There was Octavia, leading Hermione and Virgilia. The widow's face was
bright with a great light. There was Martius almost blinded by the
contrast between the terrible darkness of the dungeon beneath
Jupiter's temple, where he had spent four days and nights of misery,
frantic when he thought of Virgilia and what her fate might be. He and
Alexis had only a half hour before been brought through the
underground passage-way to the cells where the Christians were
waiting. He and Virgilia met here, on the sanded arena, where
thousands of persons were gazing at them. Martius stepped to his
sister's side, and put his arm around her. He stretched out his hand
to clasp that of Hermione.
"We shall meet again, yonder," he whispered, glancing upward.
Now, just as they were being pushed into the arena, a strange thing
had happened. A tall man, whom Martius had not recognized as Lycias,
the gladiator, approached him and said: "In the arena, I will be near
you, standing by one of the gates. If you can be calm enough in the
moment of excitement, note where I am.
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