life, were also to be set down to the account of the Melchite tyrants.

His waning powers had indeed only been kept up by his original vigor and
his burning thirst for revenge, and fate had allowed him to quench it in
a way which, as time went on, seemed too absolute to his peace-loving
nature. Though not indeed by his act, still with his complicity he saw
the Byzantine Empire bereft of the rich province which Caesar had
entrusted to his rule, saw the Greeks and everything that bore the name
of Melchite driven out of Egypt with ignominy--though he would gladly
have prevented it--in many places slain like dogs by the furious populace
who hailed the Moslems as their deliverers.

Thus all the evil he had invoked on the murderers of his children and the
oppressors and torturers of his people had come upon them; his revenge
was complete. But, in the midst of his satisfaction at this strange
fulfilment of the fervent wish of years, his conscience had lifted up its
voice; new, and hitherto unknown terrors had come upon him. He lacked
the strength of mind to be a hero or a reformer. Too great an event had
been wrought through his agency, too fearful a doom visited on thousands
of men! The Christian Faith--to him the highest consideration--had been
too greatly imperilled by his act, for the thought that he had caused all
this to be calmly endurable. The responsibility proved too heavy for his
shoulders; and whenever he repeated to himself that it was not he who had
invited the Arabs into the land, and that he must have been crushed in
the attempt to repel them, he could hear voices all round him denouncing
him as the man who had surrendered his native land to them, and he
fancied himself environed by dangers--believing those who spoke to him of
assassins sent forth by the Byzantines to kill him.--But even more
appalling, was his dread of the wrath of Heaven against the man who had
betrayed a Christian country to the Infidels. Even his consciousness of