Three years since, he said, he had been staying at Antioch at the time of a violent outbreak against the levying of certain taxes.  There had been much bloodshed, and he and his family had got out of the city as quickly as they could.  It was growing dusk when they turned into a wayside inn, where they found Agne and her little brother captives to a soldier.  During the night the girl had crept up to the little boy’s bed, and to comfort and lull him had begun to sing him a simple song.  The singer’s voice was so pure and pathetic that it had touched both him and his wife and they had at once purchased the girl and her brother for a small sum.  He had simply paid what the soldier asked, not regarding the children in the light of slaves; nor had he had any description of them written out, though it was, no doubt, in his power to treat them as slaves and to sell them again, since the sale had taken place before witnesses who might still be found.  He had afterwards learnt from the girl that her parents were Christians and had settled in Antioch only a few years previously; but she had no friends nor relatives there.  Her father, being a tax-collector in the service of the Emperor, had moved about a great deal, but she remembered his having spoken of Augusta Treviroruin in Belgica prima, as his native place.—­[Now Trier or Treves, on the Moselle.]

Agne had witnessed the attack on her father’s house by the angry mob who had killed her parents, their two slaves, and her elder brother.  Her father must certainly have been an official of some rank, and probably, as it would seem, a Roman citizen, in which case—­as Porphyrius agreed—­both the young girl and her little brother could legally claim their freedom.  The insurgents who had dragged the two children out into the street had been driven off by the troops, and it was from them that Karnis had rescued them.  “And I have never regretted it,” added the old musician, “for Agne is a sweet, gentle soul.  Of her voice I need say nothing, since you yourselves heard it yesterday.”

“And were quite delighted with it!” cried Gorgo.  “If flowers could sing it would be like that!”

“Well, well,” said Karnis.  “She has a lovely voice—­but she wants wings.  Something—­what, I know not, keeps the violet rooted to the soil.”

“Christian scruples,” said the merchant, and Damia added: 

“Let Eros touch her—­that will loosen her tongue.”

“Eros, always Eros!” repeated Gorgo shrugging her shoulders.  “Nay, love means suffering—­those who love drag a chain with them.  To do the best of which he is capable man needs only to be free, true, and in health.”

“That is a great deal, fair mistress,” replied Karnis eagerly.  “With these three gifts the best work is done.  But as to Agne—­what can be further from freedom than a girl bound to service? her body, to be sure is healthy, but her spirit suffers; she can get no peace for dread of the Christian’s terrors:  Sin, Repentance, and Hell. . . .”