“Here I am once more!—­Cynegius is here and matters look serious my friend.”

“You have been to the Museum?”

“Without any obstruction.  I found them all assembled.  Brave lads.  They are all for us and the gods.  There are plenty of weapons.  The Jews—­ [At that time about two-fifths of the whole population.]—­are not stirring, Onias thinks he may vouch for that; and we must surely be a match for the monks and the imperial cohorts.”

“If the gods only stand by us to-day and tomorrow,” replied Porphyrius doubtfully.

“For ever, if only the country people do their duty!” cried the other.  “But who is this stranger?”

“The chief of the singers who were here yesterday,” replied Gorgo.

“Karnis, the son of Hiero of Tauromenium,” said the musician, bowing to the stranger, whose stately figure and handsome, thoughtful head struck him with admiration.

“Karnis of Tauromenium!” exclaimed the newcomer with glad surprise.  “By Hercules! a strange meeting.  Your hand, your hand, old man.  How many years is it since we last emptied a wine-jar together at the house of old Hippias?  Seven lustres have turned our hair grey, but we still can stand upright.  Well, Karnis son of Hiero—­and who am I?”

“Olympius—­the great Olympius!” cried Karnis, eagerly grasping the offered hand.  “May all the gods bless this happy day!”

“All the gods?” repeated the philosopher.  “Is that what you say?  Then you have not crawled under the yoke of the cross?”

“The world can rejoice only under the auspices of the gods!” cried Karnis excitedly.

“And it shall rejoice still, we will save it from gloom!” added the other with a flash of vehemence.

“The times are fateful.  We must fight; and no longer over trifles; we cannot now break each other’s heads over a quibble, or believe that the whole world hangs on the question whether the instant of death is the last minute of this life or the first of the next.  No—­what now remains to be decided is whether the old gods shall be victorious, whether we shall continue to live free and happy under the rule of the Immortals, or whether we shall bow under the dismal doctrine of the carpenter’s crucified son; we must fight for the highest hopes and aims of humanity.”

“I know,” interrupted Karnis, “you have already done battle valiantly for great Serapis.  They wanted to lay hands on his sanctuary but you and your disciples put them to rout.  The rest got off scot-free . . .”

“But they have taught me the value of my head,” said Olympius laughing.  “Evagrius prices it at three talents.  Why, you might buy a house with the money and a modest man could live upon the interest.  This worthy man keeps me concealed here.  We must talk over a few things, Porphyrius; and you, Gorgo, do not forget the solemn festival of Isis.  Now that Cynegius is here it must be made as splendid as possible, and he must tell the Emperor, who has sent him, what temper we Alexandrians are in.  But where is the dark maiden I saw yesterday?”