"And you absolutely refuse to grant my request?"

"Alas, Marcellus, how can I be guilty of the death of my friend? You have no mercy on me. Forgive me if I refuse so unreasonable a proposal."

"The will of the Lord be done," said Marcellus. "I must hasten back.

Alas! how can I carry with me this message of despair?"

The two friends embraced in silence, and Marcellus departed, leaving Lucullus overcome with amazement at this proposal.

Marcellus returned to the Catacombs in safety. The brethren there who knew of his errand received him again with mournful joy. The lady Caecilia still lay in a kind of stupor, only half conscious of surrounding events. At times her mind would wander, and in her delirium she would talk of happy scenes in her early life.

But the life which she had led in the Catacombs, the alternating hope and fear, joy and sorrow, the ever present anxiety, and the oppressive air of the place itself, had overcome both mind and body. Her delicate nature sank beneath the fury of such an ordeal, and this last heavy blow completed her prostration. She could not rally from its effects.

That night they watched around her couch. Every hour she grew feebler, and life was slowly but surely pa.s.sing away. From that descent unto death not even the restoration of her son could have saved her.

But though earthly thoughts had left her and earthly feelings had grown faint, the one master pa.s.sion of her later years held undiminished power over her. Her lips murmured still the sacred words which had so long been her support and consolation. The name of her darling boy was breathed from her lips though his present danger was forgotten; but it was the blessed name of Jesus that was uttered with the deepest fervor.

At length the end came. Starting from a long period of stillness, her eyes opened wide, a flush pa.s.sed over her wan and emaciated face and she uttered a faint cry, "Come, Lord Jesus!" With the cry life went out, and the pure spirit of the lady Caecilia had returned unto G.o.d who gave it.

CHAPTER XII.

POLLIO'S TRIAL.

"Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings thou hast ordained praise."

It was a large room in a building not far from the imperial palace. The pavement was of polished marble, and columns of porphyry supported a paneled dome. An altar with a statue of a heathen deity was at one end of the apartment. Magistrates in their robes occupied raised seats on the opposite end. In front of them were some soldiers guarding a prisoner.

The prisoner was the boy Pollio. His face was pale, but his bearing was erect and firm. The remarkable intelligence which had always characterized him did not fail him now. His quick eye took in everything. He knew the inevitable doom that impended over him. Yet there was no trace of fear or indecision about him.

He knew that the only tie that bound him to earth had been severed.

Early that morning the news of his mother's death had reached him. It had been carried to him by a man who thought that the knowledge of this would fortify his resolution. That man was Marcellus. The kindness of Lucullus had gained him an interview. His judgment had been correct.

While his mother lived, the thought of her would have weakened his resolution; now that she was dead, he was eager to depart also. In his simple faith he believed that death would unite him at once to the dear mother whom he loved so fondly.

With these feelings he awaited the examination.

"Who are you?"

"Marcus Servilius Pollio."

"What is your age?"

"Thirteen years."

At the mention of his name a murmur of compa.s.sion went round the a.s.semblage, for that name was well known in Rome.

"You are charged with the crime of being a Christian. What have you to say?"

"I am guilty of no crime," said the boy. "I am a Christian, and I am glad to be able to confess it before men."

"It is the same with them all," said one of the judges. "They all have the same formula."

"Do you know the nature of your crime?"

"I am guilty of no crime," said Pollio. "My religion teaches me to fear G.o.d and honor the emperor. I have obeyed every just law, and am not a traitor."

"To be a Christian is to be a traitor."

"I am a Christian, but I am not a traitor."

"The law of the state forbids you to be a Christian under pain of death.

If you are a Christian you must die."

"I am a Christian," repeated Pollio firmly.

"Then you must die."

"Be it so."

"Boy, do you know what it is to suffer death?"

"I have seen much of death during the last few months. I have always expected to lay down my life for my religion when my turn should come."

"Boy, you are young. We pity your tender age and inexperience. You have been trained so peculiarly that you are scarcely responsible for your present folly. For all this we are willing to make allowance. This religion which infatuates you is foolishness. You believe that a poor Jew, who was executed a few hundred years ago, is a G.o.d. Can anything be more absurd than this! Our religion is the religion of the state. It has enough in itself to satisfy the minds of young and old, ignorant and learned. Leave your foolish superst.i.tion and turn to our wiser and older religion."

"I cannot."

"You are the last of a n.o.ble family. The state recognizes the worth and the n.o.bility of the Servilii. Your ancestors lived in pomp and wealth and power. You are a poor miserable boy and a prisoner. Be wise, Pollio.

Think of the glory of your forefathers and throw aside the miserable obstacle that keeps you away from all their ill.u.s.trious fame."

"I cannot."

"You have lived a miserable outcast. The poorest beggar in Rome fares better than you. His food is obtained with less labor and less humiliation. His shelter is in the light of day. Above all he is safe.

His life is his own. He need not live in hourly fear of justice. But you have had to drag out a wretched existence in want and danger and darkness. What has your boasted religion given you? What has this deified Jew done for you? Nothing, worse than nothing. Turn, then, from this deceiver. Wealth and comfort and friends and the honors of the state and the favor of the emperor will all be yours."

"I cannot."

"Your father was a loyal subject and a brave soldier. He died in battle for his country. He left you an infant, the heir of all his honors, and the last prop of his house. Little did he think of the treacherous influences that surrounded you to lead you astray. Your mother's mind, weakened by sorrow, surrendered to the insidious wiles of false teachers, and she again ignorantly wrought your ruin. Had your n.o.ble father lived you would now have been the hope of his ancient line; your mother, too, would have followed the faith of her ill.u.s.trious ancestors.

Do you value your father's memory? Has he no claims on your filial duty?

Do you think it no sin to heap dishonor on the proud name that you bear and throw so foul a blot upon the unsullied fame handed down to you from your fathers? Away with this delusion that blinds you. By your father's memory, by the honor of your family, turn from your present course."

"I can do them no dishonor. My religion is pure and holy. I can die, but I cannot be false to my Saviour."

"You see that we are merciful to you. Your name and your inexperience excites our pity. Were you but a common prisoner we would offer you in short words the choice between retraction or death. But we are willing to reason with you, for we do not wish to see a n.o.ble family become extinct through the ignorance or obstinacy of a degenerate heir."

"I thank you for your consideration," said Pollio; "but your arguments have no weight with me beside the higher claims of my religion."

"Rash and thoughtless boy! There is another argument which you will find more powerful. The wrath of the emperor is terrible."