single hour of perfect joy with him and in him. The faith in the old
gods, the heathen world which contained the ideal of her young soul, her
detestation of Christianity, her beautiful art--everything, in short,
that had filled the spiritual side of her life, was cast into the shade
by the one absorbing passion that possessed her soul. Every feeling,
every instinct, urged her to abandon herself entirely to her lover, and
yet she never for one instant doubted which side she would take in the
approaching conflict of the great powers that ruled the world. The last
few hours had only confirmed her conviction that the end of all things
was at hand. The world was on the eve of destruction; she foresaw that
she must perish--perish with Constantine, and that, in her eyes, was a
grace from the gods.

While Damia was vainly struggling to liberate her soul from the bondage
of the flesh, Gorgo had been wandering uneasily about the house; now
going to the slaves, encouraging them with brave words, and giving them
employment to keep them from utter desperation, and then stealing up to
see whether her grandmother might not by this time be in need of her.
As it grew dark she observed that several of the women, and even some of
the men, had made their escape. These were such as had already shown a
leaning towards the new faith, and who now made off to join their fellow-
Christians, or to seek refuge in the churches under the protection of the
crucified God whose supreme power might, perhaps, even yet, avert the
impending catastrophe.

Twice had Porphyrius sent a messenger to assure his mother and daughter
that all was well with him, that a powerful party was prepared to defend
the Serapeum, and that he should pass the night in the temple. The
Romans were evidently hesitating to attack it, and if, next morning, the
heathen should succeed in repelling the first onset, reinforcements might