And she hid her face in her hands, and bursting into bitter tears,
walked slowly away into her own chamber, her whole body convulsed
with the internal struggle.

The old man looked after her, anxiously and perplexed, and then
followed, hesitating. She was sitting at the table, her face buried
in her hands. He did not dare to disturb her. In addition to all
the affection, the wisdom, the glorious beauty, on which his whole
heart fed day by day, he believed her to be the possessor of those
supernatural powers and favours to which she so boldly laid claim.
And he stood watching her in the doorway, praying in his heart to
all gods and demons, principalities and powers, from Athene down to
his daughter's guardian spirit, to move a determination which he was
too weak to gainsay, and yet too rational to approve.

At last the struggle was over, and she looked up, clear, calm, and
glorious again.

'It shall be. For the sake of the immortal gods--for the sake of
art, and science, and learning, and philosophy .... It shall be.
If the gods demand a victim, here am I. If a second time in the
history of the ages the Grecian fleet cannot sail forth, conquering
and civilising, without the sacrifice of a virgin, I give my throat
to the knife. Father, call me no more Hypatia: call me Iphigenia!'

'And me Agamemnon?' asked the old man, attempting a faint jest
through his tears of joy. 'I daresay you think me a very cruel
father; but--'