“In such weather as this,” said the anchorite, “it is better to be within than without, it seems to me, for it is not particularly pleasant out here, so far as I have found.”

“But it has been frightful here inside the cave too,” Sirona answered, “I have been so dreadfully frightened, I was so lonely in the horrible darkness.  If only I had had my little dog with me, it would at least have been a living being.”

“I have made haste as well as I could,” interrupted Paulus.  “The paths are not so smooth here as the Kanopic road in Alexandria, and as I have not three necks like Cerberus, who lies at the feet of Serapis, it would have been wiser of me to return to you a little more leisurely.  The storm-bird has swallowed up all the stars as if they were flies, and the poor old mountain is so grieved at it, that streams of tears are everywhere flowing over his stony cheeks.  It is wet even here.  Now go back into the cave, and let me lay this that I have got here for you in my arms, in the dry passage.  I bring you good news; to-morrow evening, when it is growing dusk, we start.  I have found out a vessel which will convey us to Klysma, and from thence I myself will conduct you to Alexandria.  In the sheepskin here you will find the dress and veil of an Amalekite woman, and if your traces are to be kept hidden from Phoebicius, you must accommodate yourself to this disguise; for if the people down there were to see you as I saw you to-day, they would think that Aphrodite herself had risen from the sea, and the report of the fair-haired beauty that had appeared among them would soon spread even to the oasis.”

“But it seems to me that I am well hidden here,” replied Sirona.  “I am afraid of a sea-voyage, and even if we succeeded in reaching Alexandria without impediment, still I do not know—­”

“It shall be my business to provide for you there.”  Paulus interrupted with a decision that was almost boastful, and that somewhat disturbed Sirona.  “You know the fable of the ass in the lion’s skin, but there are lions who wear the skin of an ass on their shoulders—­or of a sheep, it comes to the same thing.  Yesterday you were speaking of the splendid palaces of the citizens, and lauding the happiness of their owners.  You shall dwell in one of those marble houses, and rule it as its mistress, and it shall be my care to procure you slaves, and litter-bearers, and a carriage with four mules.  Do not doubt my word, for I am promising nothing that I cannot perform.  The rain is ceasing, and I will try to light a fire.  You want nothing more to eat?  Well then, I will wish you good-night.  The rest will all do to-morrow.”

Sirona had listened in astonishment to the anchorite’s promises.

How often had she envied those who possessed all that her strange protector now promised her—­and now it had not the smallest charm for her; and, fully determined in any case not to follow Paulus, whom she began to distrust, she replied, as she coldly returned his greeting, “There are many hours yet before tomorrow evening in which we can discuss everything.”