CHAPTER XX.

Gorgo, when she had left her grandmother, could not rest.  Her lofty calmness of demeanor had given way to a restless mood such as she had always contemned severely in others, since she had ceased to be a vehement child and grown to be a woman.  She tried to beguile the alarm that made her pulses beat so quickly, and the heart-sickness that ached like a wound, by music and singing; but this only added to her torment.  The means by which she could usually recover her equanimity of mind had lost their efficacy, and Sappho’s longing hymn, which she began to sing, had only served to bring the fervid longing of her own heart to light—­ to set it, as it were, in the full glare of the sun.  She had become aware that every fibre, every nerve of her being yearned for the man she loved; she would have thrown away her life like a hollow nut for one single hour of perfect joy with him and in him.  The faith in the old gods, the heathen world which contained the ideal of her young soul, her detestation of Christianity, her beautiful art—­everything, in short, that had filled the spiritual side of her life, was cast into the shade by the one absorbing passion that possessed her soul.  Every feeling, every instinct, urged her to abandon herself entirely to her lover, and yet she never for one instant doubted which side she would take in the approaching conflict of the great powers that ruled the world.  The last few hours had only confirmed her conviction that the end of all things was at hand.  The world was on the eve of destruction; she foresaw that she must perish—­perish with Constantine, and that, in her eyes, was a grace from the gods.

While Damia was vainly struggling to liberate her soul from the bondage of the flesh, Gorgo had been wandering uneasily about the house; now going to the slaves, encouraging them with brave words, and giving them employment to keep them from utter desperation, and then stealing up to see whether her grandmother might not by this time be in need of her.  As it grew dark she observed that several of the women, and even some of the men, had made their escape.  These were such as had already shown a leaning towards the new faith, and who now made off to join their fellow-Christians, or to seek refuge in the churches under the protection of the crucified God whose supreme power might, perhaps, even yet, avert the impending catastrophe.

Twice had Porphyrius sent a messenger to assure his mother and daughter that all was well with him, that a powerful party was prepared to defend the Serapeum, and that he should pass the night in the temple.  The Romans were evidently hesitating to attack it, and if, next morning, the heathen should succeed in repelling the first onset, reinforcements might yet be brought up in time.  Gorgo could not share these hopes; a client of her father’s had brought in a rumor that the Biamites, after advancing as far as Naucratis, had been dispersed by a few of the Imperial maniples.  Fate was stalking on its way, and no one could give it pause.