CHAPTER XV.

Dread and anxiety had taken possession of the merchant’s household after Constantine had left them.  Messengers came hurrying in, one after another, to request the presence of Olympius.  A heathen secretary of Evagrius the Governor, had revealed what was astir, and the philosopher had at once prepared to return to the Serapeum.  Porphyrius himself ordered his closed harmamaxa to be brought out, and undertook to fetch weapons and standards to the temple from a storehouse where they were laid by.  This building stood on a plot of ground belonging to him in Rhacotis, behind a timber-yard which was accessible from the streets in front and behind, but sheltered from the public gaze by sheds and wood-stacks.

The old aqueduct, which supplied the courts of sacrifice and the Subterranean crypts of the temple where the mysteries of Serapis were celebrated, passed close by the back-wall of this warehouse.  Since the destruction of the watercourse, under the Emperor Julian, the underground conduit had been dry and empty, and a man by slightly stooping could readily pass through it unseen into the Serapeum.  This mysterious passage had lately been secretly cleared out, and it was now to be used for the transport of the arms to the temple precincts.

Damia had been present at the brief but vehement interview between her son and Olympius, and had thrown in a word now and again:  “It is serious, very serious!” or, “Fight it out—­no quarter!”

The parting was evidently a very painful one to Olympius; when the merchant held out both his hands the older man clasped them in his and held them to his breast, saying:  “Thanks, my friend; thanks for all you have done.  We have lived—­and if now we perish it is for the future happiness of our grandchildren.  What would life be to you and me if it were marred by scourgings and questionings?—­The omens read ill, and if I am not completely deceived we are at the beginning of the end.  What lies beyond! . . . we as philosophers must meet it calmly.  The supreme Mind that governs us has planned the universe so well, that it is not likely that those things of which we now have no knowledge should not also be ordered for the best.  The pinions of my soul beat indeed more freely and lightly as I foresee the moment when it shall be released from the burden of this flesh!”

The High-Priest raised his arms as though indeed he were prepared to soar and uttered a fervent and inspired prayer in which he rehearsed to the gods all that he and his had done in their honor and vowed to offer them fresh sacrifices.  His expressions were so lofty, and his flow of language so beautiful and free, that Porphyrius did not dare to interrupt him, though this long delay on the part of the leader of the cause made him intolerably anxious.  When the old man—­who was as emotional as a boy—­ceased speaking, his white beard was wet with tears, and seeing that even Damia’s and Gorgo’s eyes were moist, he was preparing to address them again; but Porphyrius interposed.  He gave him time only to press his lips to Datnia’s hand and to bid Gorgo farewell.