whom God has set over us for our sins.  And when this wretch in the purple shall close his eyes, he, like the rest of the criminals who have preceded him on the throne, will be proclaimed a god!  A noble company!  When your beloved mother died I heard you, even you, revile the gods for their cruelty; others call them kind.  It is only a question of how they accept the blood of the sacrificed beasts, their own creatures, which you shed in their honor.  If Serapis does not grant some fool the thing he asks, then he turns to the altar of Isis, of Anubis, of Zeus, of Demeter.  At last he cries to Sabazios, or one of the new deities of Olympus, who owe their existence to the decisions of the Roman Senate, and who are for the most part scoundrels and villains.  There certainly never were more gods than there are now; and among those of whom the myths tell us things strange enough to bring those who worship them into contempt, or to the gallows, is the countless swarm of good and evil daimons.  Away with your Olympians!  They ought to reward virtue and punish vice; and they are no better than corruptible judges; for you know beforehand just what and how much will avail to purchase their favors.”

“You paint with dark colors,” the girl broke in.  “I have learned from Philip that the Pythagoreans teach that not the sacrifice, but the spirit of the offering, is what really matters.”

“Quite right.  He was thinking, no doubt, of the miracle-monger of Tyana, Apollonius, who certainly had heard of the doctrine of the Redeemer.  But among the thousand nine hundred and ninety, who here bring beasts to the altar, who ever remembers this?  Quite lately I heard one of our garden laborers ask how much a day he ought to sacrifice to the sun, his god.  I told him a keration—­for that is what the poor creature earns for a whole day’s work.  He thought that too much, for he must live; so the god must be content with a tithe, for the taxes to the State on his earnings were hardly more.”

“The divinity ought no doubt to be above all else to us,” Melissa observed.  “But when your laborer worships the sun, and looks for its benefits, what is the difference between him and you, or me, or any of us, though we call the sun Helios or Serapis, or what not?”

“Yes, yes,” replied Andreas.  “The sun is adored here under many different names and forms, and your Serapis has swallowed up not only Zeus and Pluto, but Phoebus Apollo and the Egyptian Osiris and Ammon, and Ra, to swell his own importance.  But to be serious, child, our fathers made to themselves many gods indeed, of the sublime phenomena and powers of Nature, and worshiped them admiringly; but to us only the names remain, and those who offer to Apollo never think of the sun.  With my laborer, who is an Arab, it is different.  He believes the light-giving globe itself to be a god; and you, I perceive, do not think him wholly wrong.  But when you see a youth throw the discus with splendid strength, do you praise the discus, or the thrower?”