Hypatia — or New Foes with an Old Face

of what had happened, and to come to him that evening and receive his order when he should have had time to think over the matter. So forth Philammon went with his companions

etter? How could he tell how much more there was to know, in that great new universe, in such a cranny whereof his life had till now been past? He had hear

had succeeded him in the patriarchate of Alexandria without having felt a doubt, and stood free to throw his fiery energy and clear practical intellect into the cause of the Church without scruple, even, where necessary, without pity. How could such a man sympathise with the poor boy of twenty, suddenly dragged forth from the quiet cavern-shadow of the Laura into the full blaze and roar of the world's noonday? He, too, was cloister-bred. But the busy and fanatic atmosphere of Nitria, where every nerve of soul and body was kept on a life-long artificial strain, without rest, without simplicity, without human affection, was utterly antipodal to the government of the remote and needy, though no less industrious commonwealths of Coenobites, who dotted the lonely mountain-glens, far up into the heart of the Nubian desert. In such a one Philammon had received, from a venerable man, a mother's sympathy as well as a father's care; and now he yearned for the encouragement of a gentle voice, for the greeting of a kindly eye, and was lonely and sick at hea

nce the cause of the Church?-which Philammon soon discovered to mean their own cause, their influence, their self-glorification. And the poor boy, as his faculty for fault-finding quickened under the influence of theirs, seemed to see under the humble stock-phrases in which they talked of their labours of love, and the future reward of their present humiliations, a deep and hardly-bidden pride, a faith in their own infallibility, a contemptuous impatience of every man, however venerable, who differed from their party on any, the slightest, matter. They spoke with sneers of Augustine's Latinising tendencies, and with open execrations of Chrysostom, as the vilest and most impious of schismatics; and, for aught Philammon knew, they were right enough. But when they talked of wars and desolation past and impending, without a word of pity for the sl

being each a hair's-breadth from its place.... Only one hair's-breadth. But that was enough; his whole inward and outward world changed shape, and cracked at every joint. What if it were to fall in pieces? His

What a strange dream! The sun and the exertion must

not to say his faith and hope, spurred him on. Might he but face the terrible enchantress, and rebuke her to her face! And yet so lovely, so noble as she looked! Could he speak to her, except in tones of gentle warning, pity, counsel, entreaty? Might

nks fresh from Nitria, with ragged hair and beards, and the peculiar expression of countenance which fanatics of all creeds acquire, fierce and yet abject, self-conscious and yet ungoverned, silly and yet sly, with features coarsened and degraded by c

y citizen, who stood looking up, with a most perplexed

ot his holiness come out and speak to them? Blessed vir

hing but seeing their stalls safe. Rather than lose a day's custom,

ros and his brother, and we can manage Orestes. What mat

back two hours ago: they

dare to touch

What necessity was there for letting the prefect know that the Jews were gone? He wou

his appearance at that moment in the quadrangle, walking with great strides, like the

taken of them, in my opinion. Yes; you may go. If your head is not turned already, you may go and get it turned to-morrow. We shall see wheth

manded me to see

ll you dare to intrude your fantastical

discipline of a monk; 'and see him I will in spite of any man. I belie

d expression, and then, to the youth's astonishment

nd coming unexpectedly as the finishing stroke to all his disappointment and disgust, it was intolerable; and in an

eter rose. 'Seize him! hold him!' half blubbered he. 'Th

o the archbishop!' while Philammon shook hi

tic in the courts of the Lord's house, even in the midst of thee,

rose. Philammon set hi

s the patria

r colour of converting her; and even now he wants to intrude on the sacred presence of Cyril

he holy place!' and a rush a

r orthodoxy, not to mention their personal safety; and he had to help himself as he could. He looked round for a weapon. There was none. The ring of monks were baying at him like hounds r

holy patriarch shall know of your iniquity. I will not trouble you; I give you leave to call me hereti

s cheeks. Twice, as he went down the vaulted passage, a rush was made on him from behind, but the soberer of his persecutors

d are more like the demoniacs who abode day and night i

hed also into the arms of a party of ecclesiastics, who were

he foremost. He declares wa

er. The tyrant kept us waiting two hours at his palace-gates, and then sent lictors out upon us, wi

mob streamed in again, leaving Philammo

her

ked it, he found himself in no humour to answer it. He was adrift, and blown out of harbour upon a shorele

atriarch's leave for that. That must be right. That would justify him-bring him back, perhaps, in a triumph more glorious than a

consciously, towards the scene of his enterprise. It was a good omen; he would go thither at once. He might sleep upon her doorstep as well as upon any other. Perhaps he might catch a glimpse of her going out or coming in, even at that late hour. It might be well to accustom himself to the sight of her. There would be the less chance of his being abashed to-morrow before those sorceress eyes. And moreover, to tell the truth, his self-dependence, and his self-will too, crushed, or rather laid to sleep, by the discipline of the Laura

for some glimpse of his one object. Which of the houses was hers? Which was the window of her chamber! Did it look into the street? What business had his fancy with woman's chambers?.... But that one open window, with the lamp burning bright inside-he could not help looking up to it-he could not help fancying-hoping. He even moved a few yards to

and the rich perfume.... Could it be she? Every pulse in his body throbbed madly.... Could it be? What was she doing? He could not distinguish the features; but the full blaze of the eastern moon showe

te chryselephantine statue, all ivory and gold. And behind her, round the bright room within, painting, books, a whole world of unknown science and beauty.... and sh

d departed, he sat and waited for its reappearance, half cursing himself for having broken the spell. But the chamber was dark and silent h