These confessors were making the most of Elenko’s dilapidated temple, whose smoking shell threw up a sable column in the background.  The effigies of Apollo and the Muses had been dragged forth, and were being diligently broken up with mallets and hammers.  Others of the sacrilegious throng were rending scrolls, or dividing vestments, or firing the grove of laurel that environed the shrine, or pelting the affrighted birds as they flew forth.  The sacred vessels, however, at least those of gold and silver, appeared safe in the guardianship of an episcopal personage of shrewd and jovial aspect, under whose inspection they were being piled up by a troop of sturdy young ecclesiastics, the only weapon-bearers among the rabble.  Elenko stood riveted to the ground.  Prometheus, to her amazement, rushed forward to one of the groups with a loud “By all the Gods and Goddesses!” Following his movements, she saw that the object of his interest was an enormous dead eagle carried by one of the mob.  The multitude, startled by his cry and his emotion, gazed eagerly at the strangers, and instantly a shout went up: 

“The heathen woman!”

“With a heathen man!”

And clubs began to be brandished, and stones to be picked up from the ground.

Prometheus, to whom the shouts were unintelligible, looked wistfully at Elenko.  As their eyes met, Elenko’s countenance, which had hitherto been all disdain and defiance, assumed an expression of irresolution.  A stone struck Prometheus on the temple, drawing blood; a hundred hands went up, each weighted with a missile.

“Do as I,” cried Elenko to him, and crossed herself.

Prometheus imitated her, not unsuccessfully for a novice.

The uplifted arms were stayed, some even sank down.

By this time the Bishop had bustled to the front, and addressed a torrent of questions to Prometheus, who merely shook his head, and turned to inspect the eagle.

“Brethren,” said the Bishop, “I smell a miracle!” And, turning to Elenko, he rapidly proceeded to cross-examine her.

“Thou wert the priestess of this temple?”

“I was.”

“Thou didst leave it this morning a heathen?”

“I did.”

“Thou returnest a Christian?”

Elenko blushed fire, her throat swelled, her heart beat violently.  All her soul seemed concentrated in the gaze she fastened on the pale and bleeding Prometheus.  She remained silent—­but she crossed herself.

“Who then has persuaded thee to renounce Apollo?”

Elenko pointed to Prometheus.

“An enemy of Zeus, then?”

“Zeus has not such another enemy in the world.”

“I knew it, I was sure of it,” exclaimed the Bishop.  “I can always tell a Christian when I see him.  Wherefore speaks he not?”

“He is ancient, for all his vigorous mien.  His martyrdom began ere our present speech was, nor could he learn this in his captivity.”