What was to be done with such idolaters.
And yet who could help liking them the better for it?

At last the answer came down, in the old, graceful, studied,
self-conscious handwriting:

"I dread nothing. They will not dare. Did they dare now, they would have
dared long ago. As for that youth--to obey or to believe his word, even
to seem aware of his existence, were shame to me henceforth. Because he
is insolent enough to warn me, therefore I will go. Fear not for me. You
would not wish me, for the first time in my life, to fear for myself.
I must follow my destiny. I must speak the words which I have to speak.
Above all, I must let no Christian say that the philosopher dared less
than the fanatic. If my gods are gods, then will they protect me; and if
not, let your God prove His rule as seems to Him good."

Raphael tore the letter to fragments.... The guards, at least, were not
gone mad like the rest of the world. It wanted half an hour of the time
for her lecture. In the interval he might summon force enough to crush
all Alexandria. And turning suddenly, he darted out of the room and out
of the house.

"Stay here and stop her! Make a last appeal," cried he to Philammon,
with a gesture of grief. "Drag the horses' heads down, if you can! I
will be back in ten minutes." And he ran off for the nearest gate of
the Museum gardens.

On the other side of the gardens lay the courtyard of the palace. There
were gates in plenty communicating between them. If he could but see
Orestes, even alarm the guard in time!...

And he hurried through the walks and alcoves, now deserted by the
fearful citizens, to the nearest gate. It was fast and barricaded firmly
on the outside.

Terrified, he ran on to the next; it was barred also. He saw the reason
in a moment, and maddened as he saw it. The guards, careless about the
Museum, or reasonably fearing no danger from the Alexandrian populace
to the glory and wonder of their city, or perhaps wishing wisely enough
to concentrate their forces in the narrowest space, had contented
themselves with cutting off all communication with the gardens. At all
events, the doors leading from the Museum itself might be open. He
knew them, every one. He found an entrance, hurried through well-known
corridors to a postern through which he and Orestes had lounged a
hundred times. It was fast. He beat upon it; but no one answered. He
rushed on and tried another. No one answered there. Another--still
sil