'I know not.'
'Wilt thou also turn Christian and follow the Nazarene?'
'No; I hate the thought. That faith is darker to me than the rolling blackness of the Styx.'
'What if thou sawest light in the darkness, and found a narrow path leading up to a plane of loveliness where, perchance, thy mother dwells? Wouldst thou not walk in it?'
'Yea, that I would, and would lay down my life to commence the journey. I am not a traitor to my goddess. I have followed her with all my strength, believing her to be the source of my being, and to whom I may return; but conditions are changing in me. My faith tried—it does not totter. Mark well, I say it does not stagger—it trembles only! My soul cries for more light—light—more light! And I cannot satisfy its longings. I ask thee, dost thou know of this Christ?'
'I do. I have sat at the feet of one of His greatest teachers, and he unfolded to me some of its mysteries.'
'Chios, I fear! Go on.'
'What shall I tell thee? I am not a teacher.'
'Art thou a believer?'
'I am, so far as I know; but its mysteries are great. I have scarcely touched the fringe of this new faith.'