Julian.
Ah, what do I see? Tell me, old man, are not you Bishop Maris, of Chalcedon?
The Old Man.
Yes, I am that unworthiest servant of the Church.
Julian.
“Unworthiest,” you call yourself; and I think you are not far wrong. If I mistake not, you have been one of the foremost in stirring up internal strife among the Galileans.
Bishop Maris.
I have done that which weighs me still deeper down in penitence. When you seized the empire, and rumour told of your bent of mind, my heart was beleagured with unspeakable dread. Blind and enfeebled by age, I could not conceive the thought of setting myself up against the mighty monarch of the world. Yes,—God have mercy on me—I forsook the flock I was appointed to guard, shrank timidly from all the perils that gathered frowning around the Lord’s people, and sought shelter here, in my Syrian villa——
Julian.
In truth a strange story! And you, timid as you say you are, you, who formerly prized the Emperor’s favour so highly, now step forth before me and fling insults in my very face!