In this isolated room, the
mother sat on a stool of ebony, inlaid with ivory. Beside her lay a
papyrus on which was written part of the Sacred Book of the
Christians. The face of the proud woman was hidden in her hands.
Before her stood a messenger who had brought her the following
writing from Heraklas:
"O my mother, forgive thy son! I have found Timokles! He is weak;
nigh, I fear, to death. O my mother, I also am a Christian: Read, I
pray thee, the papyrus I send. It is part of the Christians' Book.
We flee, with other Christians, from Alexandria, today. Farewell."
The mother lifted her face, and her cry rang through the room, "O my
sons, my sons!"
She had execrated Timokles at times when she had spoken of him
before Heraklas, and he had thought that the execration came from
her heart. But she had longed, with pain unspeakable, to see
Timokles once more. And now, when she knew that he had been in
Alexandria, that he needed a mother's care, that Heraklas, also, had
owned allegiance to the Christians' God--when she thought of
Christians burned, beheaded, given to wild beasts--when she realized
that perhaps she should never see again the face of Timokles or
Heraklas, the heart of the mother broke within her, and she wailed,
"O my sons! My sons!"
"Hush!" warned the messenger, quickly. "Thy slaves will hear thee!"
The mother seized the messenger's arm.
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