a supported her, but the two
girls were forced to yield to the decision of the elders.

THE BRIDE OF THE NILE

By Georg Ebers

Volume 8.

CHAPTER V.

After that interview with Orion, Philippus hurried off through the town,
paying so little heed to the people he met and to the processions
besieging Heaven with loud psalms to let the Nile at last begin to rise,
that he ran up against more than one passer-by, and had many a word of
abuse shouted after him. He went into two or three houses, and neither
his patients nor their attendants could recognize, in this abrupt and
hasty visitor, the physician and friend who was usually so sympathetic to
the sufferer: who would speak with a cordiality that brought new life to
his heart, who would toss the children in the air, kiss one and nod
merrily to another. To-day their elders even felt shy and anxious in his
presence. For the first time he found the duty he loved a wearisome
burthen; the sick man was a tormenting spirit in league with the world
against his peace of mind. What possessed him, that he should feel such
love of his fellow-men as to deprive himself of all comfort in life and
of his night's rest for their sake? Rufinus was right. In these times
each man lived solely to spite his neighbor, and he who could be most
brazenly selfish, looking neither to the right hand nor to the left, was
the most certain to get on in life. Fool that he was to let other folks'
woes destroy his peace and hinder him in his scientific advancement!

Tormented by such bitter thoughts as these, he went into a neat little
house by the harbor where a worthy pilot lay dying, surrounded by his
wife and children; and there, at once, he was himself again, putting
forth all his knowledge and heartfelt kindliness, quitting the scene with
a bleeding heart and an empty purse; but no sooner was he out of doors
than his former mood closed in upon him with double gloom. The case was
plain: Even with the fixed determination not to sacrifice himself for
others he could not help doing it; the impulse was too strong for him. He
could no more help suffering with the sufferer, and giving the best he
had to give with no hope of a return, than the drunkard can help
drinking. He was made to be plundered; it was his fate!

With a drooping head he returned to his old friend's work-room. Horapollo
was sitting, just as he had sat the night before, at his writing-table
with his scrolls and his three la