XXIX. Nemesis
And was the Amal's news true, then?
Philammon saw Raphael rush across the street into the Museum
gardens. His last words had been a command to stay where he was; and the boy obeyed him. The black porter who let Raphael out told him somewhat insolently, that his mistress would see no one, and receive no messages: but he had made up his mind; complained of the sun, quietly ensconced himself behind a buttress, and sat coiled up on the pavement, ready for a desperate spring. The slave stared at him: but he was accustomed to the vagaries of philosophers; and thanking the gods that he was not born in that station of life, retired to his porter's cell, and forgot the whole matter.
There Philammon awaited a full half-hour. It seemed to him hours, days, years. And yet Raphael did not return; and yet no guards appeared. Was the strange Jew a traitor? Impossible!—his face had shown a desperate earnestness of terror as intense as Philammon's own . . . . Yet why did he not return?
Perhaps he had found out that the streets were clear; their mutual
fears groundless . . . . What meant that black knot of men some two
hundred yards off, hanging about the mouth of the side street, just
opposite the door which led to her lecture-room? He moved to watch
them: they had vanished. He lay down again and waited . . . . There
they were again. It was a suspicious post. That street ran along
the back of the Caesareum, a favourite haunt of monks, communicating
by innumerable entries and back buildings with the great Church
itself . . . . And yet, why should there not be a knot of monks there? What more common in every street of Alexandria? He tried to laugh away his own fears. And yet they ripened, by the very intensity of thinking on them, into certainty. He knew that something terrible was at hand. More than once he looked out from his hiding-place— the knot of men were still there; . . . . it seemed to have increased, to draw nearer. If they found him, what would they not suspect? What did he care? He would die for her, if it came to that—not that it could come to that: but still he must speak to her—he must warn her. Passenger after passenger, carriage after carriage passed along the street: student after student entered the lecture-room: but he never saw them, not though they passed him close. The sun rose higher and higher, and turned his whole blaze upon the corner where Philammon crouched, till the pavement scorched like hot iron, and his eyes were dazzled by the blinding glare: but he never heeded it. His whole heart, and sense, and sight, were riveted upon that well-known door, expecting it to open. . . .
At last a curricle, glittering with silver, rattled round the corner
and stopped opposite him. She must be coming now. The crowd had
vanished. Perhaps it was, after all, a fancy of his own. No; there
they were, peeping round the corner, close to the lecture-room—the
hell-hounds! A slave brought out an embroidered cushion—and then
Hypatia herself came forth, looking more glorious than ever; her
lips set in a sad firm smile; her eyes uplifted, inquiring, eager, and yet gentle, dimmed by some great inward awe, as if her soul was far away aloft, and face to face with God.
In a moment he sprang up to her, caught her robe convulsively, threw
himself on his knees before her—
'Stop! Stay! You are going to destruction!'
Calmly she looked down upon him.
'Accomplice of witches! Would you make of Theon's daughter a
traitor like yourself?'
He sprang up, stepped back, and stood stupefied with shame and
despair. . . .
She believed him guilty, then! . . . . It was the will of God!
The plumes of the horses were waving far down the street before he
recovered himself, and rushed after her, shouting he knew not what.
It was too late! A dark wave of men rushed from the ambuscade, surged up round the car . . . . swept forward . . . . she had disappeared! and as Philammon followed breathless, the horses galloped past him madly homeward with the empty carriage.
Whither were they dragging her? To the Caesareum, the Church of God
Himself? Impossible! Why thither of all places of the earth? Why
did the mob, increasing momentarily by hundreds, pour down upon the
beach, and return brandishing flints, shells, fragments of pottery?
She was upon the church steps before he caught them up, invisible
among the crowd; but he could track her by the fragments of her
dress.