what did they care for the eternal glories and the beatific vision?
Their one test for all men and things, from the patriarch to the prefect, seemed to be--did he or it advance the cause of the Church ?--which Philammon soon discovered to mean their own cause, their influence, their self-glorification.

And the poor boy, as his faculty for fault-finding quickened under the influence of theirs, seemed to see under the humble stock-phrases in which they talked of their labours of love, and the future reward of their present humiliations, a deep and hardly-bidden pride, a faith in their own infallibility, a contemptuous impatience of every man, however venerable, who differed from their party on any, the slightest, matter.
They spoke with sneers of Augustine's Latinising tendencies, and with open execrations of Chrysostom, as the vilest and most impious of schismatics; and, for aught Philammon knew, they were right enough.

But when they talked of wars and desolation past and impending, without a word of pity for the slain and ruined, as a just judgment of Heaven upon heretics and heathens; when they argued over the awful struggle for power which, as he gathered from their words, was even then pending between the Emperor and the Count of Africa, as if it contained but one question of interest to them--would Cyril, and they as his bodyguard, gain or lose power in Alexandria?
and lastly, when at some mention of Orestes, and of Hypatia as his counsellor, they broke out into open imprecations of God's curse, and comforted themselves with the prospect of everlasting torment for both; he shuddered and asked himself involuntarily--were these the ministers of a Gospel ?--were these the fruits of Christ's Spirit ?....

And a whisper thrilled through the inmost depth of his soul--'Is there a Gospel?
Is there a Spirit of Christ?
Would not their fruits be different from these ?' Faint, and low, and distant, was that whisper, like the mutter of an earthquake miles below the soil.

And yet, like the earthquake-roll, it had in that one moment jarred every belief, and hope, and memory of his being each a hair's-breadth from its place....