“This was easy for me, as through my brother-in-law I could visit all the prisons; at last I was obliged to confess the faith, and I suffered much on the rack and in the porphyry quarries; but every pain was dear to me, for it seemed to bring me nearer to the goal of my longings, and if I find ought to complain of up here on the Holy Mountain, it is only that the Lord deems me unworthy to suffer harder things, when his beloved and only Son took such bitter torments on himself for me and for every wretched sinner.”

“Ah! saintly man!” murmured Stephanus, devoutly kissing Paulus’ sheep-skin; but Paulus pulled it from him, exclaiming hastily: 

“Cease, pray cease—­he who approaches me with honors now in this life throws a rock in my way to the life of the blessed.  Now I will go to the spring and fetch you some fresh water.”

When Paulus returned with the water-jar he found Hermas, who had come to wish his father good-morning before he went down to the oasis to fetch some new medicine from the senator.

CHAPTER VI.

Sirona was sitting at the open window of her bedroom, having her hair arranged by a black woman that her husband had bought in Rome.  She sighed, while the slave lightly touched the shining tresses here and there with perfumed oil which she had poured into the palm of her hand; then she firmly grasped the long thick waving mass of golden hair and was parting it to make a plait, when Sirona stopped her, saying, “Give me the mirror.”

For some minutes she looked with a melancholy gaze at the image in the polished metal, then she sighed again; she picked up the little greyhound that lay at her feet, and placing it in her lap, showed the animal its image in the mirror.

“There, poor Iambe,” she said, “if we two, inside these four walls, want to see anything like a pleasing sight we must look at ourselves.”

Then she went on, turning to the slave.  “How the poor little beast trembles!  I believe it longs to be back again at Arelas, and is afraid we shall linger too long under this burning sky.  Give me my sandals.”

The black woman reached her mistress two little slippers with gilt ornaments on the slight straps, but Sirona flung her hair off her face with the back of her hand, exclaiming, “The old ones, not these.  Wooden shoes even would do here.”

And with these words she pointed to the court-yard under the window, which was in fact as ill contrived, as though gilt sandals had never yet trodden it.  It was surrounded by buildings; on one side was a wall with a gateway, and on the others buildings which formed a sharply bent horseshoe.