CHAPTER XVII.

GAIN we must introduce our readers into the luxurious apartment which Sophis had fitted up with lavish expense and care for the especial comfort of his wife; and where she had passed many days of happiness and contentment, when her mind was unawakened to the fallacy of her religious belief, and when she was satisfied with the pleasures, and the hopes, and the pursuits of this passing world.

Since those days of ignorance had gone by for ever, and brighter prospects had opened to her soul, Marcella had enjoyed some hours of great spiritual joy in her private apartment, and also had experienced many conflicts, and gone through many trying periods of fear and depression, and of anxious thought for those most dear to her, as well as for herself.

In that chamber Marcella had learned to pray; and in prayer she had found her best strength and consolation. She had also there studied a portion of the New Testament, which had been given to her as a sacred treasure and a parting gift by one of her Greek Christian friends, when she returned to her native land. Such was her occupation on the evening of a very sultry day in the end of July, as she reclined on a richly carved couch near an open window which overlooked the gay and fragrant garden. Marcella was alone, for she had dismissed her attendants; and no sound broke the stillness save the gentle and soothing

fall of water, as it rose from a fountain beneath the window, and fell back again into the marble basin.

Marcella was alone—and she neither feared nor hoped for any interruption to her solitude and her musings; for Sophis had departed on his mission to the eastern capital of the empire, and Medora was in Philæ.

From the open casement several steps of fine marble descended to the flowery parterre, which was ornamented with many statues and vases of very graceful forms. A light breeze just stirred the broad leaves of the trees which overhung the garden, and partially shaded it from the scorching rays of the summer sun. Rich and heavy draperies were hung from the cornice over the casements, and during the heat of the day were always kept carefully closed so as to exclude the heat, and produce a welcome shade in the apartment.

These draperies were now withdrawn, and thrown gracefully round slender columns of marble that were placed on each side of the windows, and were there fastened by rich silk cords and tassels to rings and hooks of gilded bronze.

The beauty and richness of her apartment were lost on Marcella, for her mind was fixed on other and far higher subjects; but the gentle evening breeze and the soft, monotonous sound of the ever-playing fountain had a calming effect on her troubled spirit. She resumed the study which, for a time, she had ceased in order to indulge in painful meditation. The roll of vellum was again unfolded, and again her earnest eyes were fixed on the words of inspiration.

Not long had she read, when a sound of footsteps caught her ear advancing rapidly along the corridor that led to her room.

Marcella started, and a look of anxiety and apprehension passed across her brow; for she heard several steps. Who could be seeking her at such an hour? and for what purpose?

Hastily she rose, and as hastily she concealed the precious manuscript among the embroidered cushions of her couch; and then she stood listening, and anxiously expecting her unknown visitors.

A gentle knocking at the door was answered by Marcella, who knew the touch as that of her personal male attendant. She replied; the door was opened, the curtain withdrawn, and the shining eyes and white teeth of the Nubian-the same who had escorted Muthis from that apartment some days previously -appeared in the opening.

The black face of Jather was lighted up with smiles as he replied to the inquiring look of his mistress.

"The Roman gentleman- the well-favoured and openhanded Roman gentleman, who came here once and again when the Lady Medora came home from Phila-is here again; and a lady is with him, who is a stranger to me. Shall I admit them, madam ?"

"Whom can Alypius have brought with him?" said Marcella, rather to herself than to the slave. "Yes, Jather," she continued, "I will receive them here."

The Nubian retreated, and in another moment he reopened the curtain; and Alypius appeared, leading a tall and handsome female by the hand.

The lady's features were clear and regular, her eyes were large and dark; but a deadly pallor was on her countenance, and her lips were quivering with agitation.

She paused as the curtain fell behind her, and she found herself in that apartment. It seemed as if her feet were rooted to the ground as she stood motionless, with her eyes dilated and fixed on Marcella's wondering and agitated face, on which hope, and fear, and doubt were all rapidly depicted.

Soon doubt faded away into certainty.

"Claudia!" she exclaimed, in a wild transport of joy.

"Mother!" replied the stranger, and sank on her knees, with uplifted arms, and pleading, tearful eyes.

In another moment the mother and daughter were locked in each other's arms, with feelings which we shall not attempt to describe.

Much had they to tell and much to ask on points with which we are already acquainted; and while the mother's welcome to her long-lost daughter and Claudia's sad story of sufferings and trials occupied them, Alypius passed through the open casement into the garden, and left them to the uninterrupted indulgence of their feelings and of their mutual curiosity.

It is almost needless to inform our readers that Claudia-the unhappy Claudia—who had been the object of so much interest to Alypius, and of so much benevolent care to his mother, was the elder sister of Medora. We have already related how that once beloved and cherished daughter of Sophis and Marcella had been banished from her home and from her parents' hearts, in consequence of her having united herself to a Christian, and embraced his creed. So entire had been her separation from her family, that her very existence was unknown to them, and for many years they had believed her dead, as well as her husband. Of the birth of her child they had indeed heard;

but what had become of the young Cleon they neither knew nor inquired.

Many had been the hours of painful thought and recollection that Marcella had passed since the departure of her eldest daughter from her home. At the time of her banishment she had shared the strong prejudices of Sophis against the believers in Jesus of Nazareth, and had agreed with him that it would be impossible to permit Claudia and her Christian husband to hold any association with their brother and sister, or even to admit them into their own presence; but after a time the mother's feelings prevailed even over religious bigotry, and Marcella yearned after her child; but she had lost all traces of her, and all knowledge of her fate.

Since Marcella had herself been brought to a knowledge of the gospel, and had learned to love the sacred Name which formerly she had both hated and despised, that yearning had become daily stronger. She longed for the society of that daughter who could fully sympathize in all her new hopes and fears; and from whom, as a more tried and experienced disciple, she might have derived strength, and consolation, and encouragement.

Marcella had long believed that she should never again behold her loved and lamented child on earth; and yet she had often dared to pray that the blessing might be vouchsafed to her; and in the prayer itself she had found comfort.

There was comfort in committing Claudia into the hands of God, and in believing that she was safe in her Redeemer's care, whatever might have befallen her in this world of trial; and there was comfort-unspeakable comfort-in the certainty