He had forced his way through the raging mob to aid the old couple and their granddaughter.  The slave Phryx had been busily preparing the boats which lay moored in the harbour of the seawashed estate, but Gorgias had found it difficult to persuade the grey-haired philosopher to go with him and his family to the shore.  He was ready to face the enraged rioters and—­though it should cost his life—­cry out that they were shamefully deceived and were staining themselves with a disgraceful crime.  Not until the architect represented that it was unworthy of a Didymus to expose to bestial violence a life on which helpless women and the whole world—­to whom his writings were guide-posts to the realms of truth—­possessed a claim, could he be induced to yield.  Nevertheless, the sage and his relatives almost fell into the hands of the furious rabble, for Didymus would not depart until he had saved this, that, and the other precious book, till the number reached twenty or thirty.  Besides, his old deaf wife, who usually submitted quietly when her defective hearing prevented her comprehension of many things, insisted upon knowing what was occurring.  She ordered everybody who came near her to explain what had happened, thus detaining her granddaughter Helena, who was trying to save the most valuable articles in the dwelling.  So the departure was delayed, and only the brave defence of young Philotas, Didymus’s assistant, and some of the Ephebi, who joined him, enabled them to escape unharmed.

The Scythian guards, which at last put a stop to the frantic rage of the deluded populace, arrived too late to prevent the destruction of the house, but they saved Philotas and the other youths from the fists and stones of the rabble.  When the boats had gone farther out into the harbour the question of finding a home for the philosopher and his family was discussed.  Berenike’s house was also threatened, and the rules of the museum prevented the reception of women.  Five servants had accompanied the family, and none of Didymus’s learned friends had room for so many guests.  When the old man and Helena began to enumerate the lodgings of which they could think, Gorgias interposed with an entreaty that they would come to his house.

He had inherited the dwelling from his father.  It was very large and spacious, almost empty, and they could reach it speedily, as it stood on the seashore, north of the Forum.  The fugitives would be entirely at liberty there, since he had work on hand which would permit him to spend no time under his own roof except at night.  He soon overcame the trivial objections made by the philosopher and, fifteen minutes after they had left the Corner of the Muses, he was permitted to open the door of his house to his guests, and he did so with genuine pleasure.  The old housekeeper and the grey-haired steward, who had been in his father’s service, looked surprised, but worked zealously after Gorgias had confided the visitors to their charge.  The pressure of business forbade his fulfilling the duties of host in his own person.