“To serve his idols?”

“Yes, reverend Father, and so we ran away.”

“Quite right, my child.”

“But the scriptures say that the slave shall obey his master?”

“True; but higher than the master in the flesh is the Father in Heaven, and it is better a thousand times to sin against man than against God.”

This conversation had been carried on in an undertone on account of the scribes occupied at the desks; but the priest raised his voice with his last words, and he must have been heard in the adjoining room, for a heavy curtain of plain cloth was opened, and an unusually deep and powerful voice exclaimed: 

“Back again already, Irenaeus!  That is well; I want to speak with you.”

“Immediately, my lord—­I am at your service in a moment.—­Now, my child,” he added, rising, “you know what your duty is.  And if your master looks you up and insists on your assisting at the sacrifice or what ever it may be, you will find shelter with us.  My name is Irenaeus.”

Here he was again interrupted, for the curtain was lifted once more and a man came out of the inner room whom no one could forget after having once met him.  It was the Bishop whom Agne had seen on the balcony; she recognized him at once, and dropped on her knees to kiss the hem of his robe in all humility.  Theophilus accepted the homage as a matter of course, hastily glancing at the child with his large keen eyes; Agne not daring to raise hers, for there was certainly something strangely impressive in his aspect.  Then, with a wave of his long thin hand to indicate Agne, he asked: 

“What does this girl want?”

“A freeborn girl—­parents Christian—­comes from Antioch. . .” replied Irenaeus.  “Sold to a heathen master—­commanded to serve idols—­has run away and now has doubts. . .”

“You have told her to which Lord her service is due?” interrupted the Bishop.  Then, turning to Agne, he said:  “And why did you come here instead of going to the deacon of your own church?”

“We have only been here a few days,” replied the girl timidly, as she ventured to raise her eyes to the handsome face of this princely prelate, whose fine, pale features looked as if they had been carved out of marble.

“Then go to partake of the sacred Eucharist in the basilica of Mary,” replied the Bishop.  “It is just now the hour—­but no, stop.  You are a stranger here you say; you have run away from your master—­and you are young, very young and very...  It is dark too.  Where are you intending to sleep?”

“I do not know,” said Agne, and her eyes filled with tears.

“That is what I call courage!” murmured Theophilus to the priest, and then he added to Agne:  “Well, thanks to the saints, we have asylums for such as you, here in the city.  That scribe will give you a document which will secure your admission to one.  So you come from Antioch?  Then there is the refuge of Seleucus of Antioch.  To what parish—­[Parochia in Latin]—­did your parents belong?”