The Pagans | Page 7

were rather vague and because she feared lest she might offend her lover by talking upon a subject which he had markedly avoided. He made now a fresh effort to divert the talk into a new channel.
"Never mind the artists," he said, "we really must go. Besides, you are only in town for a day and it is no use to attempt the discussion of questions which involve the entire order of the universe. I promised Mrs. Calvin I'd bring you back in half-an-hour, and we've been here twice that time already."
He ran on brightly and rapidly, leading the way out of the gallery and down the stairs, and she followed with a suspicion of shadow upon her face as if the subject of which she had spoken was one of real importance to her.
"Come in and see the jolly old Pasht," Arthur suggested, as they descended the wide staircase.
She acquiesced by turning with him into the room devoted to the Way collection of Egyptian antiquities, in the center of which stands a somewhat mutilated granite statue of the goddess Pasht, the cat-headed deity, referred to the time of Amenophis III, about 1500 B.C. Calm, impassive and saturnine the goddess sits, holding the sign of life with lifeless fingers in as unconscious mockery now as when the symbol was placed within the stony grasp by some unrecorded sculptor dead more than thirty centuries ago. All that it has looked upon, all the shifting scenes and varied lands upon which have gazed those sightless eyes, have left no record on that emotionless face, whose lips still keep unchanged their faint smile beneath which lurks a sneer.
Arthur and Edith stood before it, as a pair of Egyptian lovers may have stood long ago, and for a time regarded it in silence, each moved in a way, though very differently, as their temperaments differed.
"It is the patron saint of our Pagans," the artist said at length. "How much the old creature knows, if she only chose to tell. She could give us more genuine wisdom than we shall hear in our whole lives, if she would but condescend to speak."
"Wisdom always knows the value of silence," Edith returned smiling.
"But Pasht belies her sex by not being a communicative party," was her companion's reply; "although communicativeness was never a characteristic of the gods."
"No irreverence, sir," Edith said with an air of mock authority, "even for these dethroned deities. What were the attributes of your cat-headed goddess?"
"Oh, various things. Pasht means, I believe, the devouring one, and she has another name signifying 'she who kindles a fire.' She was the goddess of war and of libraries, and the 'mistress of thought.' A sort of Egyptian Minerva, I suppose."
"Violence and wisdom always seemed to me a strange combination," Edith said thoughtfully, regarding the stone image intently, as if to drag from its cold lips a solution of the difficulty.
"You overlook the destructive power of words; besides, the sword or the tongue, what does it matter? Life is always a conflict, and it is of minor importance what the weapons are. It is appropriate enough for this dilapidated, but eminently respectable female to be the figure-head of a society like the Pagans where we fight with words but may come to blows any time."
He spoke gayly, pleased with having put entirely out of the conversation the unpleasant subject of his relations to her uncle, Mr. Peter Calvin, upon which Edith had touched. But he who talks with a woman must expect the unexpected, and as they turned away from the statue of Pasht, and walked towards the street where the carriage was waiting, Miss Caldwell abruptly brought the matter up again by asking:
"But why are you artists opposed to Uncle Peter, Arthur? What is the--"
"The Pagans, _ma belle_" he interrupted coolly, quite as if he were answering her question, although in reality nothing was further from his intention, "isn't really a society at all. It is only the name by which we've taken to calling a knot of fellows who meet once a month in each other's studios. We are all St. Filipe men, but we've no organization as a club." "Well?" Edith asked, as he paused; evidently puzzled to discover any connection between her question and his reply.
"And you," her betrothed responded, tucking her into the carriage and surreptitiously kissing her hand, "are the loveliest of your sex. I'll come to take you to the depot at six, you know. Good-by."
He closed the carriage door, watched her drive off, and then went his own way.

V.
THE BITTER PAST. All's Well that Ends Well; v.--3.
"The Pagans: Friday, Jan. 17. Pipes, pictures and punch. GRANT HERMAN."
Such was the invitation received one day by each of the Pagans, under a seal bearing the impress of the goddess Pasht.
There is little