ut the least
thought of doing anything noble or self-sacrificing, he had truly done,
being a monk. And so he threw himself on a truckle-bed, in one of the
many cells which opened off a long corridor, and fell fast asleep in a
minute.

He was just weltering about in a dreary dream-jumble of Goths dancing
with district visitors, Pelagia as an angel, with peacock's wings;
Hypatia with horns and cloven feet, riding three hippopotami at
once round the theatre; Cyril standing at an open window, cursing
frightfully, and pelting him with flower-pots; and a similar self-sown
after-crop of his day's impressions; when he was awakened by the tramp
of hurried feet in the street outside, and shouts, which gradually, as
he became conscious, shaped themselves into cries of 'Alexander's Church
is on fire! Help, good Christians! Fire! Help!'

Whereat he sat up in his truckle-bed, tried to recollect where he was,
and having with some trouble succeeded, threw on his sheepskin, and
jumped up to ask the news from the deacons and monks who were hurrying
along the corridor outside.... 'Yes, Alexander's church was on fire;'
and down the stairs they poured, across the courtyard, and out into the
street, Peter's tall figure serving as a standard and a rallying point.

As they rushed out through the gateway, Philammon, dazzled by the sudden
transition from the darkness within to the blaze of moon and starlight
which flooded the street, and walls, and shining roofs, hung back a
moment. That hesitation probably saved his life; for in an instant he
saw a dark figure spring out of the shadow, a long knife flashed across
his eyes, and a priest next to him sank upon the pavement with a groan,
while the assassin dashed off down the street, hotly pursued by monks
and parabolani.

Philammon, who ran like a desert ostrich, had soon outstripped all but
Peter, when several more dark figures sprang out of doorways and corners
and joined, or seem to join, the pursuit. Suddenly, however, after
running a hundred yards, they drew up opposite the mouth of a side
street; the assassin stopped also. Peter, suspecting something wrong,
slackened his pace, and caught Philammon's arm.

'Do you see those fellows in the shadow?'

But, before Philammon could answer, some thirty or forty men, their
daggers gleaming in the moonlight, moved out into the middle of the
street, and received the fugitives into their ranks. What was the
meaning of it? Here was a pleasant tast