t assist in the renewed triumph of a woman who
has laughed down my teaching, seduced away my scholars, braved me in
my very lecture-room--who for four years has done more than even Cyril
himself to destroy all the virtue and truth which I have toiled to
sow--and toiled in vain! Oh, beloved gods! where will end the tortures
through which your martyr must witness for you to a fallen race?'

And, in spite of all her pride, and of Orestes's presence, her eyes
filled with scalding tears.

Orestes's eyes had sunk before the vehemence of her just passion; but as
she added the last sentence in a softer and sadder tone, he raised them
again, with a look of sorrow and entreaty as his heart whispered--

'Fool!--fanatic! But she is too beautiful! Win her I must and will!'

'Ah! dearest, noblest Hypatia! What have I done? Unthinking fool that I
was! In the wish to save you trouble--In the hope that I could show you,
by the aptness of my own plans, that my practical statesmanship was not
altogether an unworthy helpmate for your loftier wisdom--wretch that I
am, I have offended you; and I have ruined the cause of those very gods
for whom, I swear, I am as ready to sacrifice myself as ever you can
be!'

The last sentence had the effect which it was meant to have.

'Ruined the cause of the gods?'asked she, in a startled tone.

'Is it not ruined without your help? And what am I to understand from
your words but that--hapless man that I am!--you leave me and them
henceforth to our own unassisted strength?'

'The unassisted strength of the gods is omnipotence.'

'Be it so. But--why is Cyril, and not Hypatia, master of the masses
of Alexandria this day? Why but because he and his have fought,
and suffered, and died too, many a hundred of them, for their god,
omnipotent as they believe him to be? Why are the old gods forgotten; my
fairest logician?--for forgotten they are.'

Hypatia trembled from head to foot, and Orestes went on more blandly
than ever.

'I will not ask an answer to that question of mine. All I entreat is
forgiveness for--what for I know not: but I have sinned, and that is
enough for me. What if I have been too confident--too hasty? Are you
not the price for which I strain? And will not the preciousness of the
victor's wreath excuse some impatience in the struggle for it? Hypatia
has forgotten who and what the gods have made her--she has not even
consulted her own mirror, when she blames one of her innumerable ad