Julian.
No. It seemed as though it wished to speak; but it did not. It stood motionless, looking at me. Its face was pale and distorted. Suddenly, with both arms, it drew the drapery together over its head, hid its face, and went straight out through the tent-wall.
Maximus.
The decisive hour is at hand.
Julian.
Ay, truly, 'tis at hand.
Maximus.
Courage, Julian! He who wills, conquers.
Julian.
And what does the conqueror win? Is it worth while to conquer? What has the Macedonian Alexander, what has Julius Caesar won? Greeks and Romans talk of their renown with cold admiration,—while the other, the Galilean, the carpenter's son, sits throned as the king of love in the warm, believing hearts of men.
Where is he now?—Has he been at work elsewhere since that happened at Golgotha?
I dreamed of him lately. I dreamed that I had subdued the whole world. I ordained that the memory of the Galilean should be rooted out on earth; and it was rooted out.—Then the spirits came and ministered to me, and bound wings on my shoulders, and I soared aloft into infinite space, till my feet rested on another world.
It <g>was</g> another world than mine. Its curve was
