Saronia Part 33

'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.'

'Hast thou, then, cut thyself adrift from the wors.h.i.+p of our sacred G.o.ddess?'

'I have.'

'Oh, Chios, Chios, this is worse than all! Let me lean upon thee; I am weary--I am weary and alone.'

'No, dearest, thou art not alone, for the Father is with thee.'

They sat down on the block of white marble. He laid her head upon his shoulder, and the warm tears fell upon his hands; then he whispered:

'Dearest love, take courage. All will be well.'

'No, no, Chios. The strings of the lyre are broken. Saronia is alone.'

And, looking up, with her eyes melting with tenderness towards him, she said:

'The slave became a priestess, and the priestess a broken reed. Thou in spirit hast left me.'

'No, dearest, that is not so. We shall join hands when we fall, like leaves in the autumn time.'

'That may not be so, my love, my Chios, my joy, my life, my soul!

Farewell! I am lost to thee, and thou to me, for ever--for ever!'

'No, no, Saronia; we will never part!'

'But we must, unless one resigns the faith; and, if we both believe our own, which can be liar, traitor? Thou shalt keep thine own. To thee it is truth, mine falsehood! I have no call to follow thine--I know not the way. I have espoused myself to the faith of Diana; I adhere to it until a greater than she broods over my spirit, and begets a new light for a new creed; when such shall come to pa.s.s I will not fail to do my duty.

Until then I follow by the light I possess. This is my determination, dearest Chios. This I will do, and no other.'

'Saronia, this is more than I can bear. My soul sinks into a depth of woe unspeakable. Not that I fear, for, as light hath come to me, so also shall it s.h.i.+ne on thee. I have not the gift of a seer, but I know we are one in spirit, must believe alike, wors.h.i.+p the same G.o.d. As the light first strikes the tops of the mountains and afterwards floods the vale, so it broke first on me, and anon it shall burst on the soul of my Saronia.'

'Chios, Chios, my spirit thirsteth! Give me this light if thou canst.

Give me truth.'

'And still thou lovest me, Saronia?'

'Love thee! Ah! a thousandfold more for fear our love may end with life.

I know thou art good. Go thy way; serve thy G.o.d. I go mine to the grove yonder, to offer sacrifice to my G.o.ddess. Saronia must be true to her trust; let Chios be the same.'

He took her in his arms and kissed her pa.s.sionately. Holding her head between his hands, he gazed lovingly into her eyes, saying:

'Our love can never die. It is begotten from above. I will come again to thee, and teach thee of the new faith. I have with me a parchment, closely written, given to me by the holy man I saved from death. May I leave it with thee, Saronia? It may be of use. Thou dost not refuse it?

May the Christ of G.o.d bless thee! And now good-bye. This is our meeting-place. It is unfrequented. Thou knowest how to signal me.'

Drawing her mantle around her tightly, he kissed her again and again, and she vanished into the night.

CHAPTER x.x.xI

THE DOOMED CITY

Two men were on the summit of the mountain which overlooked Ephesus.

They had been earnestly engaged in conversation for some time, and, as they walked together, Chios said:

'How glorious is the decline of day! How splendid looks the city bathed in the golden light of eve!'

'Ay, true,' replied his companion; 'and I would that its fate led to peace, but it is not so.

'Seest thou the great city as it lies beneath us, its shrines and palaces like polished silver and burnished gold, and its frowning walls and battlements like a mighty circle of adamant?

'Look at its many terraced gardens of vine, olive, citron, and pomegranate, and gaze upon its purple-misted sea, and count, if thou canst, the mult.i.tude of white-winged s.h.i.+ps bringing merchandise to pour into the lap of this mighty mart.

'The many-toned instruments sending forth their plaintive strain come up upon the perfume-laden air, and the song of the priests from yonder mighty Temple, the wonder of the world, floats lazily by like a vessel drifting with the tide.

'But, like the city of Salem, o'er which my Master wept, so this is doomed.

'The time shall come, and ere long, when it shall sicken and die. Those mighty buildings shall be no more. Yea, the mightiest of them, the great Temple of the G.o.ddess, shall become a wreck, and its splendour be rent in pieces and distributed amongst the nations, its floorway be covered with the dust of centuries, and its very site be questioned in the minds of men.

'The faith of Him I serve shall flourish here and grow until it blazes out like a forest of fire; but for a brief time only, for the place is accursed, and love will grow dim and the light depart. Amidst the din of war men will hurry to and fro in her beautiful streets and squares, pillaging and destroying as they conquer. Her splendid harbour will become a wild mora.s.s, a covert for the night-birds when the stormy winds rush over the plain from mountain to sea. Her streets will be deserted and silent, not a footfall be heard where the myriads trod. Nothing shall be left of her save a wilderness of marble ruins and tales of her former grandeur.'

'How terrible!' exclaimed Chios. 'Is that the destiny of beautiful Ephesus?'

'It is so; and well for thee light dawns into thy soul and thy spirit purifies, fitting thee for a brighter home. My time is well-nigh spent.

I shall soon go hence.'

'Dost thou leave us?'

'Yes. I go to Rome to work, suffer, and die. Our ways diverge. Yet fear not. We enter the same haven at the right time. When once a man's face is set heavenward, G.o.d will not remove him until he be fit to enter His kingdom. I am glad I met thee, and, better still, my Lord and Master moulds thee for the future.'

'Judah, hast thou ever come into contact with the priests of the great theatre?'

'No. Why dost thou ask?'

'I thought if such were the case thou mightest give thine opinion of their faith.'

'That I can do.'

'Well, what think thou of Diana?'

'What think I? That the people who wors.h.i.+p her are in earnest. They believe what is told them. Their forefathers did the same. It was good enough for them, so they follow--follow like dogs their master. Now and again those with keener insight step aside and utter protest, sniffing danger. Most of them are whipped into their place again, and all goes on as before.... The priests know their work, and are clever. The people may believe the myths and accept them as truths, but their teachers know they are fables, and use them as such to ill.u.s.trate their faith.

'The wors.h.i.+p is one of the senses--ours is spiritual, and needs a spiritual sight only to know as much of G.o.d as the soul of man can comprehend. A dreary sh.o.r.e with the great darkness around is to the Christian a temple filled with light. Thou hast friends amongst the wors.h.i.+ppers of Diana, Chios?'