apologised with noble humility.

"Pardon me, old man, my brother," he said, "if zeal for the truth has
carried me beyond proper bounds. God is my witness, that it is thy
errors and not thyself that I hate. I suffer to see thee in darkness,
for I love thee in Jesus Christ, and care for thy salvation fills my
heart. Speak! give me your reasons. I long to know them that I may
refute them."

The old man replied quietly--

"It is the same to me whether I speak or remain silent. I will give my
reasons without asking yours in return, for I have no interest in you
at all. I care neither for your happiness nor your misfortune, and it
matters not to me whether you think one way or another. Why should I
love you, or hate you? Aversion and sympathy are equally unworthy of the
wise man. But since you question me, know then that I am named Timocles,
and that I was born at Cos, of parents made rich by commerce. My father
was a shipowner. In intelligence he much resembled Alexander, who is
surnamed the Great. But he was not so gross. In short, he was a man of
no great parts. I had two brothers, who, like him, were shipowners. As
for me, I followed wisdom. My eldest brother was compelled by my father
to marry a Carian woman, named Timaessa, who displeased him so greatly
that he could not live with her without falling into a deep melancholy.
However, Timaessa inspired our younger brother with a criminal passion,
and this passion soon turned to a furious madness. The Carian woman
hated them both equally; but she loved a flute-player, and received him
at night in her chamber. One morning he left there the wreath which he
usually wore at feasts. My two brothers, having found this wreath, swore
to kill the flute-player, and the next day they caused him to perish