s of Serapis were
celebrated, passed close by the back-wall of this warehouse. Since
the destruction of the watercourse, under the Emperor Julian, the
underground conduit had been dry and empty, and a man by slightly
stooping could readily pass through it unseen into the Serapeum. This
mysterious passage had lately been secretly cleared out, and it was now
to be used for the transport of the arms to the temple precincts.

Damia had been present at the brief but vehement interview between
her son and Olympius, and had thrown in a word now and again: "It is
serious, very serious!" or, "Fight it out--no quarter!"

The parting was evidently a very painful one to Olympius; when the
merchant held out both his hands the older man clasped them in his and
held them to his breast, saying: "Thanks, my friend; thanks for all
you have done. We have lived--and if now we perish it is for the future
happiness of our grandchildren. What would life be to you and me if it
were marred by scourgings and questionings?--The omens read ill, and if
I am not completely deceived we are at the beginning of the end. What
lies beyond!... we as philosophers must meet it calmly. The supreme Mind
that governs us has planned the universe so well, that it is not likely
that those things of which we now have no knowledge should not also be
ordered for the best. The pinions of my soul beat indeed more freely
and lightly as I foresee the moment when it shall be released from the
burden of this flesh!"

The High-Priest raised his arms as though indeed he were prepared to
soar and uttered a fervent and inspired prayer in which he rehearsed to
the gods all that he and his had done in their honor and vowed to offer
them fresh sacrifices. His expressions were so lofty, and his flow
of language so beautiful and free, that Porphyrius did not dare to
interrupt him, though this long delay on the part of the leader of
the cause made him intolerably anxious. When the old man--who was as
emotional as a boy--ceased speaking, his white beard was wet with
tears, and seeing that even Damia's and Gorgo's eyes were moist, he was
preparing to address them again; but Porphyrius interposed. He gave him
time only to press his lips to Datnia's hand and to bid Gorgo farewell.

"You were born into stirring times," he said to her, "but under a good
sign. Two worlds are in collision; which shall survive?--For you, my
darling, I have but one wish: May you be happy!"

He left the