“I was dreaming that this monstrous Nought had come to his kingdom and was opening a yawning mouth and toothless jaws to swallow its all down into the throat that it has not got—­you, and me, and your young officer, with this splendid, recreant city and the sky and the earth.  Wait, only wait!  The glorious image of Serapis still stands radiant, but the cross casts an ominous shadow that has already darkened the light over half the earth!  Our gods are an abomination to Caesar, and Cynegius only carries out his wishes. . .”

Here Damia was interrupted by the steward, who rushed breathless into the room, exclaiming: 

“Lost!  All is lost!  An edict of Theodosius commands that every temple of the gods shall be closed, and the heavy cavalry have dispersed our force.”

“Ah ha!” croaked the old woman in shrill accents.  “You see, you see!  There it is:  the beginning of the end!  Yes—­your cavalry are a powerful force.  They are digging a grave—­wide and deep, with room in it for many:  for you, for me, and for themselves, too, and for their Prefect.  —­Call Argus, man, and carry me into the Gynaeconitis—­[The women’s apartment]—­and there tell us what has happened.”  In the women’s room the steward told all he knew, and a sad tale it was; one thing, however, gave him some comfort:  Olympius was at the Serapeunt and had begun to fortify the temple, and garrison it with a strong force of adherents.

Damia had definitively given up all hope, and hardly heeded this part of his story, while on Gorgo’s mind it had a startling effect.  She loved Constantine with all the fervor of a first, and only, and long-suppressed passion; she had repented long since of her little fit of suspicion, and it would have cost her no perceptible effort to humble her pride, to fly to him and pray for forgiveness.  But she could not—­dared not—­now, when everything was at stake, renounce her fidelity to the gods for whose sake she had let him leave her in anger, and to whom she must cling, cost what it might; that would be a base desertion.  If Olympius were to triumph in the struggle she might go to her lover and say:  “Do you remain a Christian, and leave me the creed of my childhood, or else open my heart to yours.”  But, as matters now stood, her first duty was to quell her passion and retrain faithful to the end, even though the cause were lost.  She was Greek to the backbone; she knew it and felt it, and yet her eye had sparkled with pride as she heard the steward’s tale, and she seemed to see Constantine at the head of his horsemen, rushing upon the heathen and driving them to the four winds like a flock of sheep.  Her heart beat high for the foe rather than for her hapless friends—­these were but bruised reeds—­those were the incarnation of victorious strength.