Could she see the stem there ?--the connection between the pure and supreme Reason, and the hideous caresses of the debauched and cowardly Orestes?
was not that evil pure, unadulterate with any vein of good, past, present, or future ?...
True;--she might keep her spirit pure amid it all; she might sacrifice the base body, and ennoble the soul by the self-sacrifice ....

And yet, would not that increase the horror, the agony, the evil of it-to her, at least, most real evil, not to be explained away-and yet the gods required it?
Were they just, merciful in that?
Was it like them, to torture her, their last unshaken votary?
Did they require it?
Was it not required of them by some higher power, of whom they were only the emanations, the tools, the puppets ?--and required of that higher power by some still higher one--some nameless, absolute destiny of which Orestes and she, and all heaven and earth, were but the victims, dragged along in an inevitable vortex, helpless, hopeless, toward that for which each was meant ?--And she was meant for this! The thought was unbearable; it turned her giddy.

No! she would not! She would rebel! Like Prometheus, she would dare destiny, and brave its worst! And she sprang up to recall the letter....

Miriam was gone; and she threw herself on the floor, and wept bitterly.
And her peace of mind would certainly not have been improved, could she have seen old Miriam hurry home with her letter to a dingy house in the Jews' quarter, where it was un-sealed, read, and sealed up again with such marvellous skill, that no eye could have detected the change; and finally, still less would she have been comforted could she have heard the conversation which was going on in a summer-room of Orestes' palace, between that illustrious statesman and Raphael Aben-Ezra, who were lying on two divans opposite each other, whiling away, by a throw or two of dice, the anxious moments which delayed her answer.
'Trays again! The devil is in you, Raphael!' 'I always thought he was,' answered Raphael, sweeping up the gold pieces....
'When will that old witch be back ?' 'When she has read through your letter and Hypatia's answer.' 'Read them ?' 'Of course.

You don't fancy she is going to be fool enough to carry a message without knowing what it is?
Don't be angry; she won't tell.
She would give one of those two grave-lights there, which she calls her eyes, to see the thing prosper.' 'Why ?' 'Your excellency will know when the letter comes.