on the floor. Where
were all the fine things he had conned over for the occasion? He dared
not look up at that face, lest it should drive them out of his head. And
yet the more lie kept his eyes turned from the face, the more lie was
conscious of it, conscious that it was watching him; and the more all
the fine words were, by that very knowledge, driven out of his head....
When would she speak? Perhaps she wished him to speak first. It was her
duty to begin, for she had sent for him.... But still she kept silence,
and sat scanning him intently from head to foot, herself as motionless
as a statue; her hands folded together before her, over the manuscript
which lay upon her knee. If there was a blush on her cheek at her own
daring, his eyes swam too much to notice it.

When would the intolerable suspense end? She was, perhaps, as unwilling
to speak as he. But some one must strike the first blow: and, as often
happens, the weaker party, impelled by sheer fear, struck it, and broke
the silence in a tone half indignant, half apologetic--

'You sent for me hither!'

'I did. It seemed to me, as I watched you during my lecture, both before
and after you were rude enough to interrupt me, that your offence was
one of mere youthful ignorance. It seemed to me that your countenance
bespoke a nobler nature than that which the gods are usually pleased to
bestow upon monks. That I may now ascertain whether or not my surmises
were correct, I ask you for what purpose are you come hither?'

Philammon hailed the question as a godsend.--Now for his message! And
yet he faltered as he answered, with a desperate effort,--'To rebuke you
for your sins.'

'My sins! What sins?' she asked, as she looked up with a stately, slow
surprise in those large gray eyes, before which his own glance sank
abashed, he knew not why. What sins?--He knew not. Did she look like
a Messalina? But was she not a heathen and a sorceress?--And yet he
blushed, and stammered, and hung down his head, as, shrinking at the
sound of his own words, he replied--

'The foul sorceries--and profligacy worse than sorceries, in which, they
say--' He could get no farther: for he looked up again and saw an awful
quiet smile upon that face. His words had raised no blush upon the
marble cheek.

'They say! The bigots and slanderers; wild beasts of the desert, and
fanatic intriguers, who, in the words of Him they call their master,
compass heaven and earth to make one proselyte,