t
here one might as well live among the monks in Nitria. Here comes
Canidia! Ah, the answer? Hand it here, my queen of go-betweens!'

Orestes read it--and his countenance fell.

'I have won?'

'Out of the room, slaves! and no listening!'

'I have won then?'

Orestes tossed the letter across to him, and Raphael read--

'The immortal gods accept no divided worship; and he who would command
the counsels of their prophetess must remember that they will vouchsafe
to her no illumination till their lost honours be restored. If he who
aspires to be the lord of Africa dare trample on the hateful cross, and
restore the Caesareum to those for whose worship it was built--if he
dare proclaim aloud with his lips, and in his deeds, that contempt
for novel and barbarous superstitions, which his taste and reason have
already taught him, then he would prove himself one with whom it were a
glory to labour, to dare, to die in a great cause. But till then--'

And so the letter ended.

'What am I to do?'

'Take her at her word.'

'Good heavens! I shall be excommunicated! And--and--what is to become of
my soul?'

'What will become of it in any case, my most excellent lord?' answered
Raphael blandly.

'You mean--I know what you cursed Jews think will happen to every one
but yourselves. But what would the world say? I an apostate! And in the
face of Cyril and the populace! I daren't, I tell you!'

'No one asked your excellency to apostatise.'

'Why, what? What did you say just now?'

'I asked you to promise. It will not be the first time that promises
before marriage have not exactly coincided with performance afterwards.'

'I daren't--that is, I won't promise. I believe, now, this is some trap
of your Jewish intrigue, just to make me commit myself against those
Christians, whom you hate.'

'I assure you, I despise all mankind far too profoundly to hate them.
How disinterested my advice was when I proposed this match to you, you
never will know; indeed, it would be boastful in me to tell you. But
really you must make a little sacrifice to win this foolish girl. With
all the depth and daring of her intellect to help you, you might be a
match for Romans, Byzantines, and Goths at once. And as for beauty--why,
there is one dimple inside that wrist, just at the setting on of the
sweet little hand, worth all the other flesh and blood in Alexandria.'

'By Jove! you admire her so much, I suspect you must be in love with her
your