As for Medius himself, he had talked himself into such a state of terror by his own descriptions of the approaching destruction of the world that he abandoned all claim to his proud reputation as a strong-minded man, and quite forgot his favorite theory that everything that went by the name of God was a mere invention of priests and rulers to delude and oppress the ignorant; at last he even went so far as to mutter a prayer, and when his wife begged to be allowed to join a family of neighbors in sacrificing a black lamb at daybreak, he recklessly gave her a handful of money.
None of the party closed an eye that night.

Dada could not bear to remain in the house.

Perhaps all these horrors existed only in Medius' fancy; but if destruction were indeed impending, she would a thousand times rattier perish with her own relations than with these people, in whom there was something--she did not know what--for which she felt a deep aversion.

This she explained to her host early in the day and he was ready to set out at once and restore her to the care of Karnis.
In fact, the purpose for which he had needed her must certainly come to nothing.

He himself was attached to the service of Posidonius, a great magician and wizard, to whom half Alexandria flocked--Christians, Jews, and heathens--in order to communicate with the dead, with gods and with demons, to obtain spells and charms by which to attract lovers or injure foes, to learn the art of becoming invisible, or to gain a glimpse into the future.