Why did his own words sound to him strangely pregnant, all but ominous? He almost fancied that not he, but some third person had spoken them. He kissed Hypatia’s hand, it was as cold as ice; and his heart, too, in spite of all his bliss, felt cold and heavy, as he left the room.
As he went down the steps into the street, a young man sprang from behind one of the pillars, and seized his arm.
‘Aha! my young Coryphaeus of pious plunderers! What do you want with me?’
Philammon, for it was he, looked at him an instant, and recognised him.
‘Save her! for the love of God, save her!’
‘Whom?’
‘Hypatia!’
‘How long has her salvation been important to you, my good friend?’
‘For God’s sake,’ said Philammon, ‘go back and warn her! She will hear you—you are rich—you used to be her friend—I know you—I have heard of you.... Oh, if you ever cared for her—if you ever felt for her a thousandth part of what I feel—go in and warn her not to stir from home!’
‘I must hear more of this,’ said Raphael, who saw that the boy was in earnest. ‘Come in with me, and speak to her father.’