Maria started violently.

"My body may tremble," she said in great excitement, "but my soul is firm
when its everlasting bliss is at stake. I insist--and my representative,
whether he be you or another, must carry my orders into effect without an
hour's delay--I insist that every heathen shrine, every image of the
field and garden-gods, every altar and sacred stone which the heathens
use for their idolatrous practices shall be pulled down, overthrown,
mutilated and destroyed. That is what I require and insist on."

"And that is what I will never consent to," cried Demetrius in a voice
like low thunder. "I cannot and will not. These things have been held
precious and sacred to men for thousands of years and I cannot, will not,
blow them off the face of the earth, as you blow a feather off your
cloak. You may go and do it yourself; you may be able to achieve it."

"What do you mean?" asked Mary drawing herself up with a glance of
indignant protest.

"Yes--if any one can do it you can!" repeated Demetrius imperturbably.
"I went to-day to seek the images of our forefathers--the venerable
images that were clear to our infancy, the portraits of our fathers'
fathers and mothers, the founders of the honor of our race. And where
are they? They have gone with the protectors of our home, the pride and
ornament of this house--of the street, of the city--the Hermes and Pallas
Athene that you--you flung into the lime-kiln. Old Phabis told me with
tears in his eyes. Alas poor house that is robbed of its past, of its
glory, and of its patron deities!"