Wulf was now no longer a phenomenon to be wondered at, but an instrument to be used.

The broken hints which he had just given of discontent with Pelagia's presence inspired the boy with sudden hope, and cautiously he began to hint at the existence of persons who would be glad to remove her.

Wulf caught at the notion, and replied to it with searching questions, till Philammon, finding plain speaking the better part of cunning, told him openly the whole events of the morning, and the mystery which Arsenius had half revealed, and then shuddered with mingled joy and horror, as Wulf, after ruminating over the matter for a weary five minutes, made answer-- 'And what if Pelagia herself were your sister ?' Philammon was bursting forth in some passionate answer, when the old man stopped him and went on slowly, looking him through and through-- 'Because, when a penniless young monk claims kin with a woman who is drinking out of the wine-cups of the Caesars, and filling a place for a share of which kings' daughters have been thankful--and will be again before long--why then, though an old man may be too good-natured to call it all a lie at first sight, he can't help supposing that the young monk has an eye to his own personal profit, eh ?' 'My profit ?' cried poor Philammon, starting up.

'Good God! what object on earth can I have, but to rescue her from this infamy to purity and holiness ?' He had touched the wrong chord.
'Infamy?
you accursed Egyptian slave!' cried the prince, starting up in his turn, red with passion, and clutching at the whip which hung over his head.

'Infamy?
As if she, and you too, ought not to consider yourselves blest in her being allowed to wash the feet of an Amal!' 'Oh' forgive me!' said Philammon, terrified at the fruits of his own clumsiness.