Читать книгу Fabiola; Or, The Church of the Catacombs онлайн

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“How dost thou mean, dear mother?”

“What thou hast told me of thy declamation this morning,” she replied, “proves to me how full thy heart must have been of noble and generous thoughts; thou art too sincere and honest to have written, and fervently expressed, that it was a glorious duty to die for the faith, if thou hadst not believed it and felt it.”

“And truly I do believe and feel it,” interrupted the boy. “What greater happiness can a Christian desire on earth?”

“Yes, my child, thou sayest most truly,” continued Lucina. “But I should not have been satisfied with words. What followed afterwards has proved to me that thou canst bear intrepidly and patiently, not merely pain, but what I know it must have been harder for thy young patrician blood to stand, the stinging ignominy of a disgraceful blow, and the scornful words and glances of an unpitying multitude. Nay more; thou hast proved thyself strong enough to forgive and to pray for thine enemy. This day thou hast trodden the higher paths of the mountain, with the cross upon thy shoulders; one step more, and thou wilt plant it on its summit. Thou hast proved thyself the genuine son of the martyr Quintinus. Dost thou wish to be like him?”