elivered from death. Instead of
thinking her ungrateful for not staying to tell what he had done
for her, he was thankful to her for having saved his blushes, by
disappearing so opportunely.... And he longed to tell her so--to know
if she was hurt--to--Oh, Philammon! only four days from the Laura, and
a whole regiment of women acquaintances already! True, Providence having
sent into the world about as many women as men, it maybe difficult to
keep out of their way altogether. Perhaps, too, Providence may have
intended them to be of some use to that other sex, with whom it has so
mixed them up. Don't argue, poor Philammon; Alexander's church is on
fire!-forward!

And so they hurried on, a confused mass of monks and populace, with
their hapless prisoners in the centre, who, hauled, cuffed, questioned,
and cursed by twenty self-elected inquisitors at once, thought fit,
either from Jewish obstinacy or sheer bewilderment, to give no account
whatsoever of themselves.

As they turned the corner of a street, the folding-doors of a large
gateway rolled open; a long line of glittering figures poured across the
road, dropped their spear-butts on the pavement with a single rattle,
and remained motionless. The front rank of the mob recoiled; and an
awe-struck whisper ran through them.... 'The Stationaries!'

'Who are they?' asked Philammon in a whisper.

'The soldiers--the Roman soldiers,' answered a whisperer to him.

Philammon, who was among the leaders, had recoiled too--he hardly knew
why--at that stern apparition. His next instinct was to press forward as
close as he dared.... And these were Roman soldiers!--the conquerors of
the world!--the men whose name had thrilled him from his childhood
with vague awe and admiration, dimly heard of up there in the lonely
Laura.... Roman soldiers! And here he was face to face with them at
last!

His curiosity received a sudden check, however, as he found his arm
seized by an officer, as he took him to be, from the gold ornaments on
his helmet and cuirass, who lifted his vine-stock threateningly over the
young monk's head, and demanded--

'What's all this about? Why are you not quietly in your beds, you
Alexandrian rascals?'

'Alexander's church is on fire,' answered Philammon, thinking the
shortest answer the wisest.

'So much the better.'

'And the Jews are murdering the Christians.'

'Fight it out, then. Turn in, men, it's only a riot.'

And the steel-clad apparition sudden