than one whom I
have known, thine own God.'

'Do you know what you are saying?' asked Arsenius in a startled tone.

'I say, that by fleeing into solitude a man cuts himself off from
all which makes a Christian man; from law, obedience, fellow-help,
self-sacrifice--from the communion of saints itself.'

'How then?'

'How canst thou hold communion with those toward whom thou canst show no
love? And how canst thou show thy love but by works of love?'

'I can, at least, pray day and night for all mankind. Has that no
place--or rather, has it not the mightiest place--in the communion of
saints!

'He who cannot pray for his brothers whom he does see, and whose sins
and temptations he knows, will pray but dully, my friend Aufugus, for
his brothers whom he does not see, or for anything else. And he who will
not labour for his brothers, the same will soon cease to pray for them,
or love them either. And then, what is written? "If a man love not his
brother whom he hath seen, how will he love God whom he hath not seen?"'

'Again, I say, do you know whither your argument leads?'

'I am a plain man, and know nothing about arguments. If a thing be true,
let it lead where it will, for it leads where God wills.'

'But at this rate, it were better for a man to take a wife, and have
children, and mix himself up in all the turmoil of carnal affections, in
order to have as many as possible to love, and fear for, and work for.'

Pambo was silent for a while.

'I am a monk and no logician. But this I say, that thou leavest not the
Laura for the desert with my good will. I would rather, had I my wish,
see thy wisdom installed somewhere nearer the metropolis--at Troe or
Canopus, for example--where thou mightest be at hand to fight the Lord's
battles. Why wert thou taught worldly wisdom, but to use it for the good
of the Church? It is enough. Let us go.'

And the two old men walked homeward across the valley, little guessing
the practical answer which was ready for their argument in Abbot Pambo's
cell, in the shape of a tall and grim ecclesiastic, who was busily
satisfying his hunger with dates and millet, and by no means refusing
the palm-wine, the sole delicacy of the monastery, which had been
brought forth only in honour of a guest.

The stately and courtly hospitality of Eastern manners, as well as the
self-restraining kindliness of monastic Christianity, forbade the abbot
to interrupt the stranger; and it was not till he h