Orion clasped her in his arms, and said tenderly, “No, dearest mother, no.  Constantinople lies far, far behind me, in grey mist beyond the farthest Thule; and here, close here, under my father’s roof, I have found something far more lovely and more perfect than has ever been beheld by the dwellers on the Bosphorus.  That little girl is no match for a son of our stalwart and broad-shouldered race.  Our future generations must still tower proudly above the common herd in every respect; I want no plaything for a wife, but a woman, such as you yourself were in youth—­tall, dignified and handsome.  My heart goes forth to no gold-crested wren but to a really royal maiden.—­Of what use to waste words!  Paula, the noble daughter of a glorious father, is my choice.  It came upon me just now like a revelation; I ask your blessing on my union with her!”

So far had Neforis allowed her son to speak.  He had frankly and boldly uttered what she had indeed feared to hear.  And so long she had succeeded in keeping silence!—­But now her patience gave way.  Trembling with anger she abruptly broke in, exclaiming, as her face grew crimson: 

“No more, no more!  Heaven grant that this which I have been compelled to hear may be no more than a fleeting and foolish whim!  Have you quite forgotten who and what we are?  Have you forgotten that those were Melchites who slew your two dear brothers—­our two noble sons?  Of what account are we among the orthodox Greeks?  While among the Egyptians and all who confess the saving doctrine of Eutyches, among the Monophysites we are the chief, and we will remain so, and close our ears and hearts against all heretics and their superstitions.  What!  A grandson of Menas, the brother of two martyrs for our glorious faith, married to a Melchite!  The mere idea is sacrilege, is blasphemy; I can give it no milder name!  I and your father will die childless before we consent!  And it is for the love of this woman, whose heart is so cold that I shiver only to think of it—­for this waif and stray, who has nothing but her ragged pride and the mere scrapings of a lost fortune, which never could compare with ours—­for this thankless creature, who can hardly bring herself to bid me, your mother, such a civil good-morning—­by Heaven it is the truth—­as I can say to a slave—­for her that I, that your parents are to be bereft of their son, the only child that a gracious Providence has left to be their joy and comfort?  No, no, never!  Far be it from me!  You, Orion, my heart’s darling, you have been a wilful fellow all your life, but you cannot have such a perverse heart as to bring your old mother, who has kept you in her heart these four and twenty years, in sorrow to the grave and embitter your father’s few remaining days—­for his hours are numbered!—­And all for the sake of this cold beauty, whom you have seen for a few hours these last two days.  You cannot have the heart to do this, my heart’s treasure, no, you cannot!—­But if you should in some accursed hour, I tell you—­and I have been a tender mother to you all your life-but as surely as God shall be my stay and your father’s in our last hour, I will tear all love for you out of my heart like a poisonous weed—­I will, though that heart should break!”