As on the sun-scorched lily's bell

The silver dew descends,

So on my weary spirit fell

The sympathy of friends.

Two letters, together with the course of circumstances, indicated for Philip the immediate direction of his life.

If Chrysostom would allow him to come to Cucusus he felt that he should go there as soon as it was possible for him to travel. It might look like the obliteration of all pleasure and of all youthful ambition to make his home in that squalid Armenian hamlet, and in due time to ask Miriam to share with him its dangers and privations. But Chrysostom was his father, and his more than father, and, where duty summoned him, there would God bless his life.

But before David took his departure the Patriarch's answer came to him.

It was a deep pleasure to hear from you, my beloved Philip,' he wrote, and to see one more proof of the depth of your love towards me. And indeed, dear son, no earthly pleasure would be greater to me than to enjoy as in the old days the support of your youthful strength, the cheer of your youthful brightness. But it would be utter selfishness in me to doom you to years, perhaps, of dreary inactivity in this chill, wild place, so dull, so poverty-stricken, so liable to perpetual alarms. I was ever so constituted that, while I could bear whatever God sent to me, and thank Him for all things, my sorrows were beyond measure intensified if I felt that through me others were brought to suffering. And therefore, my Philip, you must not come. My love for you would make it a torment for me to see you dragged down into my misery. No! your life is before you. Think of me; write very often to me; pray for me; do all that you can for me, your poor father, in other ways -- but I cannot accept the sacrifice of your young life. It is adapted for larger and nobler ends -- which in due time God will make plain to you -- than the service of one infirm old man. And even in my exile God has not forsaken me. I have found unexpected alleviations here. The humble Bishop of Cucusus has been very kind. He even wished to resign his see in my favour. The chief burgher of this little town has entirely given up to me the use of his own house. My relative, the Deaconess Sabiniana, is with me, and looks after my wants. And you must not think that I am idle. My correspondence is large. Oh! how I sometimes long for you and David, and Eutyches and Kallias, again! But it may not be. I am trying to establish missions among the Goths, among the Phoenicians, among the Persians. Even here and now God suffers me to be in some sense a guide and leader of His Church.

What, then, are you to do? I can think of nothing better than that you should go to Antioch, and live in our old house. It is, as you know, a delightful city. There are many there who know and love you, or will soon learn to know and love you; and there, if it be God's will, you can serve Him for many years in Church and State. God bless you, and restore you to perfect health, and keep you in His faith and fear, my own Philip, until -- if we meet no more on earth -- we meet in His many mansions beyond the grave!'

Philip talked over this letter with Olympias, and she concurred in its advice. She knew that Chrysostom had prevented many other friends from joining him at Cucusus, where the sight of their life, surrounded by troubles and hardships, would only aggravate his sufferings. Antioch was the home of Philip's early years. It would be best for him to go there, and he would now be soon quite well.

I knew that your health would return, Philip,' she said, when some of your happiness returned. Since that dream of which you told me, and still more since David's visit, you have made amazing progress. You will soon look like the happy Philip whom I first saw with our saintly Patriarch, and with your young companions, six years and more ago.'

But Philip soon found that his departure to Antioch had better for the present be delayed.

For the good old Bishop Flavian had died, full of years and full of honours. The wish of all the city and of every good man throughout the East was that the excellent Presbyter Constantius should be elected in his place. But this would not at all suit the plots and purposes of Severian of Gabala and his episcopal allies. For Constantius had been for years the ardent friend and admirer of the true Patriarch of Constantinople. This cabal of alien bishops not only interfered with the election, but did so in the most monstrous manner, which ended in intruding upon that long-afflicted see a man no less pernicious, if possible, than themselves.

