But “love laughs at locksmiths” and finds its way through locked doors, and Antinous succeeded all the same in finding his way into Paulina’s garden.  On one of these occasions he was so happy to surprise Selene, as, supported on a stick and accompanied by a fair-haired boy and dame Hannah herself, she hobbled up and down.

Antinous had learnt to regard everything crippled or defective with aversion, as a monstrous failure of nature’s plastic harmony, but to pity it tenderly; but now he felt quite differently.  Mary with her humpback had at first horrified him; now he was always glad to see her though she always crossed his wishes; and poor lame Selene, who had been mocked at by the street boys as she limped along, seemed to him more adorable than ever.  How lovely were her face and form, how peculiar her way of walking—­she did not limp—­no, she swayed along the garden.  Thus, as he said to himself afterwards, the Nereids are borne along on the undulating waves.  Love is easily satisfied, nor is this strange, for it raises all that comes within its embrace to a loftier level of existence.  In the light of love weakness is a virtue and want an additional charm.

But the Bithynian’s visits were not the widow’s only cares; though she bore the others, it is true, not anxiously but with pleasure.  Her household had increased by two living souls, and her income was very small.  That her patient might not want, she had to work with her own hands while she superintended the girls in the factory, and to carry home with her in the evening papyrus-leaves, not only for Mary, but for herself too, and to glue them together during the long hours of the night.  As soon as Selene’s condition improved, she too helped willingly and diligently, but for many weeks the convalescent had to give up every kind of employment.

Mary often looked at Hannah in silent trouble, for she looked very pale.  After she had, on one occasion fallen in a fainting fit, the deformed girl had gathered courage and had represented to her that though she ought indeed to put out at interest the talent intrusted to her by the Lord, she ought not to spend it recklessly.  She was giving herself no rest, working day and night; visiting the poor and sick in her hours of recreation just as she used, and if she did not give herself more rest would soon need nursing instead of nursing others.

“At any rate,” urged Mary, “give yourself a little indispensable sleep at night.”

“We must live,” replied Hannah, “and I dare not borrow, for I may never be able to repay.”

“Then beg Paulina to remit your house-rent; she will do so gladly.”

“No,” said Hannah, decidedly.  “The rent of this little house goes to benefit my poor people, and you know how badly they want it.  What we give we lend to the Lord, and he taxes no man above his ability.”

Selene was now well, but the physician had said that no human skill could ever cure her of her lameness.  She had become Hannah’s daughter, and blind Helios the son of the house.