Chapter 24: XXII

XXII Pandemonium But where was Philammon all that week? For the first day or two of his imprisonment he had raved like some wild beast entrapped. His newfound purpose and energy, thus suddenly dammed back and checked, boiled up in frantic rage. He tore at the bars of his prison; he rolled himself, shrieking, on the floor. He called in vain on Hypatia, on Pelagia, on Arsenius—on all but God. Pray he could not, and dare not; for to whom was he to pray? To the stars?—to the Abysses and …