heard the hymn of morning rise on the trembling air.

In striking contrast before her stretched out a vision of the hated
sect, the followers of the despised Nazarene, the little band of
outcasts, who for fear of the people worshipped their God in the silent
watches of the night, when the city was asleep--worshipped Him without
gorgeous ritual or templed home, and standing ready, well knowing that
as each day dawned the setting sun might cast its rays upon their
lifeless bodies lying uncared for in the Ephesian arena.

All this floated before her, drifting by, dark and ominously, like the
shadow of a great cloud on the face of the waters.

She saw herself a fugitive, hiding on the mountain-sides of yonder
snow-capped Tmolus, where many others of the Christians had already fled
for safety from the cruel fate in store for them.

She saw herself a wanderer, an outcast, pursued to the death. Which
should it be? High Priestess of Diana, clothed with mystery, strong in
power, standing on the loftiest peak of fame, with a nation at her feet,
and the issues of life and death in her hands; or a child in the new
kingdom of love and peace?

A thousand spirit-voices sang chorus to her soul, bidding her beware,
now flowing with soft cadence in winning measure and tones of entreaty,
now rising in one vast tumultuous threatening as if they would break the
earth asunder. She stood unawed, listening; then cried:

'Stand back! Saronia is a free spirit! What are ye? If I seek the truth,
what spirit amongst you dare bar the way to a soul which floats upwards
to the source of its being? Nay, none of you! Not even the son of the
morning who fell from heaven!'

* * * * *

Day after day hung wearily on Saronia; she was of such nature as no
half-measure would satisfy. She was awakening from the mist of ages. She
had heard of a great spiritual life which was without alloy, where the
spirit evolved more and more into the likeness of the great First Cause,
and her mind broadened out to seek the fuller light.

* * * * *

When the nightingale sang to its mate and the sweet-scented flowers gave
perfume in exchange for the earth-born dew, when the winds of the night
lay cradled, when the voice of the toiler was still, and the sheen of
the star of the west melted into the cold, gray sea, when the city slept
on in the darkness, Saronia looked out to the mountains, the mountains
whi