ings, and only asks of her to listen to her own reason,
her own philosophy, when they proclaim Him as the giver of them, and to
impart them freely and humbly, as He has imparted them to her, to the
poor, and the brutish, and the sinful, whom He loves as well as He loves
her.... Farewell!'

'Stay!' said she, springing up: 'whither are you going?'

'To do a little good before I die, having done much evil. To farm,
plant, and build, and rescue a little corner of Ormuzd's earth, as the
Persians would say, out of the dominion of Ahriman. To fight Ausurian
robbers, feed Thracian mercenaries, save a few widows from starvation,
and a few orphans from slavery.... Perhaps to leave behind me a son of
David's line, who will be a better Jew, because a better Christian,
than his father.... We shall have trouble in the flesh, Augustine tells
us.... But, as I answered him, I really have had so little thereof
yet, that my fair share may probably be rather a useful education than
otherwise. Farewell!'

'Stay!' said she. 'Come again!--again! And her.... Bring her.... I must
see her! She must be noble, indeed, to be worthy of you.'

'She is many a hundred miles away.'

'Ah! Perhaps she might have taught something to me--me, the philosopher!
You need not have feared me.... I have no heart to make converts
now.... Oh, Raphael Aben-Ezra, why break the bruised reed? My plans are
scattered to the winds, my pupils worthless, my fair name tarnished, my
conscience heavy with the thought of my own cruelty.... If you do not
know all, you will know it but too soon .... My last hope, Synesius,
implores for himself the hope which I need from him....And, over and
above it all.... You!.... Et tu, Brute! Why not fold my mantle round me,
like Julius of old, and die!'

Raphael stood looking sadly at her, as her whole face sank into utter
prostration. ...............

'Yes--come.... The Galilaean.... If He conquers strong men, can the weak
maid resist Him? Come soon.... This afternoon.... My heart is breaking
fast.'

'At the eighth hour this afternoon?'

'Yes.... At noon I lecture.... take my farewell, rather, for ever of
the schools....Gods! What have I to say?.... And tell me about Him of
Nazareth. Farewell!'

'Farewell, beloved lady! At the ninth hour, you shall hear of Him of
Nazareth.'

Why did his own words sound to him strangely pregnant, all but ominous?
He almost fancied that not he, but some third person had spoken them.
He kissed Hy