The old man in a trembling voice said:
"In this cup is His blood, which was shed to bless us; this cup is the holy remembrance which effaces; this cup is the bond by which we shall be united! Worship this holy symbol, and be pure through the blood of the purest!"
Shuddering, Manlius grasped his sword-hilt, and when he saw a tall female figure clad in white, with her veil partly thrown back, approach the old man and take the cup from his hand, he tore the blade from its sheath and, frantic with horror, sprang through the square opening into the midst of the hall.
"Hold, accursed murderers!" he cried, blinded with rage. "You apostles of sin! What are you doing here?"
Not a sound was heard in the assembly. It was prepared for such attacks. The old man answered quietly:
"We are worshipping God!"
"May you be accursed when you utter that word! You have committed deeds for which even the darkness of night is no protection. You disturb by your diabolical songs the dead resting beneath the earth; you kill human beings and force one another to drink their blood, and when your nerves are roused to execrable excitement by this blood, you extinguish your torches and commit sins whose bare thought inspires horror."
"You will repent what you have said, Manlius Sinister!" cried the clear voice of a woman standing beside the greybeard. It was the one who had first taken the cup. Manlius started as he heard a familiar voice utter his own name, and when the lady now threw back her veil, he beheld in amazement Sophronia's gentle, innocent face, with its mild, calm eyes, divine smile, and the hallowed power of an almost supernatural firmness.
"Sophronia!" groaned Manlius, and his drawn sword fell from his hand. Doubt took possession of his heart. He believed that he was still the sport of a terrible dream, and with heavy tongue faltered:
"Gods of Olympus, let me wake!"