A musical dirge now fell on Paula's ear from the convent chapel. Was the
worthy Mother Superior dead? No, this lament must be for some other
death, for the strange skirling wail of the Egyptian women came up to her
corner window from the road, from the bridge, and from the boats on the
river. No Jacobite of Memphis would have dared to express her grief so
publicly for the death of a Melchite; and as the chorus of voices
swelled, the thought struck her with a chill that it must be her uncle
and friend who had closed his weary eyes in death.

It was with deep emotion and many tears that she perceived how sincerely
the death of this righteous man was bewailed by all his fellow-citizens.
Yes, he only, and no other Egyptian, could have called forth this great
and expressive regret. The wailing women in the road were daubing the
mud of the river on their foreheads and bosoms; men were standing in
large groups and beating their heads and breasts with passionate
gestures. On the bridge of boats the men would stop others, and from
thence, too, piercing shrieks came across to her.

At last Philippus came in and confirmed her fears. The governor's death
had shocked him no less than it did her, and he had to tell Paula all he
knew of the dead man's last hours.

"Still, one good thing has come out of this misery," he said. "There is
nothing so comforting as the discovery that we have been deceived in
thinking ill of a man and of his character. This Orion, who has sinned
so basely against himself and against you, is not utterly reprobate."

"Not?" interrupted Paula. "Then he has taken you in too!"

"Taken me in?" said the leech. "Hardly, I think. I have, alas! stood