"The people destroy the possessions of some of the Christians,"
humbly replied the slave, whose name was Athribis; and Heraklas,
stung to the quick by the answer, impatiently motioned the man away.
Left alone, Heraklas lifted his head proudly. He would ignore the
pain. What had he to do with the Christians? He, who had watched his
consecration-night in the temple of Isis; he, who had caught some
sight of the Mysteries sacred to that goddess; he, who had worn the
harsh linen robe and those symbolic robes in which a novice watches
his dream-indicated night--what had he to do with Christians? Would
that Timokles had observed the emperor's command that no one should
become a Christian! Heraklas groaned.
The dismissed man-slave, Athribis, looked cautiously back through
the pillars, and smiled. None knew better than he how any reference
to the Christians stabbed the hearts of this family. Athribis
himself hated the Christians. He longed to be out in Alexandria's
streets this moment, that he, too, might be at liberty to pillage
the Christians' houses. Who knew what jewels he might find? And he
must stay here, polishing a corridor's pavement, when such things,
were being done in the streets! His dark eyes glanced back again.
Heraklas' head was bowed.
Stealthily Athribis passed out of sight of the court. He threaded
his way through corridors.
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