"I do understand; through anguish and rancor and suffering, I have learned. Must I give all to the vengeance of God, who visiteth apostates for their iniquity? Lydia, depart not from the righteous religion, I implore thee. Behold its great age," he went on, speaking rapidly and with quickened breath, "behold its history, its monuments, its achievements, its great exponents, its infallibility! The rest of the world was an unimagined futurity when an able son of thy race was minister to Pharaoh and lord over the whole land of Egypt. The godly kings of thy people were poets and musicians when Pindar's and Homer's ancestors were still Peloponnesian fauns with horns in their hair. Before Isis and Osiris, before Bel and Astarte, thy God was molding universes and hanging stars in the sky. And lo! the sons of the Pharaohs are wasted weaklings, fit only for slaves; the Chaldees are dust in the dust of their cities; Babylonia is hunting-ground for jackals and the perch of bats; Rome--even Rome's greatness hath returned into the sinews of her hills, but there is no decadence in Israel, no weakness in her God! Aid not in the perversion of her ancient faith--thou who art the incarnation of her queens--" He halted, but only for an instant, in which he seemed to throw off recurring restraint and drove on: "David did not seek for one more lovely, nor Solomon for one more wise! Truth, even Truth demands dear tribute when it takes a life. For a mere scintillation of verity, wilt thou die?" "I--I fear not," she answered painfully. "I--who could be affrighted out of telling a truth!" Not his prayer, but the Nazarene's teaching had weight with her, at that moment! "All thy hazard of life and fame for their vague philosophy," he cried, "and not one stir of pity for me!" There was a moment of complete silence; then she lifted her face. "Thou knowest better," she said, "thou, who labored in vain with Stephen, who loved thee!" His heart contracted; for a moment he entertained as practicable a resolve to stay stubbornly under the alabarch's roof until he had broken the determination of this sweet erring girl to destroy herself. He drew in his breath to speak, but the futileness of his words occurred to him. Again, he had a thought of telling the alabarch privately of his daughter's peril, but instantly doubted that the good old Jew could move her. While he debated desperately with himself, she drew, nearer to him. "Be not angry with me! If thou leavest Alexandria in three days, it may be that I--shall not see thee again--" "So I am dismissed to know no rest until I have brought Saul of Tarsus low, for thy sake, as well as for Stephen's!" He knew at the next breath that he had hurt her, and repented.