last evening peeping in. We all said she had the evil eye, if any one ever had

'Well, what of her?'

'She is below, madam, and will speak with you. Not that I care for her; I have my amulet on. I hope you have?'

Silly girl! Those who have been initiated as I have in the mysteries of the gods, can defy spirits and command them. Do you suppose that the favourite of Pallas Athene will condescend to charms and magic? Send her up.'

The girl retreated, with a look half of awe, half of doubt at the lofty pretensions of her mistress, and returned with old Miriam, keeping, however, prudently behind her, in order to test as little as possible the power of her own amulet by avoiding the basilisk eye which had terrified her.

Miriam came in, and advancing to the proud beauty, who remained seated, made an obeisance down to the very floor, without, however, taking her eyes for an instant off Hypatia's face.

Her countenance was haggard and bony, with broad sharp-cut lips, stamped with a strangely mingled expression of strength and sensuality. But the feature about her which instantly fixed Hypatia's attention, and from which she could not in spite of herself withdraw it, was the dry, glittering, coal-black eye which glared out from underneath the grey fringe of her swarthy brows, between black locks covered with gold coins. Hypatia could look at nothing but those eyes; and she reddened, and grew all but unphilosophically angry, as she saw that the old woman intended her to look at them, and feel the strange power which she evidently wished them to exercise.

After a moment's silence, Miriam drew a letter from her bosom, and with a second low obeisance pre sented it.

From whom is this?'

Perhaps the letter itself will tell the beautiful lady, the fortunate lady, the discerning lady,' answered she, in a fawning, wheedling tone. How should a poor old Jewess know great folk's secrets P' 'Great folks?'

Hypatia looked at the seal which fixed a silk cord round the kena. It was Orestes'; and so was the hand-writing.... Strange, that be should have chosen such a messenger! What message could it be which required such secresy?

She clapped her hands for the maid. Let this woman wait in the ante-room. Miriam glided out backwards, bowing as she went. As Hypatia looked up over the letter to see whether she was alone, she caught a last glance of that eye stil fixed upon her, and an expression in Miriam's face which made her, she knew not why, shudder and turn chill.

Foolish that I am! What can that witch be to me? But now for the letter.'

To the most noble and most beautiful, the mistress of philosophy, beloved of Athene, her pupil and slave sends greeting.' . .

My slave! and no name mentioned!'

There are those who consider that the favourite hen of Honorius, which bears the name of the Imperial City, would thrive better under a new feeder; and the Count of Africa has been despatched by him self and by the immortal gods to superintend for the present the poultry-yard of the Cæsars-at least during the absence of Adolf and Placidia. There are those also who consider that in his absence the Numidian lion might be prevailed on to become the yoke-fellow of the Egyptian crocodile; and a farm which, ploughed by such a pair, should extend from the upper cataract to the pillars of Hercules, might have charms even for a philosopher. But while the ploughman is without a nymph, Arcadia is im perfect. What were Dionusos without his Ariadne, Ares without Aphrodite, Zeus without Here? Even Artemis has her Endymion; Athene alone remains unwedded; but only because Hephaestus was too rough a wooer. Such is not he who now offers to the representative of Athene the opportunity of sharing that which may be with the help of her wisdom, which without her is impossible. Havarra ovveroLSU. Shall Eros, invincible for ages, be balked at last of the noblest

game against which he ever drew his bow ?'.

If Hypatia's colour had faded a moment before under the withering glance of the old Jewess, it rose again swiftly enough, as she read line after line of his strange epistle; till at last, crushing it together in her hand, she rose and hurried into the adjoining library, where Theon sat over his books.

Father, do you know anything of this? Look what Orestes has dared to send me by the hands of some base Jewish witch !'-And she spread the letter before him, and stood impatient, her whole figure dilated with pride and anger, as the old man read it slowly and carefully, and then looked up, apparently not ill-pleased with the contents.

What, father?' asked she, half reproachfully. Do not you, too, feel the insult which has been put upon your daughter?'

My dear child,' with a puzzled look, do you not see that he offers you

'I know what he offers me, father. The Empire of Africa. . . . . I am to descend from the mountainheights of science, from the contemplation of the unchangeable and the ineffable glories, into the foul fields and farm-yards of earthly practical life, and become a drudge among political chicanery, and the petty ambitions, and sins, and falsehoods of the earthly herd. ... And the

price which he offers me-me, the stainless-me, the virgin-me, the untamed,-is-his hand! Pallas Athene! dost thou not blush with thy child?'

But, my child-my child,—an empire

Would the empire of the world restore my lost self-respect-my just pride? Would it save my cheek from blushes every time I recollected that I bore the hateful and degrading name of wife?-The property, the puppet of a man ?— Submitting to his pleasure, bearing his children, wearing myself out with all the nauseous cares of wifehood. No longer able to glory in myself, pure and self-sustained, but forced by day and night to recollect that my very beauty is no longer the sacrament of Athene's love for me, but the plaything of a man ;

-and such a man as that! Luxurious, frivolous, heartless-courting my society, as he has done for years, only to pick up and turn to his own base earthly uses the scraps which fall from the festal table of the gods! I have encouraged him too much-vain fool that I have been! No, I wrong myself! It was onlyI thought I thought that by his being seen at our doors, the cause of the immortal gods would gain honour and strength in the eyes of the multitude. I have tried to feed the altars of heaven with earthly fuel. . . . . And this is my just reward! I will write to him this moment; return by the fitting messenger which he has sent, insult for insult!'

