rom
beholding vanity; but only to meet fresh vanity wheresoever they fell.
He felt crushed by the multitude of new objects, stunned by the din
around; and scarcely recollected himself enough to seize the first
opportunity of escaping from his dangerous companions.

'Holloa!' roared Smid the armourer, as he scrambled on to the steps of
the slip; 'you are not going to run away without bidding us good-bye?'

'Stop with me, boy!' said old Wulf. 'I saved you; and you are my man.'

Philammon turned and hesitated.

'I am a monk, and God's man.'

'You can be that anywhere. I will make you a warrior.'

'The weapons of my warfare are not of flesh and blood, but prayer and
fasting,' answered poor Philammon, who felt already that he should have
ten times more need of the said weapons in Alexandria than ever he had
had in the desert.... 'Let me go! I am not made for your life! I thank
you, bless you! I will pray for you, sir! but let me go!'

'Curse the craven hound!' roared half a dozen voices. 'Why did you not
let us have our will with him, Prince Wulf? You might have expected such
gratitude from a monk.'

'He owes me my share of the sport,' quoth Smid. 'And here it is!' And
a hatchet, thrown with practised aim, whistled right for Philammon's
head--he had just time to swerve, and the weapon struck and snapped
against the granite wall behind.

'Well saved!' said Wulf coolly, while the sailors and market-women above
yelled murder, and the custom-house officers, and other constables
and catchpolls of the harbour, rushed to the place--and retired again
quietly at the thunder of the Amal from the boat's stern--

'Never mind, my good follows! we're only Goths; and on a visit to the
prefect, too.'

'Only Goths, my donkey-riding friends!' echoed Smid, and at that ominous
name the whole posse comitatus tried to look unconcerned, and found
suddenly that their presence was absolutely required in an opposite
direction.

'Let him go,' said Wulf, as he stalked up the steps. 'Let the boy go.
I never set my heart on any man yet,' he growled to himself in an under
voice, 'but what he disappointed me--and I must not expect more from
this fellow. Come, men, ashore, and get drunk!'

Philammon, of course, now that he had leave to go, longed to stay--at
all events, he must go back and thank his hosts. He turned unwillingly
to do so, as hastily as he could, and found Pelagia and her gigantic
lover just entering a palanquin. With downcast