Paulus clasped his hands before his face in silent despair, while his victim still lay in his lap.  He had closed his eyes, for he dared not look on the youth’s pale countenance, and still less dared he look up at the mountain; but the brazen voice from the height did not cease, and sounded louder and louder; half beside himself with excitement, in his inward ear he heard it still, “Thou shalt not kill!” and then again, “Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife!” a third time, “Thou shalt not commit adultery!” and at last a fourth, “Thou shalt have none other gods but me!”

He that sins against one of those laws is damned; and he—­he had broken them all, broken them while striving to tread the thorny path to a life of blessedness.

Suddenly and wildly he threw his arms up to heaven, and sighing deeply, gazed up at the sacred hill.

What was that?  On the topmost peak of Sinai whence the Pharanite sentinels were accustomed to watch the distance, a handkerchief was waving as a signal that the enemy were approaching.

He could not be mistaken, and as in the face of approaching danger he collected himself and recovered his powers of thought and deliberation, his ear distinctly caught the mighty floods of stirring sound that came over the mountain, from the brazen cymbals struck by the watchmen to warn the inhabitants of the oasis, and the anchorites.

Was Hermas returned?  Had the Blemmyes outstripped him?  From what quarter were the marauding hosts coming on?  Could he venture to remain here near his victim, or was it his duty to use his powerful arms in defence of his helpless companions?  In agonized doubt he looked down at the youth’s pallid features, and deep, sorrowful compassion filled his mind.

How promising was this young tree of humanity that his rough fist had broken off! and these brown curls had only yesterday been stroked by a mother’s hand.  His eyes filled with tears, and he bent as tenderly as a father might over the pale face, and pressed a gentle kiss on the bloodless lips of the senseless youth.  A thrill of joy shot through him, for Polykarp’s lips were indeed not cold, he moved his hand, and now—­the Lord be praised! he actually opened his eyes.

“And I am not a murderer!” A thousand voices seem to sing with joy in his heart, and then he thought to himself, “First I will carry him down to his parents in the oasis, and then go up to the brethren.”

But the brazen signals rang out with renewed power, and the stillness of the holy wilderness was broken here by the clatter of men’s voices, there by a blast of trumpets, and there again by stifled cries.  It was as if a charm had given life to the rocks and lent their voices; as if noise and clamor were rushing like wild torrents down every gorge and cleft of the mountainside.

“It is too late,” sighed the anchorite.  “If I only could—­if I only knew—­”