-Farewell!'

She ended: and Philammon, the moment that the spell of her voice was
taken off him, sprang up, and hurried out through the corridor into the
street....

So beautiful! So calm and merciful to him So enthusiastic towards all
which was noble! Had not she too spoken of the unseen world, of the hope
of immortality, of the conquest of the spirit over the flesh, just as a
Christian might have done? Was the gulf between them so infinite? If so,
why had her aspirations awakened echoes in his own heart--echoes too,
just such as the prayers and lessons of the Laura used to awaken? If the
fruit was so like, must not the root be like also?.... Could that be a
counterfeit? That a minister of Satan in the robes of an angel of
light? Light, at least, it was purity, simplicity, courage, earnestness,
tenderness, flashed out from eye, lip, gesture.... A heathen, who
disbelieved? .... What was the meaning of it all?

But the finishing stroke yet remained which was to complete the utter
confusion of his mind. For before he had gone fifty yards up the street,
his little friend of the fruit-basket, whom he had not seen since
he vanished under the feet of the mob in the gateway of the theatre,
clutched him by the arm, and burst forth, breathless with running--

'The--gods--heap their favours--on those who--who least deserve them!
Rash and insolent rustic! And this is the reward of thy madness!'

'Off with you!' said Philammon, who had no mind at the moment to renew
his acquaintance with the little porter. But the guardian of parasols
kept a firm hold on his sheepskin.

'Fool! Hypatia herself commands! Yes, you will see her, have speech with
her! while I--I the illuminated--I the appreciating--I the obedient--I
the adoring--who for these three years past have grovelled in the
kennel, that the hem of her garment might touch the tip of my little
finger--I--I--I--'

'What do you want, madman?'

'She calls for thee, insensate wretch! Theon sent me--breathless at once
with running and with envy--Go! favourite of the unjust gods!'

'Who is Theon?'

'Her father, ignorant! He commands thee to be at her
house--here-opposite--to-morrow at the third hour. Hear and obey! There
they are coming out of the Museum, and all the parasols will get wrong!
Oh, miserable me!' And the poor little fellow rushed back again, while
Philammon, at his wits' end between dread and longing, started off,
and ran the whole way home to the Serapeium, reg