her lips and bosom, then let them go, and said,

"For thee-for thee, most faithful and beloved one, I would renounce all on earth; but I cannot deny my God!"

She cast the censer on the earth, folded her hands calmly on her breast, and said once more,

"I am a Christian. Let me die with my

VI.

father."

AND where, amidst all this, was the betrayer, the woman whose love was worse than hate,-the unsuspected guilty one, whose self-tortures were ten thousand times fiercer than the martyr's flames,-where was Stratonice?

Wandering about like an unquiet spirit,-in the desolate home,in the crowded Forum,-in the prison, where the condemned ones awaited a slow-coming death, to grace the next festival of the Roman murderers, beside the calm and patient victim,-beside the father, who, though firm in his own enthusiastic faith, yet cursed the unknown wretch who had betrayed his child,-by the frantic mother, who up