own people who were fighting for Serapis--how were they faring; and Agne
--what had become of her? Then her mind turned to the church, and the
worthy old priest's sermon; to the races that she was to see--and the
face and figure of the handsome young Christian rose vividly and
irresistibly before her fancy. Of course--of course, she wished his
horses to win; but it was strange enough that she, Karnis' niece, should
be on the side of the Christians. Stranger still that she had entirely
ceased to believe in all the abuse which, from her earliest childhood,
she had heard heaped on the followers of the crucified Jew. It could
only be that Karnis had never been able to forgive them for having ruined
his theatre at Tauromenium, and so, perhaps, had never known them
thoroughly.

She had enjoyed many a happy hour at the festivals of the old gods; and
they were no doubt beautiful and festive divinities, or terrible when
they were wroth; still, in the depths of her soul there had for some time
lurked a vague, sweet longing which found no fulfilment in any heathen
temple. She knew no name for it and would have found it hard to
describe, but in the church, listening to the prayers and hymns and the
old deacon's discourse, it had for the first time been stilled; she had
felt then and there that, helpless and simple as she was, and even if she
were to remain parted from her foster parents, she need never feel
abandoned, but could rest and hope in a supreme, loving, and helpful
power. And indeed she needed such a protector; she was so easily
beguiled. Stephanion, a flute-player she had known in Rome, had wheedled
everything she had a fancy for out of poor Dada, and when she had got
into any mischief laid it all on Dada's shoulders. There must be
something particularly helpless about her, for everyone, as a matter of
course, took her in hand and treated her like a child, or said things
that made her angry.