She could not but confess to herself that she could have given no purer, sweeter, or loftier expression to her own woes, thankfulness, aspirations, and hopes of ever lasting life and glory, than this gifted creature had given to the utterance of her idolatry.  Surprise, unrest, nay, some little jealousy had been mingled with her delight at Gorgo’s singing.  How was it that this heathen could feel and utter emotions which she had always conceived of as the special privilege of the Christian, and, for her own part, had never felt so fervently as in the hours when she had drawn closest to her Lord?  Were not her own sentiments the true and right ones; had her intercourse with these heathens tainted her?

This doubt disturbed her greatly; it must be based on something more than mere self-torture, for she had not once thought of asking to whom the two-part hymn, with its tender appeal, was addressed, when Karnis had first gone through it with her alone; nor even subsequently, when she had sung it with Gorgo—­timidly at first, more boldly the second time, and finally without a mistake, but carried completely away by the beauty and passion of the emotions it expressed.

She knew now, for Karnis himself had told her.  It was the Lament of Isis for her—­lost husband and brother—­oh that horrible heathen confusion!—­The departed Osiris.  The wailing widow, who called on him to return with “the silent speech of tears,” was that queen of the idolater’s devils whose shameful worship her father had often spoke of with horror.  Still, this dirge was so true and noble, so penetrated with fervent, agonized grief, that it had gone to her heart.  The sorrowing Mother of God, Mary herself, might thus have besought the resurrection of her Son; just thus must the “God-like maid”—­as she was called in the Arian confession of her father—­have uttered her grief, her prayers, and her longings.

But it was all a heathen delusion, all the trickery and jugglery of the Devil, though she had failed to see through it, and had given herself up to it, heart and soul.  Nay, worse! for after she had learnt that Gorgo was to represent Isis and she herself Nephthys, the sister of the divine pair, she had opposed the suggestion but feebly, even though she knew that they were to sing the hymn together in the Temple of Isis; and when Gorgo had clasped her in her arms with sisterly kindness, begging her not to spoil her plans but to oblige her in this, she had not repulsed the tempter with firm decision, but merely asked for time to think it over.

How indeed could she have found the heart to refuse the noble girl, whose beauty and voice had so struck and fascinated her, when she flung her arms round her neck, looked into her eyes and earnestly besought her: 

“Do it for my sake, to please me.  I do not ask you to do anything wicked.  Pure song is acceptable to every god.  Think of your lament, if you like, as being for your own god who suffered on the cross.  But I like singing with you so much; say yes.  Do not refuse, for my sake!”