'Spare me, father--I have spared you.'

And she began to write her answer.

'I have accepted his offer--conditionally, that is. And on whether
he have courage or not to fulfil that condition depends-- Do not ask
me what it is. While Cyril is leader of the Christian mob, it may
be safer for you, my father, that you should be able to deny all
knowledge of my answer. Be content. I have said this--that if he
will do as I would have him do, I will do as you would have me do.'

'Have you not been too rash? Have you not demanded of him something
which, for the sake of public opinion, he dare not grant openly, and
yet which he may allow you to do for yourself when once--'

'I have. If I am to be a victim, the sacrificing priest shall at
least be a man, and not a coward and a time-server. If he believes
this Christian faith, let him defend it against me; for either it or
I shall perish. If he does not--as he does not--let him give up
living in a lie, and taking on his lips blasphemies against the
immortals, from which his heart and reason revolt!'

And she clapped her hands again for the maid-servant, gave her the
letter silently, shut the doors of her chamber, and tried to resume
her Commentary on Plotinus. Alas! what were all the wire-drawn
dreams of metaphysics to her in that real and human struggle of the
heart? What availed it to define the process by which individual
souls emanated from the universal one, while her own soul had,
singly and on its own responsibility, to decide so terrible an act
of will? or to write fine words with pen and ink about the