Volume 6 — Chapter III.

"Chione, my niece; nay, my daughter in Jesus Christ, tell me, for pity's sake, why do I find you here?"

"Uncle, I weary of the tedious routine of our household. I come to woo the naiads and the fauns of early days, for a little relaxation of my spirit."

"The naiads and the fauns! Strange worship for a Christian!"

"Nay, uncle, do not cast religion at me for ever. I mean no harm by speaking in the language of my childhood; and, indeed, I need to recreate my soul; my spirit is fainting away amid the tedium of our ever immaculate household."

"What possible fault can you find with the Lady Damaris?"

"None, none at all, absolutely none. Have I not just said she is immaculate, faultless? too perfect, in fact, fair as the moon and as chaste; ay, and as cold too!"

"Cold! Lady Damaris who has spent her fortune in relieving the indigent, in soothing the sorrows of the mourner, in setting free the slave. Cold! Where, then, will you find the fire of charity?"

"I wish she would set me free!"

"You! Are you not too free already! as witness this unmaidenly step of visiting these glades alone and unprotected? Free! Are you not already as free as is safe for you? is not the Lady Damaris more a mother than a mistress to you? Go to, your labors are too light, your liberty too great, since you know not how to make a better use of it. A Christian maiden should have more reserve."

"What harm is there in sunning myself on the river-banks awhile?"

"None, if that is your object, and that alone, though even so, for one in your condition there might be danger. But, Chione, you do not come here either to woo the naiads or the fauns, or to sun yourself on the riverbanks. You come here to meet one you are bound to avoid, and I come to take you home again."

"By what right?"

"Ay, by what right, base slave?" asked the voice of Magas, as he suddenly came upon the couple. "By what right dare you to interfere with the fairest muse of earth's bright temple? you who have scarcely brains enough to know whether Apollo steers his chariot from east to west or from north to south."

"Noble sir," said Merion respectfully, as if unheedful of the insulting tone in which he was addressed, "I am this maiden's uncle, and seek but to conduct her to a place of safety."

"I will dispense with thine office, by fulfilling it myself; take thyself hence, I say."

Merion looked at Chione, who, with an incomprehensible caprice, settled the dispute by rapidly taking flight in the direction of the abode of the Lady Damaris, thus again leaving Magas foiled at the moment he thought himself certain of an interview; and, what was still more perplexing, leaving him in a state of uncertainty as to whether she desired to grant him an interview or otherwise. He turned fiercely upon Merion:

"Where is the girl flown to? Where does she live?"

"I cannot tell you, noble sir," said the slave, turning away.

"For cannot, say will not," said Magas, arresting him. "I insist on knowing where Chione lives."

"You cannot know it from me, sir," said Merion, breaking away, while fortunately some persons appearing in sight, forbade the noble Magas from renewing a contest with another person's servant; and thus the faithful guardian of Chione effected his escape.

It was, however, to the house of Dionysius he betook himself to consult with him concerning the measures to be taken to insure the safety of his wayward niece.

It was a difficult matter for the learned but simple-hearted bishop, known in the city as Dionysius the Areopagite, to interfere in. The conversion of this noble-hearted prelate had, in his own case, been so sincere, so entire, it was difficult for him to comprehend an adhesion given partly to the intellectual, partly to the moral bearings of the religion of Christ, an adhesion which more resembled a philosophical adoption of tenets, than the surrender of the whole being into the keeping of his divine Lord, such as he understood to be the requirement demanded of himself when, under the tuition of the great apostle, he had learned to put on Christ. The gospel had come to him, not in word only, but also in power, and in the Holy Spirit, and in much assurance. [Footnote 60] It filled his soul, not only with its intellectual delights, with its wondrous solutions of the dread mysteries of existence, with its harmonious developments and sublime manifestations, but with interior light. "Faith" was to him as, alas! it is to so few, "the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen." [Footnote 61] It animated him wholly; it was a part of himself; he could say with the great apostle in very truth, "I live, yet not I, but Christ liveth in me; and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by the faith of the Son of God who loved me, and gave himself for me." [Footnote 62]

But Dionysius was the pastor of souls; he dared not refuse to come to the assistance of one of his flock, albeit, that one was a child, a slave, and that the request for his interference came to him also from a slave. The true-hearted Merion was worthy of his highest love; long since would he have redeemed him, and associated him in his labors of love, but that the slave ever put him off, pointing out to him others on whom the material chain weighed more heavily, so that its wearers were fainting under the burden, while he walked erect. The truth had made him free [Footnote 63] in soul, and he was not willing to encroach on the limited means placed at the disposal of the bishop by the faithful, while so many of the weaker brethren needed help to sustain their fainting steps. Besides, as a slave, bearing his own burden, Merion possessed a greater influence among his own class than he would have done had he accepted the purchase of his liberty. "The poor and lowly," said he to Dionysius, "have many advantages which you in higher stations wot not of. Truth is not veiled from them by politeness, or by the conventionalism of society; they see things as they are, unmasked, and view themselves also by another light than that which is shed on the man to whom everybody bows. I have often thought, my lord, that they need an extraordinary degree of grace, who are thus placed above the multitude. Since our Lord has declared that it is the 'poor who are blessed,' and he himself asks, 'How can ye believe, ye who receive honor one of another?' [Footnote 64] Believe me, then, my kind friend, there is a greater blessing in a position to which no worldly honor is attached than to others; at least for poor souls like mine, who cannot claim the extraordinary graces needed to clear away the mists which obscure the light from the great ones of this world." Thus pleaded Merion against his own advancement, to which the bishop replied:

"It is true, my Merion, we must all become 'poor in spirit,' giving all honor to God alone, for the good that is in us, since all that man has done is to pervert his gifts."

