‘And if,’ resumed Lydon—­’if thy Deity (methinks thou wilt own but one?) be indeed that benevolent and pitying Power which thou assertest Him to be, He will know also that thy very faith in Him first confirmed me in that determination thou blamest.’

‘How! what mean you?’ said the slave.

’Why, thou knowest that I, sold in my childhood as a slave, was set free at Rome by the will of my master, whom I had been fortunate enough to please.  I hastened to Pompeii to see thee—­I found thee already aged and infirm, under the yoke of a capricious and pampered lord—­thou hadst lately adopted this new faith, and its adoption made thy slavery doubly painful to thee; it took away all the softening charm of custom, which reconciles us so often to the worst.  Didst thou not complain to me that thou wert compelled to offices that were not odious to thee as a slave, but guilty as a Nazarene?  Didst thou not tell me that thy soul shook with remorse when thou wert compelled to place even a crumb of cake before the Lares that watch over yon impluvium? that thy soul was torn by a perpetual struggle?  Didst thou not tell me that even by pouring wine before the threshold, and calling on the name of some Grecian deity, thou didst fear thou wert incurring penalties worse than those of Tantalus, an eternity of tortures more terrible than those of the Tartarian fields?  Didst thou not tell me this?  I wondered, I could not comprehend; nor, by Hercules! can I now:  but I was thy son, and my sole task was to compassionate and relieve.  Could I hear thy groans, could I witness thy mysterious horrors, thy constant anguish, and remain inactive?  No! by the immortal gods! the thought struck me like light from Olympus!  I had no money, but I had strength and youth—­these were thy gifts—­I could sell these in my turn for thee!  I learned the amount of thy ransom—­I learned that the usual prize of a victorious gladiator would doubly pay it.  I became a gladiator—­I linked myself with those accursed men, scorning, loathing, while I joined—­I acquired their skill—­blessed be the lesson!—­it shall teach me to free my father!’

‘Oh, that thou couldst hear Olinthus!’ sighed the old man, more and more affected by the virtue of his son, but not less strongly convinced of the criminality of his purpose.

‘I will hear the whole world talk if thou wilt,’ answered the gladiator, gaily; ’but not till thou art a slave no more.  Beneath thy own roof, my father, thou shalt puzzle this dull brain all day long, ay, and all night too, if it give thee pleasure.  Oh, such a spot as I have chalked out for thee!—­it is one of the nine hundred and ninety-nine shops of old Julia Felix, in the sunny part of the city, where thou mayst bask before the door in the day—­and I will sell the oil and the wine for thee, my father—­and then, please Venus (or if it does not please her, since thou lovest not her name, it is all one to Lydon)—­then, I say, perhaps thou mayst have a daughter, too, to tend thy grey hairs, and hear shrill voices at thy knee, that shall call thee “Lydon’s father!” Ah! we shall be so happy—­the prize can purchase all.  Cheer thee! cheer up, my sire!—­And now I must away—­day wears—­the lanista waits me.  Come! thy blessing!’