you seen Athanasius? Is he far off?" they shouted, as the little
boat drew near.

"He is quite close," answered the Patriarch calmly; "press on."

The crew bent to their oars, the skiff was soon out of sight, but
needless to say they did not find their prey. As for Athanasius, he
continued his journey to Alexandria, where he landed once more,
remaining there for a few days in hiding before he set out for the
deserts of the Thebaid.

"The enemy of the gods" had been gotten rid of--for a time, at least,
but Julian had still to wait for the triumph of paganism. The gods
themselves seemed to be against him. Never had a year been so unlucky
as that which followed the banishment of Athanasius. There were
earthquakes everywhere; Nicea and Nicomedia were reduced to ruins and
Constantinople severely damaged. An extraordinary tidal wave swept
over the lower part of the city of Alexandria, leaving shells and
seaweed on the roofs of the houses. Famine and plague followed, and it
was remarked that the famine seemed to dog the steps of the Emperor
wherever he went. People dreaded his arrival in their city; at
Antioch, where he stayed for a considerable time, the sufferings were
terrible. Julian ordered sacrifices to the gods. So many white oxen
were slain that it was said that soon there would be none left in the
empire; but still things did not improve.

Julian had begun by being tolerant, but disappointment was making him
savage. It was all the fault of the Galileans, he declared. He ordered
the Christian soldiers in his army to tear the Cross from
Constantine's sacred standard, and he put them to death when they
refused. Many Christian churches were closed, and the sacred vessels
of the altar seized and profaned. Those who dared resist were
imprisoned or slain. Wine that had been offered to the gods was thrown
into the public wells and fountains, and all the food that was sold in
the markets was defiled in the same way. Two of his officers who
complained of this profanation were put to death--not for their
religion, Julian hastened to explain, but for their insolence.

The Emperor posed as a philosopher. His long, dirty nails and ragged,
uncombed hair and beard were intended to impress his subjects with the
wisdom of a man so absorbed in learning that he was above such things
as cleanliness. Unfortunately, they had just the opposite effect, and
the people made fun of him. They laughed at his sacrifices, where he
was often t