And Cyril did make a fool of himself that night, for the first and last time in his life; and suffers for it, as wise men are wont to do when they err, to this very day and hour: but how much Orestes gained by his foe’s false move cannot be decided till the end of this story; perhaps not even then.
XXIV
Lost Lambs
And Philammon?
For a long while he stood in the street outside the theatre, too much maddened to determine on any course of action; and, ere he had recovered his self-possession, the crowd began to pour from every outlet, and filling the street, swept him away in its stream.
Then, as he heard his sister’s name, in every tone of pity, contempt, and horror, mingle with their angry exclamations, he awoke from his dream, and, bursting through the mob, made straight for Pelagia’s house.
It was fast closed; and his repeated knocks at the gate brought only, after long waiting, a surly negro face to a little wicket.
He asked eagerly and instinctively for Pelagia; of course she had not yet returned. For Wulf he was not within. And then he took his station close to the gateway, while his heart beat loud with hope and dread.
At last the Goths appeared, forcing their way through the mob in a close column. There were no litters with them. Where, then, were Pelagia and her girls? Where, too, was the hated figure of the Amal? and Wulf, and Smid? The men came on, led by Goderic and Agilmund, with folded arms, knitted brows, downcast eyes: a stern disgust, not unmingled with shame, on every countenance, told Philammon afresh of his sister’s infamy.
Goderic passed him close, and Philammon summoned up courage to ask for Wulf. … Pelagia he had not courage to name.
“Out, Greek hound! we have seen enough of your accursed race today! What? are you trying to follow us in?” And the young man’s sword flashed from its sheath so swiftly, that Philammon had but just time enough to spring back into the street, and wait there, in an agony of disappointment and anxiety, as the gates slid together again, and the house was as silent as before.
For a miserable hour he waited, while the mob thickened instead of flowing away, and the scattered groups of chatterers began to form themselves into masses, and parade the streets with shouts of “Down with the heathen!” “Down with the idolaters!” “Vengeance on all blaspheming harlots!”
At last the steady tramp of legionaries, and in the midst of the glittering lines of armed men—oh, joy!—a string of litters!
He sprang forward, and called Pelagia’s name again and again. Once he fancied he heard an answer: but the soldiers thrust him back.
“She is safe here, young fool, and has seen and been seen quite enough today already. Back!”
“Let me speak to her!”
“That is her business. Ours is now to see her home safe.”
“Let me go in with you, I beseech!”
“If you want to go in, knock for yourself when we are gone. If you have any business in the house, they will open to you, I suppose. Out, you interfering puppy!”
And a blow of the spear-butt in his chest sent him rolling back into the middle of the street, while the soldiers, having delivered up their charge, returned with the same stolid indifference. In vain Philammon, returning, knocked at the gate. Curses and threats from the negro were all the answer which he received; and at last, wearied into desperation, he wandered away, up one street and down another, struggling in vain to form some plan of action for himself, until the sun was set.
Wearily he went homewards at last. Once the thought of Miriam crossed his mind. It was a disgusting alternative to ask help of her, the very author of his sister’s shame: but yet she at least could obtain for him a sight of Pelagia; she had promised as much. But then—the condition which she had appended to her help! To see his sister, and yet to leave her as she was!—Horrible contradiction! But could he not employ Miriam for his own ends?—outwit her?—deceive her?—for it came to that. The temptation was intense: but it lasted only a moment. Could he defile so pure a cause by falsehood? And hurrying past the Jewess’s door, hardly daring to look at it, lest the temptation should return, he darted upstairs to his own little chamber, hastily flung open the door, and stopped short in astonishment.
A woman, covered from head to foot in a large dark veil, stood in the centre of the chamber.
“Who are you? This is no place for you!” cried he, after a minute’s pause. She replied only by a shudder and a sob. … He caught sight, beneath the folds of the veil, of a too well-known saffron shawl, and springing upon her like the lion on the lamb, clasped to his bosom his sister.
The veil fell from her beautiful forehead. She gazed into his eyes one moment with a look of terrified inquiry, and saw nothing there but
