“It is strange!” thought he, “what we give to women to bind them to us they use as weapons to turn against us, be it to please some other man, or to smooth the path by which they escape from us.  It was with a bracelet of Glycera’s that I paid the captain of the ship that brought us to Alexandria; but the soft-hearted fool, whose dove flew after me, and I are men of a different stamp; I will follow my flown bird, and catch it again.”  He spoke the last words aloud, and then desired one of the senator’s slaves to give his mule a good feed and drink, for his own groom, and the superior decurion who during his absence must take his place, were also worshippers of Mithras, and had not yet returned from the mountain.

Phoebicius did not doubt that the woman who had joined the caravan—­which he himself had seen yesterday—­was his fugitive wife, and he knew that his delay might have reduced his earnest wish to overtake her and punish her to the remotest probability; but he was a Roman soldier, and would rather have laid violent hands on himself than have left his post without a deputy.  When at last his fellow-worshippers came from their sacrifice and worship of the rising sun, his preparations for his long journey were completed.

Phoebicius carefully impressed on the decurion all he had to do during his absence, and how he was to conduct himself; then he delivered the key of his house into Petrus’ keeping as well as the black slave-woman, who wept loudly and passionately over the flight of her mistress; he requested the senator to bring the anchorite’s misdeed to the knowledge of the bishop, and then, guided by the Amalekite Talib, who rode before him on his dromedary, he trotted hastily away in pursuit of the caravan, so as to reach the sea, if possible, before its embarkation.

As the hoofs of the mule sounded fainter and fainter in the distance, Paulus also quitted the senator’s courtyard; Dorothea pointed after him as he walked towards the mountain.  “In truth, husband,” said she, “this has been a strange morning; everything that has occurred looks as clear as day, and yet I cannot understand it all.  My heart aches when I think what may happen to the wretched Sirona if her enraged husband overtakes her.  It seems to me that there are two sorts of marriage; one was instituted by the most loving of the angels, nay, by the All-merciful Himself, but the other it is not to be thought of!  How can those two live together for the future?  And that under our roof!  Their closed house looks to me as though ruined and burnt-out, and we have already seen the nettles spring up which grow everywhere among the ruins of human dwellings.”

CHAPTER XII.