"I have that happiness," replied Lotis.
"Why, how can it be? how is it that lofty minds like yours and Chione's can ally yourselves with such a drivelling set?"
Lotis smiled as she observed, "I think, Lord Magas, that the illustrious Dionysius, who stands beside you, will scarcely feel complimented."
Magas blushed and apologized. "Forgive me," he said; "I am so fairly confounded to-day, I do not know what I am saying."
Dionysius said smilingly, "You do not know what Christianity is, and therefore stand excused beforehand. Do you wish Lotis to accompany you to Chione?"
"The more, as I think she will scarcely be suspected of—" Magas hesitated. The bishop filled up the gap for him—"of belonging to such a drivelling set. No; and Chione even does not know it; so your secret will be doubly safe. You may confide in Lotis entirely."
Chapter X.
Lotis took her place by the bedside of her friend, but she found her situation almost a sinecure. Though Chione did not recognize her, she was very uneasy in her presence. "Take those large black eyes away from me," she would say. Finally Lotis found herself reduced to watching in the next room, as Magas still desired her to stay and direct proceedings; and to beguile the hours, she occupied herself in what had become almost a business with her, in transcribing the gospels and apostolic papers for the use of the different churches. Magas often visited her, and would have shared her watch, had she permitted it; but this she would not hear of; so he was obliged to be content with frequent visits to inquire after the progress of Chione, and by degrees to study the parchments on which Lotis was engaged.
Ashamed to manifest the interest he felt, he took them to his own apartment, and studied first, then secretly copied the writings with his own hand. Weeks went on; Chione's health improved, but her insanity did not pass away. Lotis proposed she should be removed to a dwelling in the neighborhood of Lady Damaris' abode, and be there tended.
"Two influences are about her here," she said, "counteracting each other. There all will be in unison." Magas assented. "I am no longer afraid of Christians," he said; "but how any one once believing what is here written," continued he, producing the gospel he had written out with his own hand—" how any one, once believing, can fall away, is a mystery. I would give all my possessions to have the faith, the confidence in God, herein described. Faith seems to mean the creature's power in God, derived from God. Could I once feel that God is my Father in the sense the gospel has it, I would bid adieu to philosophy for ever, and be at rest."