thus able to do much for the fugitives, with whom he felt so deep a sympathy. Very often he went down himself, and tried to cheer them, but he soon saw that no human words could bring comfort to hearts like these. Still, his face and his form became well known to all here, and they knew, too, that he was not one of themselves; they gradually learned all about him, and many and many a prayer went up for this generous friend. If the consciousness of doing good can bring happiness, then Cineas at this time must have known the greatest happiness of his life. His arrival was the signal for eager welcome from sincere and grateful hearts. Men looked on him with reverential affection, and, as he moved along, all around him invoked the richest blessings of Heaven on his head.

Sometimes, under the protection of Julius, Lydia visited the upper air, and was able to inhale the pure atmosphere, and gain strength to support her in her subterranean life. No one tried any longer to induce her to leave this place, for she had no thought of leaving her father.

Among those who went up most frequently was Julius. He went up indifferently by night or by day. Daring to the verge of rashness, fertile in resource, and quick in expedients, he had encountered many perils, and had often been on the very verge of capture, but he had managed thus far to escape. His friends trembled for his safety; but could not prevent his adventurous spirit from taking the chief part in the perils of the upper world.

But Eubulus had not a long captivity. The close atmosphere, the chill, damp air, and the darkness, all served to weaken his strength. Day after day he grew weaker. They besought him to return to Labeo's villa, but he refused.

66 'No," said he. "Once I would have gladly stayed there and met my fate, but now I will give the remainder of my life to these sorrowing ones around me. I feel that they receive comfort from my words."

So the old man continued his fond employ, and as long as he could speak, those gloomy caverns seemed not altogether dark.

But at last his voice ceased forever.

He passed away in the night. It was Lydia who first discovered the dread truth. She found her father, one morning, lying still and cold on his couch. Her cries brought all around to the spot. There they saw the body of the old man, from which the freed spirit had taken its everlasting flight.

There was gloom enough after that. They missed his venerable form, his majestic countenance, but, most of all, they missed his words, that never ceased to carry with them hope and peace and divine consolation. What could supply the place?

As for Lydia, when the old man was buried, Cineas insisted that she should go and live with Helena. In her grief and loneliness she had no will of her own, and mechanically yielded to the suggestion. Helena received her as a sister.

Dark and gloomy enough was the place to Julius then. But he continued to labor as before for the common good, and the only difference that these things made in his outward actions, was that he became even more rash, more daring, and more careless of his own life than ever. Yet it seemed as though Heaven watched over him. He encountered perils every day, yet managed to elude all danger.

Cineas labored all the more zealously for these afflicted ones, as he saw their imprisonment prolonged and their sorrow deepen. Much he marvelled at that resolution which was maintained under such circumstances, and at that faith which lay beneath all that resolution. He thought that he himself would make but a poor Christian, for he did not feel as though he could endure all this for any belief whatever. He thought that he could die for conscience' sake, but this life seemed like a lingering death, more terrible than any which was encountered on the cross, or at the stake.

In their sorrow they sought expression for all their feelings in those psalms which they loved to sing, the psalms of the Jews, which the Christians had also adopted, and to which they had given a new meaning:

"O Lord God of my salvation,

I have cried day and night before thee;
Let my prayer come before thee;

Incline thine ear unto my cry;

For my soul is full of troubles

And my life draweth nigh unto the grave.

I am counted with them that go down into the pit;

I am as a man that hath no strength;

Free among the dead, like the slain who lie in the grave,

Whom thou rememberest no more,

And they are cut off from thy hand.

Thou hast laid me in the lowest pit,

In darkness, in the deeps;

Thy wrath lies hard upon me,

And thou hast afflicted me with all thy waves."

Here despair seemed to find utterance. These men took all these words to themselves, and saw in them something prophetic. While they strove to attain to resignation and patience, they yet felt themselves forced to speak forth their sorrow in words, and when those words might be found in the inspired volume, there they adopted them, and used them. Among these there was another psalm which often was heard here at this time:

:

"Out of the depths have I cried unto thee, O Lord!

Lord, hear my voice;

Let thine ears be attentive to the voice of my supplications.

If thou, Lord, shouldst mark iniquities,

O Lord! who shall stand?

But there is forgiveness with thee,

That thou mayest be feared.

I wait for the Lord, my soul doth wait,

And in his word do I hope;

My soul waiteth for the Lord more than they that watch for the morning,

I say more than they that watch for the morning.

Let Israel hope in the Lord;

For with the Lord there is mercy,

And with him is plenteous redemption,

And he shall redeem Israel from all his iniquities."

With these psalms of the Jewish church there mingled the Christian hymns. Rude in structure, and formed from the rhyming popular models, the taste formed by the culture of that age might be offended, but if the harmony of sound was wanting, the soul could see deep meaning in the words, and receive comfort.

"Though through the vale I go
Oppressed and terrified,
In darkness and alone,
With fear on every side,
Yet soars my spirit up

From pangs of death to sing:
'O Grave! where is thy victory?
O Death! where is thy sting?"

"In deep grief and in dark,
With fear on every side,

I know in whom I trust,
I know the Crucified,
He lifts my spirit up

From pangs of death to sing:
O Grave! where is thy victory?

O Death! where is thy sting?""

XXV.

THE CONSPIRACY.

HUS for many and many a weary month life was only safe to the Christian by the sacrifice of that light of day, without which life is worth but little.

Cineas went near the court but seldom. His duties in behalf of the public, and the poor, who yet remained, to a great extent, homeless and destitute, formed a sort of an excuse. The idea of again

associating with Nero filled him with horror. To him he attributed all the hideous scenes which he had lately witnessed, -the fire; the grief and the destruction of the people; the cruel punishment of the Christians; their life and sufferings below the ground. He seemed to Cineas now like the enemy of the human race, DIs himself, incarnate, sent to inflict agony and woe on the people. On that monarch and his court he looked with loathing, and he felt that he would risk every danger rather than resume his former life there.

To one so jealous as Nero, this action of Cineas would have caused jealousy and suspicion, under ordinary circumstances, and these would have certainly resulted in characteristic vengeance. But the fact was, Nero had forgotten all about him. The scenes of the last few months had thrown him out of his literary tastes completely. He was just now intent above all things on the destruction of the Christians. The fact that they were innocent only gave zest to the occupation. As to their particular belief, he was supremely indifferent. Their flight to mysterious hiding-places, where they baffled him so completely, filled him with greater ani