Agne had not been so fortunate as to find a refuge so easily.  With no escort, unveiled, and left entirely to her own guidance, leading the little boy, she hurried forward, not knowing whither.  All she thought was to get away—­far away from these men who were trying to imperil her immortal soul.

She knew that Karnis had actually bought her, and that she was, therefore, his property and chattel.  Even Christian doctrine taught her that the slave must obey his master; but she could not feel like a slave, and if indeed she were one her owner might destroy and kill her body, but not her soul.  The law, however, was on the side of Karnis, and it allowed him to pursue her and cast her into prison.  This idea haunted her, and for fear of being caught she avoided all the chief thoroughfares and kept close to the houses as she stole through the side streets and alleys.  Once, in Antioch, she had seen a runaway slave, who, having succeeded in reaching a statue of the Emperor and laying his hand on it, was by that act safe from his pursuers.  There must surely be such a statue somewhere in Alexandria—­but where?  A woman, of whom she enquired, directed her down a wider street that would take her into the Canopic Way.  If she crossed that and went down the first turning to the left she would reach a large open square in the Bruchium, and there, in front of the Prefect’s residence and by the side of the Bishop’s house, stood the new statue of Theodosius.

This information, and the mention of the Bishop, gave a new course to her proceedings.  It was wrong to defy and desert her master, but to obey him would be deadly sin.  Which must she choose and which avoid?  Only one person could advise in such a case—­only one could relieve her mind of its difficulties and terrors:  The Shepherd of souls in the city—­the Bishop himself.  She too was a lamb of his flock; to him and to no one else could she turn.

This thought fell on her heart like a ray of light dispersing the clouds of uncertainty and alarm.  With a deep breath of relief she took the child in her arms and told him—­for he was whimpering to know where she was taking him, and why he might not go back to Dada—­that they were going to see a good, kind man who would tell them the way home to their father and mother.  Papias, however, still wailed to go to Dada and not to the man.

Half insisting and half coaxing him with promises, she dragged him along as far as the main street.  This was full of an excited throng; soldiers on foot and on horseback were doing what they could to keep the peace, and the bustle amused the little boy’s curiosity so that he soon forgot his homesickness.  When, at length, Ague found the street that led to the Prefect’s house she was fairly carried along by the surging, rushing mob.  To turn was quite impossible; the utmost she could do was to keep her wits about her, and concentrate her strength so as not to be parted from the child.  Pushed, pulled,