This was an ambitious ecclesiastic named Porphyry. He first intrigued and bribed to get Constantius banished, and then tricked the Christians by going to the church with a handful of bishops and people when the vast mass of the citizens were at some Olympian games at Daphne. The doors were locked, and Porphyry was hurriedly ordained with a mutilated service by Acacius, Severian, and Antiochus, who, knowing that their gross trick would awaken the vengeance of the inhabitants, fled from the city with precipitation. But the mischief had been done, however infamously, and it was vain for the people to threaten to burn Porphyry's house over his head. He obtained from Constantinople the assistance of a body of troops, seized the church by violence, and furnished one more instance of the mad greed of episcopal ambition in those corrupted days.

Such being the state of things at Antioch, Philip saw that it would be unwise for him to face once more, and in vain, the horrors of sacerdotal wickedness which had wrought such havoc at Constantinople. He must postpone his settlement in the home of his childhood until there had been such subsidence of the storms of persecution in the Christian community as might promise him a reasonable safety. All was uncertain. Whither could he turn during the two years which must elapse before he could make Miriam his own?

God usually makes the way of His children plain before their face, and Philip's plans for the present were decided by a letter from Kallias.

Kallias, it will be remembered, had been sent by Chrysostom, before his exile, with despatches to the Bishops of Aquileia, Milan, and Rome, informing them of the terrible condition to which the Church at Constantinople had been reduced, and entreating their sympathy and assistance. He had written several letters; but in the troubled state of Italy and Illyricum, and the recent changes and excitements, his letters had failed to find their destination, and no answer had come to him in return. But now a few lines from him reached the hands of Philip. They were written from Rome, and briefly stated that he had delivered the various documents entrusted to him by Chrysostom into the hands of Pope Innocent, and had been sent back by him with letters to Aurelian, Briso, Amantius, Anthemius, who was now Consul, and other powerful friends of the exiled Patriarch. He was requested to procure further evidence and to secure their co-operation in the endeavour to obtain the Patriarch's recall. Kallias said that he hoped to see Philip very soon after the day when the letter would reach him, and that he would then tell him all further news.

Philip eagerly awaited his arrival, and was standing to receive him with warm welcome on the little quay at Cyzicus, from which he had recognised him as his boat drew near. So much had passed since they last met that at first they could only grasp each other's hands in silence as they walked to the villa of Olympias. After supper Philip, in broken words, told his friend of the course of events in Constantinople, of which he had only heard the vaguest rumours. The tears of Kallias flowed fast as Philip told him of the banishment of the Patriarch, the conflagration, the cruel persecution which followed, the martyrdom of Eutyches, and his own sufferings. But Kallias could impart the good news that the great bishops of the West were heart and soul opposed to the lies and brutalities of Theophilus and his myrmidons. He had been most kindly received. Chromatius, the venerable Bishop of Aquileia, the friend of Ambrose, of Rufinus, and of Jerome, had given him a cordial welcome there. He had gone to Venerius, Bishop of Milan, who had shown him the very basilica in which the people had watched over Ambrose, and in which, on that occasion, Ambrose had first introduced the antiphonal chanting of the West; the font in which he had baptised Augustine; the gates from which he had repelled Theodosius when he came with his conscience burning with the guilt of the massacre of Thessalonica; the pulpit in which he had preached the funeral sermons of the young murdered Emperors Gratian and Valentinian III. Lastly, he had seen the smoke, and wealth, and tumult of Rome; and there the great Pope Innocent had expressed himself in private with almost passionate indignation against the wicked, intriguing Patriarch of Alexandria and in favour of the saintly exile. More than this, Innocent needed a secretary for his vast correspondence, and, struck with the tachygraphy of Kallias, had asked him to return to Rome after he had delivered his missives, and to take a permanent place in his household.

Did you see Alaric? did you see my friends Thorismund and Walamir? did you see Stilico? did you see the Emperor Honorius?' asked Philip eagerly. 'I am sick of the East. How much I should like to see that Western world!'

I saw them all,' said Kallias, and the beautiful, stately Serena, wife of Stilico; and, if the Lady Olympias permits me, I will give you some little account of my journey.'

Yes, but that had better be to-morrow,' said Olympias, 'for Philip is still far from strong, and it is time for him to go to rest.'