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should be set on fire.
One evening, when the court was assembled to hear Nero recite some
of his poetry, a slave appeared.
"Pardon, Divine Imperator, Rome is burning! The whole city is a sea of
flames!" A moment of horrified silence followed, broken by the cry of
Vinicius. He rushed forth, and, springing on his horse, dashed into the
deep night. A horseman, rushing also like a whirlwind, but in the
opposite direction, toward Antium, shouted as he raced past: "Rome is
perishing!" To the ears of Vinicius came only one more expression:
"Gods!" The rest was drowned by the thunder of hoofs. But the
expression sobered him. "Gods!" He raised his head suddenly, and,
stretching his arms toward the sky filled with stars, began to pray.
"Not to you, whose temples are burning, do I call, but to Thee. Thou
Thyself hast suffered. Thou alone hast understood people's pain. If

Thou art what Peter and Paul declare, save Lygia. Seek her in the
burning; save her and I will give Thee my blood!"
Before he had reached the top of the mountain he felt the wind on his
face, and with it the odor of smoke came to his nostrils. He touched the
summit at last, and then a terrible sight struck his eyes. The whole
lower region was covered with smoke, but beyond this gray, ghastly
plain the city was burning on the hills. The conflagration had not the
form of a pillar, but of a long belt, shaped like the dawn.
Vinicius' horse, choking with the smoke, became unmanageable. He
sprang to the earth and rushed forward on foot. The tunic began to
smolder on him in places; breath failed his lungs; strength failed his
bones; he fell! Two men, with gourds full of water, ran to him and bore
him away. When he regained consciousness he found himself in a
spacious cave, lighted with torches and tapers. He saw a throng of
people kneeling, and over him bent the tender, beautiful face of his
soul's beloved.
Lygia was indeed safe from the burning, but before the first thrill of
relief was over an infinitely more horrible danger threatened her. The
people were in wrath and threatened violence to Nero and his court, for
it was popularly believed that the city had been set on fire at the
emperor's instigation. The coward, Nero, was startled and thoroughly
alarmed, and welcomed gladly the suggestion that the calamity should
be blamed on the Christians, who were viewed with great suspicion by
the common people, and obliged even then to live in hiding. In order to
clear himself and to divert the people's minds, he instituted at once
against the Christians the most horrible persecutions that have ever
stained man's history. For days and days the people came in countless
numbers to witness the tortures of the innocent victims; but at last they
grew weary of blood-spilling. Then it was given out that Nero had
arranged a climax for the last of the Christians who were to die at an
evening spectacle in a brilliantly lighted amphitheater. Chief interest
both of the Augustinians and the people centered in Lygia and Vinicius,
for the story of their love was now generally known, and everybody felt
that Nero was intending to make a tragedy for himself out of the

suffering of Vinicius.
At last the evening arrived. The sight was in truth magnificent. All that
was powerful, brilliant and wealthy in Rome was there. The lower seats
were crowded with togas as white as snow. In a gilded padium sat Nero,
wearing a diamond collar and a golden crown upon his head. Every eye
was turned with strained gaze to the place where the unfortunate lover
was sitting. He was exceedingly pale, and his forehead was covered
with drops of sweat. To his tortured mind came the thought that faith of
itself would spare Lygia. Peter had said that faith would move the earth
to its foundations. He crushed doubt in himself, compressed his whole
being into the sentence, "I believe," and he looked for a miracle.
The prefect of the city waved a red handkerchief, and out of the dark
gully into the brilliantly lighted arena came Ursus. In Rome there was
no lack of gladiators, larger by far than the common measure of man;
but Roman eyes had never seen the like of Ursus. The people gazed
with the delight of experts at his mighty limbs, as large as tree trunks;
at his breast, as large as two shields joined together, and his arms of a
Hercules. He was unarmed, and had determined to die as became a
follower of the Lamb, peacefully and patiently. Meanwhile he wished
to pray once more to the Saviour. So he knelt on the arena,