The man sat in the window studying her. The rabble round the speaker in the square below was growing noisier. “Thecla,” asked the man abruptly. “Is it that you love some one else?” The girl turned her full gaze upon him. Her eyes were deep blue. Her lashes were long and black and curling. Her brows were arches penciled fine as if done by an artist; and her whole face glowed with a radiance as of sun dawn in spring. Her breathing quickened. “Yes, Thamyris, I love some one else; but you can never understand.” “Not this beggarly babbler, Paul, with the changing names and magic?” he shouted. “No,” she said. Her glance dropped. “Not Paul. That is why I said you would never understand. It is Paul’s Master—the Christ—I love—” The man broke in a loud impatient laugh. “Why, child, He’s dead! He was crucified before you were born! You love a shadow—” “He is not dead,” she answered simply. “That is why I said you would never understand. He is the Christ of Love and Light and Life—” “But will love for a myth, who was crucified by His own countrymen, keep you from marrying a living man and lover? Does your Paul preacher down there teach men and maids not to marry? That is blasphemy, my Thecla! It proves the gods made a mistake in the way they made us.” The man almost shouted his relief. He had risen and was pacing the floor. “No, love for the Christ would not keep me from marrying living man; and Paul does not teach that. He teaches that the sin of sins is cheating love; and that is what I would be doing if I married you, Thamyris, and did not love you.” The man came forward to the window and gazed down in the square. “I’ll risk your not loving me,” he smiled. “I will not,” she answered. The man’s face darkened. He thrust his hands in his gold sash. “Thecla, what is this new madness setting all the Greek cities of Asia by the ears? I am reasonable. I would learn; but I am a man; and I am flesh and blood. You are pledged to me. I can claim you. You say I can never understand. Let us reason this out. Granted I can’t understand—what does Paul teach, tell me that?” “The Gospel of Youth and Gladness—” she began. “I can’t claim Youth, but if you will marry me, I can Gladness!” “And that the dead must bury their dead; and that you can’t put new wine in old bottles,” she went on. The man’s face flushed and darkened. “Go on,” he said, “you are apt pupil for this deceiver! Try walking in the streets alone to-night and I’ll warrant an old bottle would be good protection for new wine gone to a girl’s head.” “That money is the root of evil—” “But very useful to spoiled brides,” he added bitterly.