grew every moment louder and wilder, the memory of Constantine's grave
and fearless manliness rose before her, in all its strength and beauty.
She was his, his wholly and forever; and for the future all that was his
should be hers: his love, his home, his noble purpose--and his God.




CHAPTER XXII.

The doubtful light of dawn was beginning to break through the storm-
clouds as they exhausted their fury on the Serapeum, but the terrified
heathen did not notice it. No captain, no prophet, no comforter had come
to revive their courage and hopes; for Olympius and his guests, the
leaders of the intellectual life of Alexandria--and among them the chief
priests of the sanctuary--were tardy in making their appearance.

The lightning-flash which had fallen on the brassplated cupola, and then
discharged its force along a flagstaff, had alarmed even the sages and
philosophers; and the Symposium had come to an abrupt end but little more
dignified than the orgy in the temple-halls. Few, to be sure, of the
high-priest's friends had allowed themselves to be so far scared as to
betray their terrors frankly; on the contrary, when the crack of doom
really seemed to have sounded, rhetoric and argument grew even more eager
than before round Olympius' table; and Gorgo's opinion of her fellow-
heathen might not have been much raised if she could have heard
Helladius, the famous philologist and biographer, reciting verses from
"Prometheus bound," his knees quaking and lips quivering as he heard the
thunder; or seen Ammonius, another grammarian who had written a
celebrated work on "The Differences of Synonyms," rending his robe and