“He died a noble death, in battle for those he loved,” said the senator consolingly,

“Paulus was near him when he fell,” replied Hermas.  “My father fell from the wall while defending the tower; but look here this girl—­poor child—­ who used to keep your goats, died like a heroine.  Poor, wild Miriam, how kind I would be to you if only you were alive now!”

Hermas as he spoke stroked the arm of the shepherdess, pressed a kiss on her small, cold hand, and softly folded it with the other across her bosom.

“How did the girl get into the battle with the men?” asked Petrus.  “But you can tell me that in my own house.  Come and be our guest as long as it pleases you, and until you go forth into the world; thanks are due to you from us all.”

Hermas blushed and modestly declined the praises which were showered on him on all sides as the savior of the oasis.  When the wailing women appeared he knelt once more at the head of his father’s bier, cast a last loving look at Miriam’s peaceful face, and then followed his host.

The man and boy crossed the court together.  Hermas involuntarily glanced up at the window where more than once he had seen Sirona, and said, as he pointed to the centurion’s house, “He too fell.”

Petrus nodded and opened the door of his house.  In the hall, which was lighted up, Dorothea came hastily to meet him, asking, “No news yet of Polykarp?”

Her husband shook his head, and she added, “How indeed is it possible?  He will write at the soonest from Klysma or perhaps even from Alexandria.”

“That is just what I think,” replied Petrus, looking down to the ground.  Then he turned to Hermas and introduced him to his wife.

Dorothea received the young man with warm sympathy; she had heard that his father had fallen in the fight, and how nobly he too had distinguished himself.  Supper was ready, and Hermas was invited to share it.  The mistress gave her daughter a sign to make preparations for their guest, but Petrus detained Marthana, and said, “Hermas may fill Antonius’ place; he has still something to do with some of the workmen.  Where are Jethro and the house-slaves?”

“They have already eaten,” said Dorothea.

The husband and wife looked at each other, and Petrus said with a melancholy smile, “I believe they are up on the mountain.”

Dorothea wiped a tear from her eye as she replied, “They will meet Antonius there.  If only they could find Polykarp!  And yet I honestly say—­not merely to comfort you—­it is most probable that he has not met with any accident in the mountain gorges, but has gone to Alexandria to escape the memories that follow him here at every step—­Was not that the gate?”

She rose quickly and looked into the court, while Petrus, who had followed her, did the same, saying with a deep sigh, as he turned to Marthana—­who, while she offered meat and bread to Hermas was watching her parents—­” It was only the slave Anubis.”