“Hallo! hallo! holy Paulus!” a shrill woman’s voice which seemed to come from high up in the air rang out joyful and triumphant, interrupting the irresolute man’s meditations, “Hermas is alive!  Hermas is here again!  Only look up at the heights.  There flies the standard, for he has warned the sentinels.  The Blemmyes are coming on, and he sent me to seek you.  You must come to the strong tower on the western side of the ravine.  Make haste! come at once!  Do you hear?  He told me to tell you.  But the man in your lap—­it is—­yes, it is—­”

“It is your master’s son Polykarp,” Paulus called back to her.  “He is hurt unto death; hurry down to the oasis, and tell the senator, tell Dame Dorothea—­”

“I have something else to do now,” interrupted the shepherdess.  “Hermas has sent me to warn Gelasius, Psoes, and Dulas, and if I went down into the oasis they would lock me up, and not let me come up the mountain again.  What has happened to the poor fellow?  But it is all the same:  there is something else for you to do besides grieving over a hole in Polykarp’s head.  Go up to the tower, I tell you, and let him lie—­or carry him up with you into your new den, and hand him over to your sweetheart to nurse.”

“Demon!” exclaimed Paulus, taking up a stone.

“Let him he!” repeated Miriam.  “I will betray her hiding-place to Phoebicius, if you do not do as Dermas orders you.  Now I am off to call the others, and we shall meet again at the tower.  And you had better not linger too long with your fair companion—­pious Paulus—­saintly Paulus!”

And laughing loudly, she sprang away from rock to rock as if borne up by the air.

The Alexandrian looked wrathfully after her; but her advice did not seem to be bad, he lifted the wounded man on his shoulders, and hastily carried him up towards his cave; but before he could reach it he heard steps, and a loud agonized scream, and in a few seconds Sirona was by his side, crying in passionate grief, “It is he, it is he-and oh, to see him thus!—­But he must live, for if he were dead your God of Love would be inexorable, pitiless, hard, cruel—­it would be—­”

She could say no more, for tears choked her voice, and Paulus, without listening to her lamentation, passed quickly on in front of her, entered the cave and laid the unconscious man down on the couch, saying gravely but kindly, as Sirona threw herself on her knees and pressed the young man’s powerless hand to her lips, “If indeed you truly love him, cease crying and lamenting.  He yesterday got a severe wound on his head; I have washed it, now do you bind it up with care, and keep it constantly cool with fresh water.  You know your way to the spring; when he recovers his senses rub his feet, and give him some bread and a few drops of the wine which you will find in the little cellar hard by; there is some oil there too, which you will need for a light.

“I must go up to the brethren, and if I do not return to-morrow, give the poor lad over to his mother to nurse.  Only tell her this, that I, Paulus, gave him this wound in a moment of rage, and to forgive me if she can, she and Petrus.  And you too forgive me that in which I have sinned against you, and if I should fall in the battle which awaits us, pray that the Lord may not be too hard upon me in the day of judgment, for my sins are great and many.”