The hour was approaching which would summon dame Hannah to join the assembly of her fellow Christians.  She could not fail to appear, for she was one of the deaconesses entrusted with the distribution of alms and the care of the sick.  She noiselessly made her preparations for going, carefully setting the lamp behind the water-pitcher so that it should not dazzle Selene, and she desired Mary to be exact in administering the medicine to her patient.  She knew that the girl had yesterday attempted to make away with herself, and guessed the cause; but she asked no questions and disturbed the poor child, who slept a good deal or lay dreaming with open eyes, as little as possible.  The old physician wondered at her sound constitution, for since her plunge into the water the fever had left her and even the injured foot was not much the worse.  Hannah might now hope the best for Selene if no unforeseen contingency checked her recovery.  To prevent this the unfortunate girl was never to be left alone, and Mary had gladly agreed with her friend to fill her place whenever she was obliged to leave the house.

The meeting of the elders and guardians had already begun when Hannah took her tablets in her hand, on which was noted the distribution she had made of the money entrusted to her during the last week.  She greeted the sick girl and Mary with a kindly look and whispered to the deformed girl: 

“I will think of thee in my prayers thou faithful soul.  There is some food in the little cupboard—­not much, for we must be sparing, the last medicine was so dear.”

In the little anteroom a lamp was burning which Mary had lighted as it began to grow dark, and the widow paused for a moment, considering whether she should not extinguish it to save the oil.  She had taken up the tongs that hung by it, and was about to put it out, when she heard a gentle tap at the house-door.  Before she could enquire who it was that asked admission at so late an hour, the door was opened and Arsinoe entered the little hall.  Her eyes were still full of tears and she had great difficulty in finding words to return Hannah’s greeting.

“Why what ails you my child?” asked the Christian anxiously when by the dim light, she saw how tearful and sad the girl looked.  Arsinoe was long before she could answer.  At last she collected herself sufficiently to sob out amid her tears: 

“Oh dame Hannah!  It is all over with us—­my father, our poor father—­”

The widow guessed at the blow that bad fallen on the sisters and full of anxiety on Selene’s account she interrupted the weeping child saying: 

“Hush, hush my child-Selene must not hear you.  Come out with me and then you can tell me all.”  Once outside the door Hannah put her arm round Arsinoe drew her towards her, kissed her forehead, and said: 

“Now speak and tell me every thing; think that I am your mother or your sister.  Poor Selene is still too weak to advise or help you.  Take courage.  What happened to your poor father?”