The Abbot of Antinoe, locked in his cell, thought—­

“I have at last regained the haven of my repose and happiness.  I have returned to my fortress of contentment.  But how is it that this roof of rushes, so dear to me, does not receive me as a friend, and the walls say not to me, ‘Thou art welcome.’  Nothing has changed, since my departure, in this abode I have chosen.  There is my table and my bed.  There is the mummy’s head which has so often inspired me with salutary thoughts; and there is the book in which I have so often sought conceptions of God.  And yet nothing that I left is here.  The things appear grievously despoiled of their customary charm, and it seems to me as though I saw them to-day for the first time.  When I look at that table and couch, that in former days I made with my own hands, that black, dried head, these rolls of papyrus filled with the sayings of God, I seem to see the belongings of a dead man.  After having known them all so well, I know them no longer.  Alas! since nothing around me has really changed, it is I who am no longer what I was.  I am another.  I am the dead man!  What has happened, my God?  What has been taken from me?  What is left unto me?  And who am I?”

And it especially perplexed him to find, in spite of himself, that his cell was small, whereas, when viewed by the eye of faith, he ought to consider it immense, because the infinitude of God began there.

He began to pray, with his face against the ground, and felt a little happier.  He had hardly been an hour in prayer, when a vision of Thais passed before his eyes.  He returned thanks to God—­

“Jesus! it is Thou who hast sent her.  I acknowledge in that Thy wonderful goodness; Thou wouldst please me, reassure me and comfort me by the sight of her whom I have given to Thee.  Thou; presentest her to my eyes with her smile now disarmed; her grace, now become innocent; her beauty from which I have extracted the sting.  To please me, my God, thou showest her to me as I have prepared and purified her for Thy designs, as one friend pleasantly reminds another of the rich gift he has received from him.  Therefore I see this woman with delight, being assured that the vision comes from Thee.  Thou dost not forget that I have given her to Thee, Jesus.  Keep her, since she pleases Thee, and suffer not her beauty to give joy to any but Thyself.”

He could not sleep all night, and he saw Thais more distinctly than he had seen her in the Grotto of Nymphs.  He commended himself, saying—­

“What I have done, I have done to the glory of God.”

Yet, to his great surprise, his heart was not at ease.  He sighed.

“Why art thou sad, O my soul, and why dost thou trouble me?”