prelate's side. Cynegius was doubtful; but the priests, who had not
altogether escaped the alarms that had stricken the whole population,
were so bold as to declare against a too hasty decision, and to say that
the celebration of the games at a time of such desperate peril was not
only presumptuous but sinful, and a tempting of God.

In answer to a scornful enquiry from Theophilus as to where the danger
lay if--as the Comes promised--Serapis were to be overthrown on the
morrow, one of the assembly answered in the name of his colleagues. This
man, now very old, had formerly been a wonderfully successful exorcist,
and, notwithstanding that he was a faithful Christian, he was the leader
of a gnostic sect and a diligent student of magic. He proceeded to
argue, with all the zeal and vehemence of conviction, that Serapis was
the most terrible of all the heathen daemons, and that all the oracles
of antiquity, all the prophecies of the seers, and all the conclusions
of the Magians and astrologers would be proved false if his fall--which
the present assembly could only regard as a great boon from Heaven--did
not entail some tremendous convulsion of nature.

At this Theophilus gave the reins to his wrath; he snatched a little
crucifix from the wall above his episcopal throne, and broke it in
fragments, exclaiming in deep tones that quavered with wrath:

"And which do you regard as the greater: The only-begotten Son of God,
or that helpless image?" And he flung the pieces of the broken crucifix
down on the table round which they were sitting. Then, as though horror-
stricken at his own daring act, he fell on his knees, raised his eyes and
hands in prayer, and gathering up the broken image, kissed it devoutly.

This rapid scene had a tremendous effect. Amazement and suspense were