Raphael was in his secret heart not sorry to find that his old friends bore him no grudge for his caprice; but all he answered was— ‘Pray thank any one but me; I have, as usual, proved myself a fool. But what brings you here, like Gods e Machina? It is contrary to all probabilities. One would not admit so astounding an incident, even in the modern drama.’
‘Contrary to none whatsoever, my friend. We found Augustine at Berenice, in act to set off to Synesius: we—one of us, that is—were certain that you would be found with him; and we decided on acting as Augustine’s guard, for none of the dastard garrison dare stir out.’
‘One of us,’ thought Raphael,—‘which one?’ And, conquering his pride, he asked, as carelessly as he could, for Victoria.
‘She is there in the litter, poor child!’ said her father in a serious tone.
‘Surely not ill?’
‘Alas! either the overwrought excitement of months of heroism broke down when she found us safe at last’ or some stroke from God—.... Who can tell what I may not have deserved?—But she has been utterly prostrate in body and mind, ever since we parted from you at Berenice.’
The blunt soldier little guessed the meaning of his own words. But Raphael, as he heard, felt a pang shoot through his heart, too keen for him to discern whether it sprang from joy or from despair.
‘Come,’ cried the cheerful voice of Synesius, ‘come, Aben-Ezra; you have knelt for Augustine’s blessing already, and now you must enter into the fruition of it. Come, you two philosophers must know each other. Most holy, I entreat you to preach to this friend of mine, at once the wisest and the foolishest of men.’
‘Only the latter,’ said Raphael; ‘but open to any speech of Augustine’s, at least when we are safe home, and game enough for Synesius’s new guests killed.’
And turning away, he rode silent and sullen by the side of his companions, who began at once to consult together as to the plans of Majoricus and his soldiers.