And Blandina, the maiden, who, tortured,
bleeding, mangled, still persisted in her declaration, "I am a
Christian! Among us no wickedness is committed," came to Timokles'
mind. His thoughts turned to the martyr Christians of four years ago
at Carthage, and he remembered the words of one of those Christians:
"We will die joyfully for Christ our Lord."
Timokles prayed long and fervently. His heart went back to his
beloved Alexandrian home. Heaven would be sweet, but would his dear
ones ever know the only way there? Would they ever accept Jesus
Christ as their Savior?
"O Lord, help Heraklas to know thee!" prayed Timokles with dropping
tears.
Nothing did Timokles know of the roll of the Book of the Christians,
the papyrus that had swung from the palm tree in the court at home!
Something made him turn his head. He started, for he saw, stretched
out toward him from beneath the black tent, an arm. No more was
visible. The black tent descended to the very ground. Looking more
closely, he discerned in the hand a knife. For an instant, Timokles
thought his enemy was upon him. But it was a small hand, and it was
the handle of the knife, not its blade, that was offered to him!
Timokles stretched out his one free hand, and took the knife. The
arm disappeared beneath the black tent so swiftly and so noiselessly
that Timokles would almost have thought that the sight of the arm
had been an illusion had he not held the knife in his left hand.
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