Crispus then turned to go towards the house.

"What dost thou wish to do?? asked Fulvius.

"To ask Felicitas if there is no writing, no evidence of emancipation"----but the young husband stopped him.

"No, no! She must know nothing about it. The poor, tender, helpless, happy child! It would crush her--this horrid plot!"

"How wilt thou prevent her knowing it, when it will to-morrow be carried out? For I do not doubt it is all correct what the usurer says of the tax-dues and of his purchase of the property. And that is not the worst. Thou canst fly, as so many thousand debtors have already, to the mountains, to the forests, to the barbarians, for aught I care. Leave him here the heap of stones."

"The house of my parents! the place where we have been so happy!"

"You can be happy elsewhere, when you come together again. But Felicitas with the infant--she cannot yet share thy flight. She must stay, and can stay with me. And that, I hope, can be arranged; for I have no doubt about the emancipation. The old people did not fabricate it. It is only the evidence that we want--the evidence!"

"The letter of emancipation is burnt; that is certain; burnt with the few ornaments and savings of the parents. They often told us about it. They had put all their valuables in a little box of cedar-wood, under the cushions of the bed, in their own room. In the night that the despairing tax-debtors and the peasants, the beasts of burden of the great landlords, had broken out in riot, the old people had, with the child, hastened into the street to inquire the cause of the fearful noise. They ran forward to the corner of the Vulcan market. Another crowd of fighting peasants and soldiers then poured in from behind, cutting off their return. The wooden storehouses of the small tradesmen that lived there, were set on fire. It was two days before they could return to their house, and then it was almost entirely burnt out; under the half-carbonised cushions of the bed, they found two melted gold pieces and the iron mounting of the cedar-box, yet glowing, and round about ashes:--from the wood of the box and its contents."

"The writing was not to be found?"

"In the house of her parents, certainly not; we searched it thoroughly before we sold it, after the death of the old people."

"Among the records of the Curies?"

"The freedom was given by letter, not by will. Krates intended to leave a will, but was overtaken by death before he had carried out his intention."

"Witnesses?"

"There were none. I tell you the freedom was given by letter."

"There is, then, no evidence. It is fearful."

"It makes one despair."

"But what thoughtlessness to live long years without"----

"Long years? It is not yet one year that I have called her mine. Before that it was the care of the parents; but these good old people--strangers here--what could they do? They could not awake the dead master, that he might repeat the emancipation."

"Had no one else read the letter?"

"Possibly! But these could only witness that they had read it, not that it was genuine."

"I see no escape but in flight--hasty flight."

"Hasty flight with the infant, and the young mother hardly convalescent, is impossible. And to fly! it is not my custom. Rather resistance by force."

"Thou, and I, and the lame Philemon, the force against the lancers of the Tribune! For he stands behind."

"I believe it! I saw his passionate look rest on her--on her neck--I could throttle him!"

"You are a dead man before you raise a hand against him."

"It is dark, hopeless night around us. Oh, where shall we find counsel, where a beam of hope, of light?"

"In the Church," spoke softly, but decidedly, a sweet voice. Felicitas put her arm round the neck of her beloved.

"Thou!"

"Thou here?"

"Yes, as thou didst not come back, I sought for thee; it is always so between us. The boy sleeps; I laid him in my bed. I found you both so deep in conversation, that you did not hear my step on the soft garden sand."

"What hast thou heard?" cried Fulvius, full of fear.

But the radiant, cheerful face, the smooth brow, the happy smile of his young wife, soon quieted his anxiety.

"I only heard that you wanted light in the darkness, and there came into my mind, as always, the word 'Church,' the name 'Johannes.'"

Fulvius was satisfied, almost joyful, because she had heard nothing of the lurking misfortune. He stroked tenderly her beautifully arched head, and said:

"And yet thou art not one of those devotees whose piety, or rather hypocrisy, peeps through the knees of their garments, worn threadbare by the altar steps."

"No; I am, alas, not pious enough. But it does not help me if I do go often to confession. Johannes always smiles when I have finished, and says: 'Thou hast only one sin; that is, Falvius.' But when I hear of darkness and light, I always think of the Church and Johannes. It is an experience of my earliest childhood," said she slowly, reflectively.

"What experience?" asked Crispus, becoming attentive.

"I had been obliged for many weeks, on account of a disease in the eyes, to wear a bandage, to remain in darkness, I know not how long. I was hardly six years old. I then heard the voice of Krates, the master, who was skilful in medicine, and had himself treated me. 'Take her with you this evening into the Basilica,' said he, 'it will not hurt her eyes; and she must be there, so says the law.'"

"What sayest thou? For what purpose?" asked the two men in breathless eagerness.

"I know not. You forget I was a child. But this stands yet clear before me: In the evening father and mother took me between them, each holding one of my hands; the master was also there; and they led me with bandaged eyes--for the raw evening air of the late autumn might have hurt them--into the Basilica. Here they took off the bandage and"----

"And now?"

"What didst thou see? What happened?"

"For the first time for months without pain, did my eyes again see the bright but gentle light. Before the altar, which was lighted with many wax candles, stood Johannes in shining white garments; the master placed us all three at the lowest step of the altar, and then spoke a number of words that I did not understand: the priest blessed us; my parents wept--but I noticed it was from emotion, not from pain--and kissed their master's knees; they then again put the bandage on my eyes, and we went from the light of the church out into the darkness. Since then light and Church and Johannes are to me one."

Felicitas could not quite understand what now happened to her.

Her husband warmly kissed her brow and eyes, and her uncle almost crushed her hand.

"Go thou back to the house," cried at last her husband. "We must go immediately to the church; thou art right--as always. Thou--thou hast given to us the best, the saving counsel."

And he led her eagerly, with a last kiss, back into the garden.

"It is quite certain," said Crispus, when Fulvius again appeared, "that it was not only by letter that they were set free; for greater safety there was the ceremony in the church, before the priest, according to all the forms of the law. And the child has all unsuspiciously revealed it to us in our greatest need!"

"And the priest"----

"Was Johannes himself!"

"He yet lives. Thanks be to the holy ones! He can testify to it."

"And he shall: before this night! Before witnesses, before the Curies shall he verify it! To the church!"

"To Johannes!"

And the two men hastened as fast as feet could carry them, down the high-road to the town, towards the Porta Vindelica.

In the meanwhile Felicitas went slowly back to the house, often stopping to look back at her husband until he had disappeared from view.

"What may they be doing?" said she quietly, bending her beautiful head. "Well, they are good: the holy ones are with them. The sun is now set behind Vindelicia. But in the forest the sweet bird still sings his evening song: how peaceful! how quiet! I will go to the bed of my little one. I can wait there most calmly; Fulvius will come back before night. For he loves us--yes, he loves us much, my little son!"

She then entered the house.