Julian gently placed the hand of Gorgius on the locks of Hepherion.
"Is he alive?" asked Gorgius, stroking the child's curls for the last time. He was so weak that he could not turn his head, and Julian had not the courage to reveal the truth.
The priest fixed a suppliant look on the Emperor—
"Cæsar! I entrust him to you.... Do not abandon him...."
"Be assured; I will do all that I can for the little one."
So Julian took under his protection one to whom not even a Roman Cæsar could now do good or harm.
Gorgius let his hand remain on the head of Hepherion. Suddenly his face lighted; he tried to say something, and stammered incoherently—
"Rejoice! Rejoice!"
He gazed before him with eyes wide open, sighed, paused in the midst of the sigh, and his look faded. Julian closed the eyes of the dead.
Suddenly exultant songs were heard. The Emperor wheeled round, and saw a long procession marching down the cypress-alley. A great crowd of priests, in dalmatics of cloth of gold covered with precious gems, deacons swinging censers, black monks bearing lighted tapers, virgins and youths clothed in white, children waving palm-branches, and above the crowd on a lofty car the relics of Babylas, in a glittering silver shrine. They were the relics expelled, by Cæsar's orders, from Daphne to Antioch. The expulsion had become a victorious march. The people were singing the ancient Psalm of David glorifying the God of Israel—