"Let thy soul be steeped in the expiating blood of thy god, the Sun, in the purest blood of the ever radiant heart of thy god, the Sun; let it be cleansed in his morning and in his evening light! Dost thou, O mortal, still hold anything in fear?"
"Yes," was the response.
"Let thy soul become a parcel of thy god, the Sun! The quenchless and inviolable Mithra takes thee to himself! Dost thou still fear anything, O mortal?"
"I fear nothing more on the earth," answered Julian, who was now streaming with blood from head to foot. "I am even as He is!"
"Take this crown," said Maximus, placing a wreath of acanthus-leaves on the head of Julian, with the point of his sword.
But the catechumen flung the coronal upon the ground with a cry—
"The Sun only is my crown, the Sun alone!"
Then he stamped on the acanthus, and lifting his arms skyward repeated a third time—
"Now, until death, my crown is the Sun!"
The mystery was over. Maximus kissed the initiate. On the face of the old man as he did so hovered a gleam of strange significance.