In the fertile
valleys of Gaul, over the burning sands of Africa, through the sun-
bright cities of Spain, he travelled--unfriended as a man under a curse,
lonely as a second Cain. Never for an instant did the remembrance of
his ruined projects desert his memory, or his mad determination to
revive his worship abandon his mind. At every relic of Paganism,
however slight, that he encountered on his way, he found a nourishment
for his fierce anguish, and employment for his vengeful thoughts.
Often, in the little villages, children were frightened from their
sports in a deserted temple by the apparition of his gaunt, rigid figure
among the tottering pillars, or the sound of his hollow voice as he
muttered to himself among the ruins of the Pagan tombs. Often, in
crowded cities, groups of men, congregated to talk over the fall of
Paganism, found him listening at their sides, and comforting them, when
they carelessly regretted their ancient faith, with a smiling and
whispered assurance that a time of restitution would yet come.
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