men. He was clad in the rough-and-ready garb of the travelling
Englishman, and his athletic figure in its plain-cut modern attire
looked curiously out of place in that mysterious grotto which,
with its rocky walls and flaming symbol of salvation, seem suited
only to the picturesque prophet-like forms of the white-gowned
brethren whom he now surveyed, as he stood behind their ranks,
with a gleam of something like mockery in his proud, weary eyes.

"What sort of fellows are these?" he mused--"fools or knaves? They
must be one or the other,--else they would not thus chant praises
to a Deity of whose existence there is, and can be, no proof. It
is either sheer ignorance or hypocrisy,--or both combined. I can
pardon ignorance, but not hypocrisy; for however dreary the
results of Truth, yet Truth alone prevails; its killing bolt
destroys the illusive beauty of the Universe, but what then? Is it
not better so than that the Universe should continue to seem
beautiful only through the medium of a lie?"

His straight brows drew together in a puzzled, frowning line as he
asked himself this question, and he moved restlessly. He was
becoming impatient; the chanting of the monks grew monotonous to
his ears; the lighted cross on the altar dazzled him with its
glare. Moreover he disliked all forms of religious service, though
as a lover of classic lore it is probable he would have witnessed
a celebration in honor of Apollo or Diana with the liveliest
interest. But the very name of Christianity was obnoxious to him.
Like Shelley, he considered that creed a vulgar and barbarous
superstition. Like Shelley, he inquired, "If God has spoken, why
is the world not convinced?" He began to wish he had never set
foot inside this abode of what he deemed a pretended sanctity,