door at the Serapeium?'

'The world, the flesh, and the devil know their own, Peter: and as long
as they have their own to go to, we cannot expect them to come to us.'

'But what if their own were taken out of the way?'

'They might come to us for want of better amusement.... devil and all.
Well--if I could get a fair hold of the two first, I would take the
third into the bargain, and see what could be done with him. But
never, while these lecture-rooms last--these Egyptian chambers of
imagery--these theatres of Satan, where the devil transforms himself
into an angel of light, and apes Christian virtue, and bedizens his
ministers like ministers of righteousness, as long as that lecture-room
stands and the great and the powerful flock to it, to learn excuses for
their own tyrannies and atheisms, so long will the kingdom of God be
trampled under foot in Alexandria; so long will the princes of this
world, with their gladiators, and parasites, and money-lenders, be
masters here, and not the bishops and priests of the living God.'

It was now Peter's turn to be silent; and as the two, with their little
knot of district-visitors behind them, walk moodily along the great
esplanade which overlooked the harbour, and then vanish suddenly up some
dingy alley into the crowded misery of the sailors' quarter, we will
leave them to go about their errand of mercy, and, like fashionable
people, keep to the grand parade, and listen again to our two
fashionable friends in the carved and gilded curricle with four white
blood-horses.

'A fine sparkling breeze outside the Pharos, Raphael--fair for the
wheat-ships too.'

'Are they gone yet?

'Yes--why? I sent the first fleet off three days ago; and the rest are
clearing outwards to-day.'

'Oh!--ah--so!--Then you have not heard from Heraclian?'

'Heraclian? What the-blessed saints has the Count of Africa to do with
my wheat-ships?'

'Oh, nothing. It's no business of mine. Only he is going to rebel ....
But here we are at your door.'

'To what?' asked Orestes, in a horrified tone.

'To rebel, and attack Rome.'

'Good gods--God, I mean. A fresh bore! Come in, and tell a poor
miserable slave of a governor--speak low, for Heaven's sake!--I hope
these rascally grooms haven't overheard you.'

'Easy to throw them into the canal, if they have,' quoth Raphael, as he
walked coolly through hall and corridor after the perturbed governor.

Poor Orestes never stopped till he reached a lit