“I have called upon Him,” sighed Hermas, “but in vain; I see women with ruddy lips and flowing Hair, and white marble figures with rounded limbs and flashing eyes beckon to me again and again.”

“Then take the scourge,” ordered the father, “and so win peace.”

Hermas once more obediently rose, and went out into the air with the scourge; the narrow limits of the cave did not admit of his swinging it with all the strength of his arms.

Very soon Stephanus heard the whistle of the leathern thongs through the stillness of the night, their hard blows on the springy muscles of the man and his son’s painful groaning.

At each blow the old man shrank as if it had fallen on himself.  At last he cried as loud as he was able “Enough—­that is enough.”

Hermas came back into the cave, his father called him to his couch, and desired him to join with him in prayer.

After the ‘Amen’ he stroked the lad’s abundant hair and said, “Since you went to Alexandria, you have been quite another being.  I would I had withstood bishop Agapitus, and forbidden you the journey.  Soon, I know, my Saviour will call me to himself, and no one will keep you here; then the tempter will come to you, and all the splendors of the great city, which after all only shine like rotten wood, like shining snakes and poisonous purple-berries—­”

“I do not care for them,” interrupted Hermas, “the noisy place bewildered and frightened me.  Never, never will I tread the spot again.”

“So you have always said,” replied Stephanus, “and yet the journey quite altered you.  How often before that I used to think when I heard you laugh that the sound must surely please our Father in Heaven.  And now?  You used to be like a singing bird, and now you go about silent, you look sour and morose, and evil thoughts trouble your sleep.”

“That is my loss,” answered Hermas.  “Pray let go of my hand; the night will soon be past, and you have the whole live-long day to lecture me in.”  Stephanus sighed, and Hermas returned to his couch.

Sleep avoided them both, and each knew that the other was awake, and would willingly have spoken to him, but dissatisfaction and defiance closed the son’s lips, and the father was silent because he could not find exactly the heart-searching words that he was seeking.

At last it was morning, a twilight glimmer struck through the opening of the cave, and it grew lighter and lighter in the gloomy vault; the boy awoke and rose yawning.  When he saw his father lying with his eyes open, he asked indifferently, “Shall I stay here or go to morning worship?”

“Let us pray here together,” begged the father.  “Who knows how long it may yet be granted to us to do so?  I am not far from the day that no evening ever closes.  Kneel down here, and let me kiss the image of the Crucified.”

Hermas did as his father desired him, and as they were ending their song of praise, a third voice joined in the ‘Amen.’