In the name of heaven, my daughter!-for your father's sake! -for my sake! Hypatia!-my pride, my joy, my only hope!-have pity on my grey hairs!'

And the poor old man flung himself at her feet, and clasped her knees imploringly.

Tenderly she lifted him up, and wound her long arms round him, and laid his head on her white shoulder, and her tears fell fast upon his grey hair; but her lip was firm and determined.

Think of my pride-my glory in your glory; think of me.... Not for myself! You know I never cared for myself!' sobbed out the old man. But to die seeing you empress!'

Unless I died first in child-bed, father, as many a woman dies who is weak enough to become a slave, and submit to tortures only fit for slaves.'

'But-but-' said the old man, racking his bewildered brains for some argument far enough removed from nature and common sense to have an effect on the beautiful fanatic-but the cause of the gods! What you might do for it! ... Remember Julian!'

Hypatia's arms dropped suddenly. Yes; it was true! The thought flashed across her mind with mingled delight and terror. . . . Visions of her childhood rose swift and thick temples-sacrifices-priesthoods colleges-museums! What might she not do? What might she not make Africa? Give her ten years

of power, and the hated name of Christian might be forgotten, and Athene Polias, colossal in ivory and gold, watching in calm triumph over the harbours of a heathen Alexandra. . . . . But the price!

And she hid her face in her hands, and bursting into bitter tears, walked slowly away into her own chamber, her whole body convulsed with the internal struggle.

The old man looked after her,. anxiously and perplexed, and then followed, hesitating. She was sitting at the table, her face buried in her hands. He did not dare to disturb her. In addition to all the affection, the wisdom, the glorious beauty, on which his old heart fed day by day, he believed her to be the possessor of those supernatural powers and favours, to which she so boldly laid claim. And he stood watching her in the doorway, praying in his heart to all gods and demons, principalities and powers, from Athene down to his daughter's guardian spirit, to move a determination which he was too weak to gainsay, and yet too rational to approve.

At last the struggle was over, and she looked up, clear, calm, and glorious again.

'It shall be. For the sake of the immortal gods-for the sake of art, and science, and learning, and philosophy. . . . It shall be. If the gods demand a victim, here am I. If a second time in the history of the ages the Grecian fleet cannot sail forth, conquering and civilizing, without the sacrifice of a virgin, I give my throat to the knife. Father, call me no more Hypatia: call me Iphigenia!'

And me Agamemnon?' asked the old man, attempting a faint jest through his tears of joy. I dare say you think me a very cruel father; but-'

'Spare me, father-I have spared you.'

And she began to write her

answer.

I have accepted his offer-conditionally, that is. And on whether he have courage or not to fulfil that condition depends Do not ask me what it is. While Cyril is leader of the Christian mob, it may be safer for you, my father, that you should

be able to deny all knowledge of my answer. Be content. I have said this-that if he will do as you would have him do, I will do as you would have me do.'

Have you not been too rash? Have you not demanded of him something which, for the sake of public opinion, he dare not grant openly, and yet which he may allow you to do for yourself when once

'I have. If I am to be a victim, the sacrificing priest shall at least be a man, and not a coward and a time-server. If he believes this Christian faith, let him defend it against me, for either it or I shall perish. If he does not-as he does not-let him give up living in a lie, and taking on his lips blasphemies against the immortals, from which his heart and reason revolt!'

And she clapped her hands again for the maid-servant, gave her the letter silently, shut the doors of her chamber, and tried to resume her Commentary on Plotinus. Alas! what were all the wire-drawn dreams of metaphysics to her in that real and human struggle of the heart? What availed it to define the process by which individual souls emanated from the universal one, while her own soul had, singly and on its own responsibility, to decide so terrible an act of will? or to write fine words with pen and ink about the immutability of the supreme Reason, while her own reason was left there to struggle for its life amid a roaring, shoreless waste of doubts and darkness ? Oh, how grand, and clear, and logical it had all looked half-an-hour ago! And how irrefragably she had been deducing from it all, syllogism after syllogism, the non-existence of evil!-how it was but a lower form of good, one of the countless products of the one great all-pervading mind which could not err or change, only so strange and recondite in its form as to excite antipathy in all minds but that of the philosopher, who learnt to see the stem which connected the apparently bitter fruit with the perfect root from whence it sprung. Could she see the stem there ?-the connexion between the pure and supreme Reason, and the hideous caresses of the debauched and cow

be

And she clapped her hand for the maid-servant, garel letter silently, shut the d her chamber, and tried to her Commentary on Plotis what were all the wire-drav of metaphysics to her in th and human struggle of the What availed it to define t cess by which individual st nated from the universal one her own soul had, singly anda the sake of art, own responsibility, to decade arning, and phi- rible an act of will? or to w shall be. If the words with pen and ink ab tim, here am I. immutability of the supreme n the history of while her own reason was left an fleet cannot to struggle for its life amid a and civilizing, ing, shoreless waste of dots darkness? Oh, how grand of a virgin, I knife. Father, clear, and logical it had all patia: call me half-an-hour ago! And how fragably she had been ded nnon ?' asked from it all, syllogism after sy ng a faint jest the non-existence of evil! oy. I dare was but a lower form of good very cruel of the countless products of th great all-pervading mind have spared could not err or change, only strange and recondite in its for to excite antipathy in all minds that of the philosopher, who l to see the stem which connected apparently bitter fruit with the fect root from whence it sp Could she see the stem there?connexion between the pure supreme Reason, and the hide caresses of the debauched and

offer-conon whether o fulfil that Do not ask il is leader ay be safer ou should