“Could I refuse to grasp the hand she held out to me as she entreated me with tears in her eyes to be still her friend, her protector, and her Kyrios!  And yet, and yet!—­Where shall I find resolution enough to ask of her who excites me to the height of passion no more than a kind glance, a clasp of the hand, an intelligent interest in what I say?  How am I to preserve self-control, calmness, patience, when I see her in the arms of that handsome young demi-god whom I scorned only yesterday as a worthless scoundrel?  What ice may cool the fire of this burning heart?  What spear can transfix the dragon of passion which rages here?  I have lived almost half my life without ever feeling or yearning for the love of which the poets sing.  I have never known anything of such feelings but through the pangs of some friend whose weakness had roused my pity; and now, when love has come upon me so late with all its irresistible force—­has subjugated me, cast me into bondage—­how shall I, how can I get free?

“My faithful friend, you who call me your son, whom I am glad to hear speak to me as ‘boy,’ and ‘child,’ who have taken the place of the father I lost so young—­there is but one issue:  I must leave you and this city—­flee from her neighborhood—­seek a new home far from her with whom I could have been as happy as the Saints in bliss, and who has made me more wretched than the damned in everlasting fire.  Away, away!  I will go—­I must go unless you, who can do so much, can teach me to kill this passion or to transmute it into calm, brotherly regard.”

He stood still, close in front of the old man and hid his face in his hands.  At his favorite’s concluding words, Horapollo had started to his feet with all the vigor of youth; he now snatched his hand down from his face, and exclaimed in a voice hoarse with indignation and the deepest concern: 

“And you can say that in earnest?  Can a sensible man like you have sunk so deep in folly?  Is it not enough that your own peace of mind should have been sacrificed, flung at the feet of this—­what can I call her?—­Do you understand at last why I warned you against the Patrician brood?—­The faith, gratitude, and love of a good man!—­What does she care for them?  Unhook the whiting; away with him in the dust!  Here comes a fine large fish who perhaps may swallow the bait!—­Do you want to ruin, for her sake, and the sake of that rascally son of the governor, the comfort and happiness of an old man’s last years when he has become accustomed to love you, who so well deserve it, as his own son?  Will you—­an energetic student, you—­a man of powerful intellect, zealous in your duty, and in favor with the gods—­will you pine like a deserted maiden or spring from the Leucadian rock like love-sick Sappho in the play while the spectators shake with laughter?  You must stay, Boy, you must stay; and I will show you how a man must deal with a passion that dishonors him.”