"Brothers, Christ must be about to descend, for Antichrist has already conquered, and that Antichrist is Constantius! He does not break your backs on the wheel, but he flatters your proud bellies. He does not throw us into dungeons, but entices us into his palaces.... Emperor, hearken! I say to you what I have said to Nero, Decius, Maximian, all persecutors of the Church. But you are not, like them, the murderer of men, but the murderer of the Divine love itself! Nero, Decius, Maximian, have better served the God of truth than you! In their reign we conquered the Devil, the blood of the martyrs flowed, cleansing the earth, and their dead bones worked miracles. Whereas you, O King, cruellest of the cruel, slay and yet grant us not the glory of death.... Lord, send us a true despot like Nero, and let the kindly arm of Thy wrath revive again the Church dishonoured by the kiss of this Judas!" The Emperor sprang to his feet-- "Seize him and the rebels!" he ejaculated, half-choked with rage, pointing to Hilarion. The guards flung themselves on the bishops. The crowd became a wild and indescribable mob illumined by the flashing of swords. Roman soldiers, snatching off the breastplate, stole, and chasuble of Hilarion, dragged the old man away. Many present rushed in mad panic to the doors, fell, and were trampled underfoot by the rest. One of the recording clerks leapt on the sill of a window, but a soldier pinned him there by his long vestments and would not release him. The table and the inkstands were upset, red ink poured over the blue jasper floor, and voices shouted at the sight of the crimson sea-- "Blood! blood! blood!" Others howled-- "Death to the enemies of the thrice-pious Augustus!" Paphnutis in a thunderous monotone persisted in crying while the guards dragged him away-- "I recognise the council of Nicæa!... Anathema on the Arian heresy!" Others screamed-- "Be silent, enemies of God! Anathema! the council of Nicæa! the assizes of Sardis! the canons of Paphlagonia!" Blind Ozius remained seated motionless, forgotten by all, in his episcopal chair, murmuring inaudibly-- "Jesus Christ, Son of God, have pity upon us! What is the matter, my brethren, what is it?" In vain he stretched feeble hands towards his terrified friends. Nobody saw him, nobody heard him; and tears streamed down his aged cheeks. Meanwhile Julian watched all, a contemptuous smile upon his lips, full of inward triumph. On the same day, late in the evening, in a quiet and solitary defile two Mesopotamian monks were journeying afoot together. They had been sent by Syrian bishops to the council, had escaped the palatine guards with great difficulty, and now, their minds at peace, were proceeding towards Ravenna to embark as quickly as possible upon the ship which was to restore them to the desert. Fatigue and sadness were on their faces. Ephraim, one of the two, was extremely old; the other, Pimenus, a lad. Ephraim said to Pimenus--