the believers, and write down, that Magdalen, the Christian, refuses to
sacrifice.'

"My soul was deeply moved, and with joyful eagerness I cried out, 'Put
down my name too, and write, that Menander, the son of Herophilus, also
refuses.' The Roman did his duty.

"Time has not blotted out from my memory a single moment of that day.
There stood the altar, and near it the heathen priest on one side, and on
the other the emperor's officer. We were taken up two by two; Magdalen
and I were the last. One word now--one little word--would give us life
and freedom, another the rack and death. Out of thirty of us only four
had found courage to refuse to sacrifice, but the feeble hearted broke
out into lamentations, and beat their foreheads, and prayed that the Lord
might strengthen the courage of the others. An unutterably pure and
lofty joy filled my soul, and I felt, as if we were out of the body
floating on ambient clouds. Softly and calmly we refused to sacrifice,
thanked the imperial official, who warned us kindly, and in the same hour
and place we fell into the hands of the torturers. She gazed only up to
heaven, and I only at her, but in the midst of the most frightful
torments I saw before me the Saviour beckoning to me, surrounded by
angels that soared on soft airs, whose presence filled my eyes with the
purest light, and my ears with heavenly music. She bore the utmost
torture without flinching, only once she called out the name of her son
Hermas; then I turned to look at her, and saw her gazing up to Heaven
with wide open eyes and trembling lips-living, but already with the Lord
--on the rack, and yet in bliss. My stronger body clung to the earth;
she found deliverance at the first blow of the torturer.

"I myself closed her eyes, the sweetest eyes in which Heaven was ever