"And the more wonderful, the more exalted the gifts, the more they are perverted. Chione's beauty and talent are already turning her away from the religion she has professed."

"Nay, not so bad as that, my Merion. Neither is it the beauty or the talent that are in fault. These are God's gifts to Chione. It is the human self-love, the self-centralization which craves homage and admiration, that are to blame. It is the repetition of the primeval sin, the wilful separation of the soul from God, for the sake of inordinate gratification. But Chione has worshipped Christ. She will see her error and repent."

"Would I could think so," sighed the slave.

"Nay, now it is you who are wanting in confidence, my good friend. Chione is the child of your prayer. You begot her in the Lord, and He will preserve her for you. How, is not so plain. May be, she will fall. Gifts like hers too often lack humility, and humility, the foundation of the Christian character, sometimes needs a fall, in order to produce it. Faith you have already won for her, from God. Now set yourself to intercede for her again, to win other gifts which shall render her faith available to salvation. Ask for her, humility, at any price of suffering to yourself or her. God will grant your prayer, be assured of that, my friend. Now, as to what we can do for the exterior circumstance, let me know your wishes."

"Is it possible to remove her from the path of that Magas?"

"We might try; though, rich and ardent as he is, he would be apt to trace her to any place within our power to send her. I have friends at Corinth. Should you be satisfied to send her there?"

"They are Christians?"

"Else I would not have named them. But, reflect, to none is she as dear as she is to you. None will take the same interest in her, watch over her—"

"But she will be out of the way of Magas."

"Her person will. How her mind will be affected, is another question. We cannot change the affections or annihilate desires by change of place. But it shall be as you wish."

"Will the Lady Damaris consent?"

"You know, full well, that the welfare of her household, temporal and eternal, is the object of that lady's constant solicitude. She will agree to anything she deems will promote it."

……

Chione was scarcely surprised when she was told that she was to be sent to Corinth. Nay, to do her justice, she was not altogether grieved. She knew her danger. Her pride and self-respect revolted from any degrading connection with Magas. And what other could she hope for? Neither as a slave nor as a freed-woman could Magas elevate her to the rank of his wife. He himself had proposed Aspasia for her model; but Aspasia to a Christian maiden! Dazzling as was the ideal, not for a moment did Chione suffer herself to believe it could be hers. Why, then, did she hover around her destruction, as a moth hovers around the candle? Why did her thoughts perpetually dwell on Magas as the only one who understood her, the sole being on earth who could appreciate her? Why had she endeavored, why did she still endeavor, to attract his attention the more that she knew the burning passion which fired his impetuous and vehement nature?

Chione felt but too truly the inward conflict of her soul. She loved Magas. She could not conceal herself from him if he were near—could not even avoid him. The attraction was too great. But at Corinth she could forget him, at Corinth other objects would occupy her, at Corinth she would again learn to love Christ. So to Corinth she consented to go, making so little opposition to the measure, that Merion half persuaded himself he had overrated her weakness.

Chione was conveyed away stealthily, in company with a Christian family who were making the journey homeward. Days elapsed; and Magas watched in vain, set spies in vain. Chione was not to be met with.

"The girl must be ill, or bewitched," said he. "Three appearances, and nothing heard of her! A whole year since I saw her before, and she so changed, beautified, and silenced when we met again! What can it mean?"

"What can what mean, Magas, that you are here talking to yourself, and flinging yourself about like a madman?"

"Critias!"

"Yes; it is long since we met. What have you been doing since?"

"Tracing the girl who imposed upon us in the muses' temple."

"What! not forgotten that yet?"

"No. It was scarcely an adventure to be forgotten, save by one who cares for nothing, like yourself."

"Well, what have you discovered?"

"This much, at least: the girl is Merion's niece."

"So! Then we may suppose her rhapsodies referred to the new sect?"

"Yes; and that they must be looked to. I wish you would let me question your slave awhile."

"Question all you like; but I warn you, Merion is not likely to answer you unless he likes."

"Then we can apply the torture?"

"No! not to Merion! no! Not on a subject which interferes with no one, even though you have assumed it as a cobweb to your brain. Merion is a faithful servant. I consent to no torture while he continues such."

"Not if you learn that he is concerned in hatching a conspiracy against the state?"

"Magas, I think you are taking leave of your senses."

But Magas was in love, and would neither hear reason nor be turned away from his purpose. Merion would tell him nothing. He said only that he had not seen the girl for many days, and that it was not his business to inquire to what place she had been sent. Lotis, the daughter of the principal philosopher of the day, had been her frequent companion in early days, but of late had seen her little, and, since the adventure in the temple, not at all. Lotis was suspected to know the name of Chione's owner; but, if she did, she kept it to herself. Months passed; and then Magas disappeared also, and, for a while, was not again heard of in Athens.

Continued.