did not sleep.  In Apaecides the whole aspect betokened the fervor and passion of his temperament, and the intellectual portion of his nature seemed, by the wild fire of the eyes, the great breadth of the temples when compared with the height of the brow, the trembling restlessness of the lips, to be swayed and tyrannized over by the imaginative and ideal.  Fancy, with the sister, had stopped short at the golden goal of poetry; with the brother, less happy and less restrained, it had wandered into visions more intangible and unembodied; and the faculties which gave genius to the one threatened madness to the other.

‘You say I have been your enemy,’ said Arbaces, ’I know the cause of that unjust accusation:  I have placed you amidst the priests of Isis—­you are revolted at their trickeries and imposture—­you think that I too have deceived you—­the purity of your mind is offended—­you imagine that I am one of the deceitful...’

‘You knew the jugglings of that impious craft,’ answered Apaecides; ’why did you disguise them from me?—­When you excited my desire to devote myself to the office whose garb I bear, you spoke to me of the holy life of men resigning themselves to knowledge—­you have given me for companions an ignorant and sensual herd, who have no knowledge but that of the grossest frauds; you spoke to me of men sacrificing the earthlier pleasures to the sublime cultivation of virtue—­you place me amongst men reeking with all the filthiness of vice; you spoke to me of the friends, the enlighteners of our common kind—­I see but their cheats and deluders!  Oh! it was basely done!—­you have robbed me of the glory of youth, of the convictions of virtue, of the sanctifying thirst after wisdom.  Young as I was, rich, fervent, the sunny pleasures of earth before me, I resigned all without a sign, nay, with happiness and exultation, in the thought that I resigned them for the abstruse mysteries of diviner wisdom, for the companionship of gods—­for the revelations of Heaven—­and now—­now...’

Convulsive sobs checked the priest’s voice; he covered his face with his hands, and large tears forced themselves through the wasted fingers, and ran profusely down his vest.

’What I promised to thee, that will I give, my friend, my pupil:  these have been but trials to thy virtue—­it comes forth the brighter for thy novitiate—­think no more of those dull cheats—­assort no more with those menials of the goddess, the atrienses of her hall—­you are worthy to enter into the penetralia.  I henceforth will be your priest, your guide, and you who now curse my friendship shall live to bless it.’

The young man lifted up his head, and gazed with a vacant and wondering stare upon the Egyptian.