He saw them seizing slaves and cattle from terrified agrarians; he saw Manius strike a man down for resenting insults to his daughter; he saw the deadly toil of the oarsmen, the bitter punishment of the cross.
His heart was now sore and sensitive.

Was it the new love which had flung off its shield of sternness and left it exposed to every lash that flew?
The misery of others afflicted him.

Thoughts of injustice grew into motives of action, the loss of faith into the gain of unutterable longing.

Who were these gods who heard not the cry of the weak and were ever on the side of the strong?
Were they only in those hands of power that flung their levin from the Palatine?
Could he, who had learned to love innocence and purity, love also the foul harpy which Rome had become?
It seemed to him difficult to reconcile the love of Arria and the love of Rome.

Was the time not, indeed, overdue when the wicked should tremble and the proud should bow themselves, according to that song of the slave-girl?
From Antioch they turned southward, passing the cloistered plain paved with polished marble, and hurried to Damascus.