The deaconess rose, pressed a kiss on the eyes of the dead youth, promised Eusebius that she would do her best and went away.  He, too, was about to leave when he heard a sound of low sobbing from one of the benches.  He stood still to listen, shook his old head, and muttering to himself: 

“Great God—­merciful and kind....  Thou alone canst know wherefore Thou hast set the rose-garland of life with so many sharp thorns,” he went up to Agne who rose at his approach.

“Why, my child,” he said kindly, “what are you weeping for?  Have you, too, lost some dear one killed in the fray?”

“No, no,” she hastily replied with a gesture of terror at the thought.

“What then do you want here at so late an hour?”

“Nothing—­nothing,” she said.  “That is all over!  Good God, how long I must have been sitting here—­I—­I know I must go; yes, I know it.”

“And are you alone-no one with you?”

She shook her head sadly.  The old man looked at her narrowly.

“Then I will take you safe home,” he said.  “You see I am an old man and a priest.  Where do you live, my child?”

“I?  I. . .” stammered Agne, and a torrent of scalding tears fell down her cheeks.  “My God! my God! where, where am I to go?”

“You have no home, no one belonging to you?” asked the old man.  “Come, child, pluck up your courage and tell me truly what it is that troubles you; perhaps I may be able to help you.”

“You?” she said with bitter melancholy.  “Are not you one of the Bishop’s priests?”

“I am a deacon, and Theophilus is the head of my church; but for that very reason . . .”

“No,” said Agne sharply, “I will deceive no one.  My parents were Arians, and as my beliefs are the same as theirs the Bishop has driven me away as an outcast, finally and without pity.”

“Indeed,” said Eusebius.  “Did the Bishop do that?  Well, as the head of a large community of Christians he, of course, is bound to look at things in their widest aspect; small things, small people can be nothing to him.  I, on the contrary, am myself but a small personage, and I care for small things.  You know, child, that the Lord has said ’that in his Father’s kingdom there are many mansions,’ and that in which Arius dwells is not mine; but it is in the Father’s kingdom nevertheless.  It cannot be so much amiss after all that you should cling to the creed of your parents.  What is your name?”

“Agne.”

“Agne, or the lamb.  A pretty, good name!  It is a name I love, as I, too, am a shepherd, though but a very humble one, so trust yourself to me, little lamb.  Tell me, why are you crying?  And whom do you seek here?  And how is it that you do not know where to find a home?”

Eusebius spoke with such homely kindness, and his voice was so full of fatherly sympathy that hope revived in Agne’s breast, and she told him with frank confidence all he wanted to know.