ront of the
Serapeum. The whole street was like a crowded fair; and Alexander had
several times to follow Agatha and her escort out into the roadway,
quitting the shelter of the arcade, to escape a party of rioters or the
impertinent addresses of strangers.

The sham old man, however, was so clever at making way for the damsel,
whose face and form were effectually screened by her kerchief from the
passers-by, that Alexander had no opportunity for offering her his aid,
or proving his devotion by some gallant act. That it was his duty to save
her from the perils of spending a whole night under the protection of
this venal deceiver and her worthless colleague, he had long since
convinced himself; still, the fear of bringing her into a more painful
position by attracting the attention of the crowd if he were to attack
her escort, kept him back.

They had now stopped again under the colonnade, on the left-hand side of
the road. Castor had taken the girl's hand, and, as he bade her
good-night, promised, in emphatic tones, to be with her again very early
and escort her to the lake. Agatha thanked him warmly. At this a storm of
rage blew Alexander's self-command to the four winds, and, before he knew
what he was doing; he stood between the rascal and the Christian damsel,
snatched their hands asunder, gripping Castor's wrist with his strong
right hand, while he held Agatha's firmly in his left, and exclaimed:

"You are being foully tricked, fair maid; the woman, even, is deceiving
you. This fellow is a base villain!"

And, releasing the arm which Castor was desperately but vainly trying to
free from his clutch, he snatched off the false beard.

Agatha, who had also been endeavoring to escape from his grasp, gave a
shriek of terror and indignation. The unmasked rogue, with a swift
movement, snatched the hood of the caracalla off Alexander's head, flew
at his throat with the fury and agility of a panther, and with much
presence of mind called for help. And Castor was strong too while
Alexander tried to keep him off with his right hand, holding on to Agatha
with his left, the shouts of the deaconess and her accomplice soon
collected a crowd. They were instantly surrounded by an inquisitive mob,
laughing or scolding the combatants, and urging them to fight or
beseeching them to separate. But just as the artist had succeeded in
twisting his opponent's wrist so effectually as to bring him to his
knees, a loud voice of malignant