"
Two days later Stephanus, the steward of Marcus who waited upon him in
his prison, announced that a man who said his name was Septimus wished
speech with him, but would say nothing of his business.
"Admit him," said Marcus, "for I grow weary of my own company," and
letting his head fall upon his hand he stared through the bars of his
prison window.
Presently he heard a sound behind him, and looked round to see an old
man clad in the robe of a master-workman, whose pure and noble face
seemed in a strange contrast to his rough garments and toil-scarred
hands.
"Be seated and tell me your business," said Marcus courteously, and with
a bow his visitor obeyed.
"My business, my lord Marcus," he said in an educated and refined voice,
"is to minister to those who are in trouble."
"Then, sir, your feet have led you aright," answered Marcus with a
sad laugh, "for this is the house of trouble and you see I am its
inhabitant."
"I know, and I know the cause."
Marcus looked at him curiously. "Are you a Christian, sir?" he asked.
"Nay, do not fear to answer; I have friends who are Christians," and he
sighed, "nor could I harm you if I would, who wish to harm none, least
of all a Christian."
"My lord Marcus, I fear hurt at no man's hand; also the days of Nero
have gone by and Vespasian reigns, who molests us not.
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