“The Spirit of God,” answered Castor, “never inspires the mind to import into religion anything that is not true.” Turning round, he said: “I call on Turgellius to interpret a portion of the Epistle of the Blessed Paul, the Apostle to the Romans, translating it into the vulgar tongue, as there be those present who comprehend Greek with difficulty.” This done, one rose, and said: “Sir, suffer me to disclose a revelation. I was asleep on my bed, three nights agone, and I had a dream, or vision, from on high. I beheld a snow‐ white flock pasturing on a mountain; there was abundance of herbage, and the sky was serene. The shepherd stood regarding them, leaning on his staff, and the watch‐dog slept at his feet in the grass. Then, suddenly, the heavens became obscured, lightning flashed, thunder rolled: the flock was terrified and scattered. Thereupon came wolves, leaping among the sheep, and rending them; and I beheld now that some which I had taken to be sheep, cast their skins, and disclosed themselves to be ravening beasts. What may be signified by the vision, I know not, but I greatly fear that it portends an evil time to the Church.” “That is like enough,” said Baudillas, “after what has occurred this day. If the bishop has not heard, I will relate all to him in order.” “I have been informed of everything,” said Castor. “It is well that there should be a sifting of the wheat from the chaff,” said Marcianus. “Too long have we had wolves masquerading among us clothed in sheepskins. See!” He threw back his mantle, and extended his hand. “On my way hither, I passed by the fountain of Nemausus, and none were there. Then my soul was wrath within me at the idolatry and worship of devils that goes on in the temple and about the basin. So I took up a stone, and I climbed upon the pedestal, and I beat till I had broken this off.” Then he rolled an alabaster sculptured head on the floor. With a contemptuous kick, he sent it spinning. “This is their god Nemausus. A deacon of Christ’s Church, with a bit of stone, is able to break his neck, and carry off his head!” Then he laughed. But none laughed in response. A thrill of dismay ran through the assembly. A woman fell into hysterics and screamed. Some called out that she prophesied, others that she spake with tongues. Baudillas appeased the excitement. “The tongue she speaks,” said he, “is the Ligurian of the Cebennæ, and all she says is that she wishes she were safe with her children in the mountains, and had never come into the town. Now, indeed, it seems that the evil days foreseen by Pantilius Narbo will come on the Church. The people might forget that the god was robbed of his victim, but not that his image has been defaced.”