as. He is at the head of more than a thousand Libyan peasants
and slaves. I shall send one, too, to Pachomius to bid him win us over
adherents among the Biamite fishermen and the population of the eastern
Delta."

"Right, right--I know. Twenty talents--Pachomius is poor--twenty talents
shall be his, out of my private coffer, if only they are here in time."

"I would give ten, thirty times as much if they were only here now!"
cried the merchant, giving way for the first time to the expression
of his real feelings. "When I began life my father taught me the new
superstitions. Its chains still hang about me; but in this fateful hour
I feel more strongly than ever, and I mean to show, that I am faithful
to the old gods. We will not be wanting; but alas! there is no escape
for us now if the Imperial party are staunch. If they fall upon us
before Barkas can join us, all is lost; if, on the contrary, Barkas
comes at once and in time, there is still some hope; all may yet be
well. What can a party of monks do? And as yet only our Constantine's
heavy cavalry have come to the assistance of the two legions of the
garrison."

"Our Constantine!" shrieked Damia. "Whose? I ask you, whose? We have
nothing to do with that miserable Christian!"

But Gorgo turned upon her at once:

"Indeed, grandmother," she exclaimed, quivering with rage, "but we have!
He is a soldier and must do his duty; but he is fondly attached to us."

"Us, us?" retorted the old woman with a laugh. "Has he sworn love to
you, let me ask? Has he? and you-do you believe him, simple fool? I know
him, I know him! Why, for a scrap of bread and a drop of wine from the
hand of his priest he would see you and all of us plunged into misery!
But see, here are the messengers."

Porphyrius gave his instructions to the young men who now entered the
hall, hurried them off, clasped Gorgo in a tender embrace and then bent
over his mother to kiss her--a thing he had not done for many a day.
Old Damia laid aside her stick, and taking her son's face in both her
withered hands, muttered a few words which were half a fond appeal and
half a magical formula, and then the women were alone. For a long while
both were silent. The old woman sat sunk in her arm-chair while Gorgo
stood with her back against the pedestal of a bust of Plato, gazing
meditatively at the ground. At last it was Damia who spoke, asking to be
carried into the women's rooms.

Gorgo, however, stopped her with a g