t on to tell her, in a quick, low tone, much of which escaped the
listener, that Serapion had dared much that day, and that the performance
had ended badly, for that the Christian girl he had so cleverly persuaded
to come from the other side of the lake had taken fright, and had
insisted on knowing where she was.

At this the deaconess seemed somewhat dismayed, and poured out endless
questions in a low voice. He, however, cast all the blame on the
philosopher, whom his master had got hold of the day before. Then, as the
woman desired more particular information, he briefly told her the story.

The fair Agatha, he said, after being invited by him, at noon, in the
name of Bishop Demetrius, to a meeting that evening, had reached the
ferryhouse at about sunset. She had been told that many things of
immediate importance were to be announced to the maidens of the Christian
congregation; more especially, a discussion was to be held as to the
order issued by the prefect for their taking part in a procession in
Caesar's honor when he should quit Alexandria. Old Dorothea had met the
girl at the ferry-house, and had brought her hither. The woman who had
attended her across the lake was certainly none of the wisest, for
Dorothea had easily persuaded her to remain in her house during the
meeting.

"Once there," the sham priest went on, "the girl's waiting-woman must
have had some dose in wine or sirup and water, for she is fast asleep at
this moment in the ferry-house, or wherever Dorothea took her, as she
could not be allowed to wake under Dorothea's roof.

"Thus every one was out of the way who could make any mischief; and when
the Syrian, dressed as a Christian priest, had explained to Agatha what
the patriarch required of his maidens, I led her on to the stage, on
which the spectators were to see the ghosts through a small opening.

"The Syrian had desired her to put up so many and such prayers for the
congregation in its peril from Caesar; and, by Aphrodite! she was as
docile as a lamb. She fell on her knees, and with hands and eyes to
heaven entreated her god. But hark!

"Did you hear anything? Something is stirring within. Well, I have nearly
done.

"The philosopher was to see her thus, and when he had gazed at her as if
bewitched for some little time through the small window, he suddenly
cried out, 'Korinna! Korinna!' and all sorts of nonsense, although
Serapion had strictly forbidden him to utter a sound. Of course,