'Talk not to me of the gods!' he interrupted, in a storm of passionate exclamation. 'What have they ever done for us, that we should worship or pray to them? Why look to them for blessings in a future state, when they have done us such evil in the present life? Here we were poor and lowly together; and have they not dragged us apart? And will they, then, in another life, be the more disposed to let us see each other's faces--you one of the nobles of the earth, and I one of its meanest plebeians? Is it written in the temples or by the priests and oracles, that when the Caesars are throned in Olympus, their lowly subjects shall be permitted to approach, them any nearer than when here? How, then, could we meet each other better hereafter than now? Away with all talk about the gods! I believe not in them! If we part now for this world, it is for eternity as well!' 'Oh, say not that!' she exclaimed. 'And still pray to the gods as of old, for they may yet bring good out of all that now seems to us so obscure. Remember that to the best of us, this world offers little but what is mingled with unhappiness. Take not, therefore, away from yourself and me a belief in something better to come.' 'Take, then, with you, a belief in the God about whom I learned in Greece, for He it is who tells of comfort hereafter for the poor and oppressed, and He is the only one who does so,' Cleotos doggedly answered. 'It may be--it may be,' she said. 'Who can tell which is right? We have so often talked about it, and have not yet found out. They may both be the true gods--they may neither of them be. Ah, Cleotos, my brother, let us not doubt. It is pleasanter and safer, too, that we should believe, even if we extend our faith to a belief in both. Choose, then, your own, as I will mine. I must not abandon the gods in whose worship I have been brought up; but when I pray to them, I will first pray for you. And you--if you adopt the God of the Christians, who speaks so much better comfort to your soul--will always pray to Him for me. And thereby, if either of us is wrong, the sin may perhaps be pardoned, on account of the other, who was right. And now, once more--and it may be for ever--dear Cleotos, farewell!' 'Farewell, AEnone, my sister!' he said. And he raised her hand and pressed it to his lips, and was about turning sorrowfully away, when the door flew open, and Sergius Vanno burst into the room. APHORISMS.--No. XII. See 'neath the swelling storm, The willow's slender form With grace doth ever yield; While oaks, the monarchs of the field, In pride resist the blast, And prostrate lie, ere it is past: But now the storm is o'er, The willow bows no more; While oaks from overthrow No rising ever know. So with the meek, in strife Against the storms of life; Though often roughly cast, They stand erect at last: But those who will not bend To what their God doth send, Are whelmed in lasting woe, And rising up will never know.