"Not Angles, but angels," said the deacon, with a feeling of poetic
sentiment, "for they have angel-like faces. From what country come
they?" he repeated.
"They come from Deira," said the merchants.
"_De ira_" he rejoined, fervently; "ay, plucked from God's ire and
called to Christ's mercy. And what is the name of their king?"
"Ella," was the answer.
"Alleluia shall be sung there!" cried the enthusiastic young monk, his
imagination touched by the significance of these answers. He passed on,
musing on the incident which had deeply stirred his sympathies, and
considering how the light of Christianity could be shed upon the pagan
lands whence these fair strangers came.
It was a striking picture which surrounded that slave-market. From where
the young deacon stood could be seen the capitol of ancient Rome and the
grand proportions of its mighty Coliseum; not far away the temple of
Jupiter Stator displayed its magnificent columns, and other stately
edifices of the imperial city came within the circle of vision. Rome had
ceased to be the mistress of the world, but it was not yet in ruins, and
many of its noble edifices still stood almost in perfection. But
paganism had vanished.
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