Providence, was the blood of Hypatia avenged in part that night. In part
only. For Peter the Reader, and his especial associates, were safe in
sanctuary at the Caesareum, clinging to the altar. Terrified at the
storm which they had raised, and fearing the consequences of an attack
upon the palace, they had left the mob to run riot at its will; and
escaped the swords of the Goths to be reserved for the more awful
punishment of impunity.

CHAPTER XXX: EVERY MAN TO HIS OWN PLACE

It was near midnight. Raphael had been sitting some three hours in
Miriam's inner chamber, waiting in vain for her return. To recover, if
possible, his ancestral wealth; to convey it, without a day's delay, to
Cyrene; and, if possible, to persuade the poor old Jewess to accompany
him, and there to soothe, to guide, perhaps to convert her, was his next
purpose:--at all events, with or without his wealth, to flee from that
accursed city. And he counted impatiently the slow hours and minutes
which detained him in an atmosphere which seemed reeking with innocent
blood, black with the lowering curse of an avenging God. More than once,
unable to bear the thought, he rose to depart, and leave his wealth
behind: but he was checked again by the thought of his own past
life. How had he added his own sin to the great heap of Alexandrian
wickedness! How had he tempted others, pampered others in evil! Good
God! how had he not only done evil with all his might, but had pleasure
in those who did the same! And now, now he was reaping the fruit of his
own devices. For years past, merely to please his lust of power, his
misanthropic scorn, he had been malting that wicked Orestes wickeder
than he was even by his own base will and nature; and his puppet had
avenged itself upon him! He, he had prompted him to ask Hypatia's
hand.... He had laid, half in sport, half in envy of her excellence,
that foul plot against the only human being whom he loved.... and he had
destroyed her! He, and not Peter, was the murderer of Hypatia! True,
he had never meant her death.... No; but had he not meant for her worse
than death? He had never foreseen.... No; but only because he did not
choose to foresee. He had chosen to be a god; to kill and to make alive
by his own will and law; and behold, he had become a devil by that very
act. Who can--and who dare, even if he could--withdraw the sacred veil
from those bitter agonies of inward shame and self-reproach, made all
the more int