Out of the Triangle | Page 7

unrolled papyrus. No
treasure in that first scroll! He seized the second. With eagerness all the
greater because of his former disappointment, he searched through this
roll, his face bent down till his eyelashes almost swept the surface of
the writing. In vain! There was nothing!
"These Christians! What cheats they are!"
He snatched the third roll. With trembling fingers he unrolled this, the
last of the papyrus scrolls. There must be something hidden! It could

not be possible that he would be disappointed in the last scroll! Was
there no treasure? Not a thin wedge of gold at the heart of this papyrus?
Not a jewel, not anything that savored of riches?
Athribis' shaking fingers unrolled the papyrus to its very end. Nothing
but the continuous writing, and the stick on which the scroll had been
rolled! His limp hand let fall the end of the papyrus. It descended upon
the heap at his feet. Had he dared, he would have cried aloud in his
disappointment.
But it was not his voice that pierced the night. Some one had seen him!
"A robber!" cried a woman's tones. "A thief! On the roof!"
Athribis leaped to his feet. He caught the papyri. Alas, alas! they were
not rolled, now! The wind tossed the long streamers, and as Athribis in
fearful haste snatched them, the breeze blew one scroll entirely free. It,
swept from the roof, and, descending into the court, hung in a long strip
from one of the palms.
The dismayed Athribis cast the other papyri on the roof, and fled. It
was time. The house was being aroused by the cry of the woman. With
his bare, silent feet, Athribis sped through the shadows of the corridors
to what he thought a secret spot, and hid himself. The house resounded
with outcries. Feet ran hither and thither.
Out in the court, hanging all unseen from a palm-tree, swayed the
papyrus, the written copy of part of the Sacred Book of the Christians!
CHAPTER II.
It was night on the Libyan desert. The stars glittered on the rocky
highlands that compose so much of that desert, and lit faintly, too, the
areas between, where stretches of sand waited to be shifted by the next
simoon that should blow.
In one spot, at the edge of a rock, there was a movement of the sand.
Out of it a form slowly rose.

The sand shook near by, and another person appeared. Another arose,
and another, till five had arisen.
The man who had first appeared spoke, slowly, in a voice that told of
exhaustion.
"The Emperor Septimius Severus reigneth over our land," he said. "He
hath forbidden that any one should become a Christian. But how shall
we cease to tell men of Christ? How shall he cease to draw men to
himself?"
"Severus hath not been always thus," answered another voice, faint
with weakness. "Proculus, the Christian, once saved the life of either
Severus or his child, and the emperor took Proculus into the palace and
treated him kindly, and chose a Christian nurse for Severus' boy,
Caracalla. When the Romans rose against the Christians, Severus
shielded our brethren. Oh, that the priests of the false gods of Egypt
had not enticed our emperor!"
"Alas for him!" responded the first voice. "The Emperor Severus
worshipeth the false gods of Egypt, but we serve the Lord Christ.
Farewell to Egypt's gods! They shall pass, but Thou shalt endure!"
"Amen," murmured the lad Timokles. "Even so! Thou art Lord of lords,
and King of kings, O Christ!"
Suddenly there was a cry of other voices. Up from the rocks of the
plateau behind the five there sprang a second group of persons.
The five Christians, knowing the voices of their former heathen captors,
fled. The lad Timokles was closely pursued. He felt, rather than heard,
close behind him, the footsteps of his enemy, and, turning sharply,
Timokles sped away in another direction.
Here and there, back and forth, the two ran in the star-lit darkness. The
five Christians were widely scattered now. Shouts and cries came
faintly from a distance. Timokles rushed toward the rocky plateau.

"Stop, Christian, stop!" cried his enemy, leaping forward with
outstretched hand.
But Timokles fled, stumbling over stones. On came his enemy's swift
leap behind. A piercing cry, as of some one in agony, rang from the
desert's distance. Timokles sped faster.
"Stop!" commanded the voice of the runner behind. "Stop!"
A swift prayer burst from Timokles' lips. He fled on, his pursuer so
near sometimes that Timokles' heart failed him.
"Stop!" screamed his foe. "Stop!"
The fierce command pulsed through Timokles' brain. The man behind
suddenly slipped, stumbling over the stones. He fell heavily, and in that
instant's time, Timokles darted forward behind one of the rocks, and,