'Swear then by yon fane, yon statue of Cybele, by yon most ancient
sacellum in Pompeii, that the dead man embraced your faith!'

'Vain man! I disown your idols! I abhor your temples! How can I swear
by Cybele then?'

'Away, away with the Atheist! away! the earth will swallow us, if we
suffer these blasphemers in a sacred grove--away with him to death!'

'To the beasts!' added a female voice in the centre of the crowd; 'we
shall have one a-piece now for the lion and tiger!'

'If, O Nazarene, thou disbelievest in Cybele, which of our gods dost
thou own?' resumed the soldier, unmoved by the cries around.

'None!'

'Hark to him! hark!' cried the crowd.

'O vain and blind!' continued the Christian, raising his voice: 'can you
believe in images of wood and stone? Do you imagine that they have eyes
to see, or ears to hear, or hands to help ye? Is yon mute thing carved
by man's art a goddess!--hath it made mankind?--alas! by mankind was it
made. Lo! convince yourself of its nothingness--of your folly.'

And as he spoke he strode across to the fane, and ere any of the
bystanders were aware of his purpose, he, in his compassion or his zeal,
struck the statue of wood from its pedestal.

'See!' cried he, 'your goddess cannot avenge herself. Is this a thing
to worship?'

Further words were denied to him: so gross and daring a sacrilege--of
one, too, of the most sacred of their places of worship--filled even the
most lukewarm with rage and horror. With one accord the crowd rushed
upon him, seized, and but for the interference of the centurion, they
would have torn him to pieces.

'Peace!' said the soldier, authoritatively--'refer we this insolent
blasphemer to the proper tribunal--time has been already wasted. Bear
we both the culprits to the magistrates; place the body of the priest on
the litter--carry it to his own home.'

At this moment a priest of Isis stepped forward. 'I claim these
remains, according to the custom of the priesthood.'

'The flamen be obeyed,' said the centurion. 'How is the murderer?'

'Insensible or asleep.'

'Were his crimes less, I could pity him. On!'

Arbaces, as he turned, met the eye of that priest of Isis--it was
Calenus; and something there was in that glance, so significant and
sinister, that the Egyptian muttered to himself:

'Could he have witnessed the deed?'

A girl darted from the crowd, and gazed hard on the face of Olinthus.
'By Jupiter, a stout knave! I say,