The solemn conviction that a special call from Heaven had ruled his fate, became clearer and firmer in his mind as the hours went by. With a curious mixture of pride and humility he regarded himself as an instrument in the hand of Providence, and in proportion as this belief grew and struck root another idea died out, which, during the last few hours, had recurred as mysteriously seductive, that of killing himself if all other hope failed. This, from an educated Roman's point of view, was in no respect sinful or wrong.
It was considered permissible, nay highly praiseworthy, to cut the thread of existence, when every hope of an endurable future was lost. Nor had Quintus been long enough familiar with the principles and views of Christianity, to reject this desperate remedy at the first thought of it. But now, as he began to believe that he saw in his fate the designs of a higher power, he felt steeled against its seductions.
The lamp had burned lower and lower and at last went out; Quintus sat staring into the darkness for some little time. Then he felt his way round the wall to the bed, lay down on the mildewed worsted blanket and covered himself with his lacerna. After once more dedicating himself to God and his conscience, even unto death, he repeated the short prayer that the congregation had used on the occasion of his reception under the covenant. He had heard the words but once, but they were graven on his soul--those simple child-like words: "Our Father"--and then he fell asleep, as soundly and quietly as if he were lying on the soft cushions of his own cubiculum.
When he awoke, some hours later, a dull foggy twilight pervaded the room. The rattle of the bolts had roused him. It was his gaoler, who came in and set a freshly-filled amphora[91] down by his side; then he tilted the bowl of porridge, which Quintus had not touched, to see if the mess were yet too stiff to be eaten. After a moment's hesitation he put it down and was leaving the room, when Quintus spoke to him.
"I am very hungry; give me something to eat."
The gaoler pointed to the clay bowl without speaking.
"You do not indulge in luxuries here!" said Quintus bitterly. "That is too vile food for the meanest of my slaves, nay for my dogs."