After this mad act he stood over his victim with out-stretched legs, folded arms, and rolling eyes, as if rooted to the earth.  He waited till Polykarp had picked himself up, and, without looking round, but pressing his hands to the back of his head, had tottered away like a drunken man.

Paulus looked after him till he disappeared over the cliff at the edge of the level ground; but he did not see how Polykarp fell senseless to the ground with a stifled cry, not far from the very spring whence his enemy had fetched the water to refresh Sirona’s parched lips.

CHAPTER XVI.

“She will attract the attention of Damianus or Salathiel or one of the others up there,” thought Paulus as he heard Sirona’s call once more, and, following her voice, he went hastily and excitedly down the mountainside.

“We shall have peace for to-day at any rate from that audacious fellow,” muttered he to himself, “and perhaps to-morrow too, for his blue bruises will be a greeting from me.  But how difficult it is to forget what we have once known!  The grip, with which I flung him, I learned—­how long ago?—­from the chief-gymnast at Delphi.  My marrow is not yet quite dried up, and that I will prove to the boy with these fists, if he comes back with three or four of the same mettle.”

But Paulus had not long to indulge in such wild thoughts, for on the way to the cave he met Sirona.  “Where is Polykarp?” she called out from afar.

“I have sent him home,” he answered.  “And he obeyed you?” she asked again.

“I gave him striking reasons for doing so,” he replied quickly.

“But he will return?”

“He has learned enough up here for to-day.  We have now to think of your journey to Alexandria.”

“But it seems to me,” replied Sirona, blushing, “that I am safely hidden in your cave, and just now you yourself said—­”

“I warned you against the dangers of the expedition,” interrupted Paulus.  “But since that it has occurred to me that I know of a shelter, and of a safe protector for you.  There, we are at home again.  Now go into the cave, for very probably some one may have heard you calling, and if other anchorites were to discover you here, they would compel me to take you back to your husband.”

“I will go directly,” sighed Sirona, “but first explain to me—­for I heard all that you said to each other—­” and she colored, “how it happened that Phoebicius took Hermas’ sheepskin for yours, and why you let him beat you without giving any explanation.”

“Because my back is even broader than that great fellow’s,” replied the Alexandrian quickly.  “I will tell you all about it in some quiet hour, perhaps on our journey to Klysma.  Now go into the cave, or you may spoil everything.  I know too what you lack most since you heard the fair words of the senator’s son.”

“Well—­what?” asked Sirona.