And Raphael seemed rich.

He had heard the mob crying out against the prefect for favouring him.

Was it then familiarity with the great ones of the world which produced this manner and tone?
It was a real strength, whether in Arsenius or in Raphael.

He felt humbled before it--envied it.

If it made Arsenius a more complete and more captivating person, why should it not do the same for him?
Why should not he, too, have his share of it?
Bringing with it such thoughts as these, the time ran on till noon, and the mid-day meal, and the afternoon's work, to which Philammon looked forward joyfully, as a refuge from his own thoughts.
He was sitting on his sheepskin upon a step, basking, like a true son of the desert, in a blaze of fiery sunshine, which made the black stone-work too hot to touch with the bare hand, watching the swallows, as they threaded the columns of the Serapeium, and thinking how often he had delighted in their air-dance, as they turned and hawked up and down the dear old glen at Scetis.