The cheerful music-room was a scene of woe till Demetrius came to conduct his brother and Dada to the widow Mary who was expecting them.  He had arrived in a chariot, for he declared his legs would no longer carry him.  “Men,” said he, “are like horses.  A swift saddle-horse is soon tired when it is driven in harness and a heavy cart-horse when it is made to gallop.  His hoofs were spoilt for city pavements, and scheming, struggling and running about the streets were too much for his country brains and wore him out, as trotting under a saddle would weary a plough-horse.  He thanked the gods that this day was over.  He would not be rested enough till to-morrow to be really glad of all his success.”—­But in spite of this assertion he was radiant with overflowing satisfaction, and that in itself cheered the mourners whom he tried to encourage.  When he said they must be going, Gorgo kissed the little singer; indeed, as soon as she saw how deeply she was grieved, shedding bitter but silent tears, she had hastened to take her in her arms and comfort her like a sister.

Constantine, Gorgo and old Eusebius were left together, and the young girl was longing to unburden her over-full heart.  She had agreed to her lover’s request that she would at once accompany him to see his sorrowing parents; still, she could not appear before the old Christian couple and crave their blessing in her present mood.  Recent events had embittered her happy belief in the creed into which she had thrown herself, and much as it pained her to add a drop to Constantine’s cup of sorrow, duty and honesty commanded that she should show him the secrets of her soul and the doubts and questionings which had begun to trouble her.  The old priest’s presence was a comfort to her; for her earnest wish was to become a Christian from conviction; as soon as they were alone she poured out before them all the accusations she had to bring against the adherents of their Faith:  They had triumphed in ruining the creations of Art; the Temple of Isis and the ship-yard lay in ashes, destroyed by Christian incendiaries; their tears were not yet dry when they flowed afresh for the sons of Porphyrius—­Christians themselves—­who, unless some happy accident had saved them, must have perished with thousands of innocent sufferers—­believers and infidels together—­by the orders of the Emperor whom Constantine had always lauded as a wise sovereign and pious Christian, as the Defender of the Faith, and as a faithful disciple of the Redeemer.

When, at last, she came to an end of her indictment she appealed to Constantine and Eusebius to defend the proceedings of their co-religionists, and to give her good grounds for confessing a creed which could sanction such ruthless deeds.

Neither the Deacon nor his pupil attempted to excuse these acts; nay, Constantine thought they were in plain defiance of that high law of Love which the Christian Faith imposes on all its followers.  The wicked servant, he declared, had committed crimes in direct opposition to the spirit and the letter of the Master.