had once been dear to them.  “Come unto me,” sounded again and again in his ears, and struck so warmly to his heart that he could not help thinking first of his mother, who, so many a time, when he was a child, had called to him only to clasp him in her arms as he ran towards her, and to press him to her heart.  Just so had he often called his poor little dead son, and the feeling that there could be any one who might still call to him—­the forsaken lonely man—­with loving words to release him from his griefs, to reunite him to his mother, his father, and all the dear ones left behind in his lost and distant home, took half the bitterness from his pain.

He was accustomed to listen to all that was said in the Emperor’s presence, and year by year he had learnt to understand more of what he heard.  He had often heard the Christians discussed, and usually as deluded but dangerous fools.  Many of his fellow-slaves, too, he had heard called Christian idiots, but still not unfrequently very reasonable men, and sometimes even Hadrian himself, had taken the part of the Christians.

This was the first time that Mastor had heard from their own lips what they believed and hoped, and now, while fulfilling his duties he could hardly bear the delay before he could once more seek out the old pavement-worker, to enquire of him, and to have the hopes confirmed which his words had aroused in his soul.

No sooner had Hadrian and Antinous gone into the living-room than Mastor had hastened off across the court to find the Christians.  There he tried to open a conversation with the overseer concerning his faith, but the old man answered that there was a season for everything; just now he could not interrupt the work, but that he might come again after sundown, and that he then would tell him of Him who had promised to refresh the sorrow-laden.

Mastor thought no more of making his escape.  When he appeared again in his master’s presence there was such a sunny light in his blue eyes that Hadrian left the angry words he had prepared for him unspoken, and cried to Antinous, laughing and pointing to the slave: 

“I really believe the rascal has consoled himself already, and found a new mate.  Let us, too, follow the precept of Horace, so far as we may, and enjoy the present day.  The poet may let the future go as it will, but I cannot, for, unfortunately, I am the Emperor.”

“And Rome may thank the gods that you are,” replied Antinous.

“What happy phrases the boy hits upon sometimes,” said Hadrian with a laugh, and he stroked the lad’s brown curls.  “Now till noon I must work with Phlegon and Titianus, whom I am expecting, and then perhaps we may find something to laugh at.  Ask the tall sculptor there behind the screens, at what hour Balbilla is to sit to him for her bust.  We must also inspect the architect’s work, and that of the Alexandrian artists by daylight; that, their zeal has well deserved.”