‘Out of the room, slaves! and no listening!’
‘I have won then?’
Orestes tossed the letter across to him, and Raphael read—
‘The immortal gods accept no divided worship; and he who would command the counsels of their prophetess must remember that they will vouchsafe to her no illumination till their lost honours be restored. If he who aspires to be the lord of Africa dare trample on the hateful cross, and restore the Caesareum to those for whose worship it was built—if he dare proclaim aloud with his lips, and in his deeds, that contempt for novel and barbarous superstitions, which his taste and reason have already taught him, then he would prove himself one with whom it were a glory to labour, to dare, to die in a great cause. But till then—’
And so the letter ended.
‘What am I to do?’
‘Take her at her word.’
‘Good heavens! I shall be excommunicated! And—and—what is to become of my soul?’
‘What will become of it in any case, my most excellent lord?’ answered Raphael blandly.
‘You mean—I know what you cursed Jews think will happen to every one but yourselves. But what would the world say? I an apostate! And in the face of Cyril and the populace! I daren’t, I tell you!’