Alypius would not have complained if the voyage had lasted for an unlimited time.

But all sublunary things, both pleasant and painful, must come to an end. The travellers were approaching Memphis, from whence they were to pursue their journey to Alexandria by land, and it was their last evening of boat-life on the Nile.

They were all rather sad and pensive. The present was very peaceful and enjoyable, but they knew not what the future would be; only they looked for trials and troubles, which seemed to increase in magnitude as they drew nearer, and they tried to prepare to meet them with firmness and resignation.

"Medora," said Claudia, breaking a long silence, "I should like to hear that song which you sang to us the last evening that we spent at Phila. We were then at a very important crisis of our lives, and our gracious God carried us through all the dangers that threatened us. We are now approaching another crisis, on which, humanly speaking, the happiness of all our future lives depends. Let us lift up our hearts and our voices to the Lord our God in that noble hymn which you used to sing to a heathen deity. The prayers and praises therein addressed to Osiris are only due to our God and Saviour, and to him we will dedicate them."

Cleon brought Medora's lyre, and as she took it she said, "I have for some time addressed that hymn to the Lord Jesus, and omitted all allusion to Osiris. I could not sing it to the praise of a mere man, when once I had learned in whom to believe as the Incarnate God, even the man Christ Jesus."

Medora raised her eyes toward heaven as she spoke, and her face glowed with unwonted enthusiasm. Then she struck her

lyre and sang a kind of chant, which was originally intended to ascribe that divine honour and glory which belong to Jehovah alone, to the dead Osiris, and to supplicate from him preservation and blessings that the Creator of heaven and earth alone could bestow. Now the words and the melody were consecrated to a nobler service, which rose up from Christian hearts and Christian lips as the friends joined in chorus. Their spirits were refreshed by the holy exercise, and they conversed more cheerfully and hopefully after this expression of confidence in the God in whom alone they now put any trust.

"Medora," said Alypius, earnestly and thoughtfully, "you will not shrink from acknowledging your Redeemer in the house of your still unbelieving father? You will not, surely, let him believe that you are still a worshipper of the gods of Egypt, and share the faith which Muthis professes ?"

He looked searchingly into her countenance as he spoke; and if he had still any doubt as to her firmness and constancy, those doubts must have been all dispelled by the expression which he read there.

“No,” she said, "I will never act the part of a hypocrite. That which I firmly believe I must openly profess, be the consequences what they may. Fear never deterred me from professing my devotion to Isis and Osiris, whom now I know to have been no gods, but only senseless idols. Others despised my divinities as antiquated and effete: they paid their worship to Jupiter and Juno, and all the gods of Olympus, and they ridiculed my steadfast belief in the gods of Egypt; but they did not change my faith, or lead me to conceal it. I was true to my false gods-I would have been true to them even unto

death, if I had kept my former belief in their divinity. And now that I have found Him who is my Redeemer, my Saviour, Almighty God, shall I fear to confess him before men?

and my Never!"

How beautiful she looked! How did the expression of holy faith illuminate her delicate and regular features! Certainly Alypius thought he had never, either at Rome or at Milan, seen picture or statue to be compared to the spiritual loveliness of her face, or to the grace and dignity of her form and attitude.

Medora had spoken rapidly, and expressed the earnest feelings of her soul with far more freedom than she was in the habit of doing in the presence of Alypius; and when she saw his eyes fixed upon her with admiration and deep joy, she blushed at her own enthusiasm, and sat down beside Claudia to recover her wonted composure.

"The Lord bless you and strengthen you, Medora," said Alypius, fervently. "May he give you grace to be faithful to him in sorrow or in joy, and may he make your way plain before your face."

"He will, Alypius, he will surely do so," said Claudia, cheeringly; for she saw a sad and desponding look returning to the young man's countenance. "I believe," she added in a whisper, "that the evils we fear will be removed. I believe that Medora will be free and happy; and I even venture to believe that you will eventually be permitted to share, and to add to her happiness. Be of good courage."

"God bless you, dear Claudia, and fulfil all your most sanguine hopes. I will not despair."

R

CHAPTER XXVIII.

N the stately dwelling of Sophis there was gloom and anxiety. The master of the house lay on a bed of sickness; the physicians had failed to give relief to his bodily sufferings, and the priests had equally failed to bring peace to his anxious and perturbed spirit. His mind was vexed by disappointment. Muthis, the object of his hopes and schemes, his intended wealthy and powerful son-in-law, had deceived him. His pride and his selfish feelings were wounded, and the wound rankled as he lay helplessly on his carved and inlaid couch, with its richly embroidered hangings.

It will be remembered that when Claudia and Alypius arrived at Alexandria from Tagaste, they found Marcella alone, and Sophis gone on a political mission to Constantinople. The ostensible object of this mission related to some of the taxes levied by the Roman government on the city of Alexandria.

But Sophis had likewise some ambitious projects. He desired to occupy a position of importance in the government of Alexandria which was likely soon to become vacant; and he hoped that, by undertaking the mission to Constantinople, he should ingratiate himself with the prefect, and so obtain the object of his wishes.

But Muthis happened to have the very same desire that had

for years dwelt in the mind of Sophis. He also wished to occupy the coveted position, which he considered himself more worthy to fill than his intended father-in-law. The temporary absence of Sophis from the city would, he hoped, greatly facilitate his schemes, and for that reason he was doubly anxious that he should go to Constantinople.

No sooner had he departed than the false friend entered on his political intrigues; and he not only used all his endeavours to obtain the desired situation for himself, but he did not hesitate also to cast serious aspersions on the character and qualifications of Sophis, in order to prevent his appointment.

It happened that Julius, the friend and fellow-student of Alypius, often met Muthis in the society of some other young men of Alexandria. They had long been acquainted, and there was something quick and caustic in the manner of Julius that attracted Muthis, and led to a considerable degree of intimacy between them. He entrusted him with his schemes for his own aggrandizement, and the disappointment of Sophis, whom he did not scruple to ridicule as pompous and selfsufficient.

Julius listened to all his confidences; and, being rather of a wily disposition, drew from him all he could extract of his plans and projects, and joined in his ridicule of Sophis, in order to prevent any suspicion as to his real intentions.

But Julius was not devoid of generous and friendly feelings. He had a sincere regard for his former fellow-student and companion, Alypius, of whose interest in Medora he was well He also was not unmindful of the kindness and hospitality which had been shown to him by Marcella; and which

aware.