llect. I shall feel with
you and work for you, doubt not, even though I am unable to explain to
myself why I do it.'

'Then you cannot solve my riddle?'

'Let me help you,' said Synesius with a sweet smile, 'to solve it for
yourself. You need not try to deceive me. You have a love, an undefiled,
who is but one. When you possess her, you will be able to judge better
whether your interpretation of the Song is the true one; and if you
still think that it is, Synesius, at least, will have no quarrel against
you. He has always claimed for himself the right of philosophising in
private, and he will allow the same liberty to you' whether the mob do
or not.'

'Then you agree with me? Of course you do!'

'Is it fair to ask me whether I accept a novel interpretation, which
I have only heard five minutes ago, delivered in a somewhat hasty and
rhetorical form?'

'You are shirking the question,' said Raphael peevishly.

'And what if I am? Tell me, point-blank, most self-tormenting of
men, can I help you in practice, even though I choose to leave you to
yourself in speculation?'

'Well, then, if you will have my story, take it, and judge for yourself
of Christian common sense.'

And hurriedly, as if ashamed of his own confession, and yet compelled,
in spite of himself, to unbosom it, he told Synesius all, from his first
meeting with Victoria to his escape from her at Berenice.

The good bishop, to Aben-Ezra's surprise, seemed to treat the whole
matter as infinitely amusing. He chuckled, smote his hand on his
thigh, and nodded approval at every pause--perhaps to give the speaker
courage--perhaps because he really thought that Raphael's prospects were
considerably less desperate than he fancied....

'If you laugh at me, Synesius, I am silent. It is quite enough to endure
the humiliation of telling you that I am--confound it!--like any boy of
sixteen.'

'Laugh at you?--with you, you mean. A convent? Pooh, pooh! The old
Prefect has enough sense, I will warrant him, not to refuse a good match
for his child.'

'You forget that I have not the honour of being a Christian.'

'Then we'll make you one. You won't let me convert you, I know; you
always used to gibe and jeer at my philosophy. But Augustine comes
to-morrow.

'Augustine?'

'He does indeed; and we must be off by daybreak, with all the armed men
we can muster, to meet and escort him, and to hunt, of course, going and
coming; for we have had no food this fortnight,