Seldom, indeed, had his heart beat so high! His end perhaps was very near, but it should at least be worthy of his life.
He knew how the sunbeam had been reflected so as to kiss the statue's lips.

For centuries had this startling little scene and the sudden illumination of the niche round the head of the god been worked in precisely the same way at high festivals--[They are mentioned by Rufinus.]--these were mere stimulants to the dull souls of the vulgar who needed to be stirred up by the miraculous power of the god, which the elect recognized throughout the universe, in the wondrous co-operation of forces and results in nature, and in the lives of men.
He, for his part, firmly believed in Serapis and his might, and in the prophecies and calculations which declared that his fall must involve the dissolution of the organic world and its relapse into chaos.
Many winds were battling in the air, each one driving the ship of life towards the whirlpool.

To-day or to-morrow--what matter which?
The threatened cataclysm had no terrors for Olympius.

One thing only was a pang to his vanity: No succeeding generations would preserve the memory of his heroic struggle and death for the cause of the gods.

But all was not yet lost, and his sunny nature read in the glow of the dying clay the promise and dawn of a brilliant morrow.