CHAPTER XX: SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER
‘But, fairest Hypatia, conceive yourself struck in the face by a great stone, several hundred howling wretches leaping up at you like wild beasts—two minutes more, and you are torn limb from limb. What would even you do in such a case?’
‘Let them tear me limb from limb, and die as I have lived.’
‘Ah, but—When it came to fact, and death was staring you in the face?’
‘And why should man fear death?’
‘Ahem! No, not death, of course; but the act of dying. That may be, surely, under such circumstances, to say the least, disagreeable. If our ideal, Julian the Great, found a little dissimulation necessary, and was even a better Christian than I have ever pretended to be, till he found himself able to throw off the mask, why should not I? Consider me as a lower being than yourself,—one of the herd, if you will; but a penitent member thereof, who comes to make the fullest possible reparation, by doing any desperate deed on which you may choose to put him, and prove myself as able and willing, if once I have the power, as Julian himself.’
Such was the conversation which passed between Hypatia and Orestes half an hour after Philammon had taken possession of his new abode.
Hypatia looked at the Prefect with calm penetration, not unmixed with scorn and fear.
‘And pray what has produced this sudden change in your Excellency’s earnestness? For four months your promises have been lying fallow.’ She did not confess how glad she would have been at heart to see them lying fallow still.
‘Because—This morning I have news; which I tell to you the first as a compliment. We will take care that all Alexandria knows it before sundown. Heraclian has conquered.’