nd that there, was so much joy over him in heaven," interrupted
Horapollo, "that she really could not delay doing her cast-off lover the
honor of inviting his sympathy!"

"On the contrary. It was with the utmost effort that she uttered all
her heart prompted her to tell; she had nothing to look for from me but
mockery, warning, and reproach, and yet she opened her heart to me."

"But why? To what end?" shrieked the old man. "Shall I tell you. Because
a man who is a friend must still be half a lover, and a woman cannot
bear to give up even a quarter of one."

"Not so!" exclaimed Philippus, indignantly interrupting him. "It was
because she esteems and values me,--because she regards me as a brother,
and--I am not a vain man--and could not bear--those were her very
words--to cheat me of my affection for even an hour! It was noble,
it was generous, worthy of her! And though every fibre of my nature
rebelled I found myself compelled to admire her sincerity, her
true friendship, her disregard of her own feelings, and her womanly
tenderness!--Nay, do not interrupt me again, do not laugh at me. It is
no small matter for a proud girl, conscious of her own dignity, to lay
bare her heart's weakness to a man who, as she knows, loves her, as she
did just now to me. She called me her benefactor and said she would be
a sister to me; and whatever motive you--who hate her out of a habit of
prejudice without really knowing her--may choose to ascribe her conduct
to, I--I believe in her, and understand her.

"Could I refuse to grasp the hand she held out to me as she entreated
me with tears in her eyes to be still her friend, her protector, and her
Kyrios! And yet, and yet!--Where shall I find resolution enough to
ask of her who excites me to the height of passion no more than a kind
glance, a clasp of the hand, an intelligent interest in what I say? How
am I to preserve self-control, calmness, patience, when I see her in the
arms of that handsome young demi-god whom I scorned only yesterday as a
worthless scoundrel? What ice may cool the fire of this burning heart?
What spear can transfix the dragon of passion which rages here? I have
lived almost half my life without ever feeling or yearning for the love
of which the poets sing. I have never known anything of such feelings
but through the pangs of some friend whose weakness had roused my pity;
and now, when love has come upon me so late with all its irresistible
force--has subjugated