hat narrow space.... And yet Hypatia's countenance
did not falter. Why should it? What were their numbers, beside the
thousands who had perished year by year for centuries, by that and far
worse deaths, in the amphitheatres of that empire, for that faith which
she was vowed to re-establish. It was part of the great system; and she
must endure it.

Not that she did not feel; for she, too, was woman; and her heart,
raised far above the brutal excitement of the multitude, lay calmly open
to the most poignant stings of pity. Again and again she was in the
act to entreat mercy for some shrieking woman or struggling child;
but before her lips could shape the words, the blow had fallen, or the
wretch was whirled away from her sight in the dense undistinguishable
mass of slayers and slain. Yes, she had begun, and she must follow
to the end.... And, after all, what were the lives of those few
semi-brutes, returning thus a few years earlier to the clay from which
they sprang, compared with the regeneration of a world?.... And it would
be over in a few minutes more, and that black writhing heap be still for
ever, and the curtain fall .... And then for Venus Anadyomene, and art,
and joy, and peace, and the graceful wisdom and beauty of the old Greek
art, calming and civilising all hearts, and softening them into pure
devotion for the immortal myths, the immortal deities, who had inspired
their forefathers in the glorious days of old.... But still the black
heap writhed; and she looked away, up, down, and round, everywhere, to
avoid the sickening sight; and her eye caught Philammon's gazing at her
with looks of horror and disgust.... A thrill of shame rushed through
her heart, and blushing scarlet, she sank her head, and whispered to
Orestes--

'Have mercy!--spare the rest!'

'Nay, fairest vestal! The mob has tasted blood, and they must have
their fill of it, or they will turn onus for aught I know. Nothing so
dangerous as to check a brute, whether he be horse, dog, or man, when
once his spirit is up. Ha! there is a fugitive! How well the little
rascal runs!'

As he spoke, a boy, the only survivor, leaped from the stage, and rushed
across the orchestra toward them, followed by a rough cur-dog.

'You shall have this youth, if he reaches us.'

Hypatia watched breathless. The boy had just arrived at the altar in
the centre of the orchestra, when he saw a gladiator close upon him.
The ruffian's arm was raised to strike, when, t