Perfectly reassured and not without curiosity he looked at the new-comer, and a smile curled his lips as he observed that the lean old man, exhausted by his long and hurried ride, could scarcely hold himself on his beast, and at the same time it struck him that this pitiable old man was the husband of the blooming and youthful Sirona.  Far from feeling any remorse for his intrusion into this man’s house, he yielded entirely to the audacious humor with which his aspect filled him, and when Phoebicius himself asked him as to whether he had not met on his way with a fair-haired woman and a limping greyhound, he replied, repressing his laughter with difficulty: 

“Aye, indeed!  I did see such a woman and her dog, but I do not think it was lame.”

“Where did you see her?” asked Phoebicius hastily.  Hermas colored, for he was obliged to tell an untruth, and it might be that he would do Sirona an injury by giving false information.  He therefore ventured to give no decided answer, but enquired, “Has the woman committed some crime that you are pursuing her?”

“A great one!” replied Talib, “she is my lord’s wife, and—­”

What she has done wrong concerns me alone,’ said Phoebicius, sharply interrupting his companion.  “I hope this fellow saw better than you who took the crying woman with a child, from Aila, for Sirona.  What is your name, boy?”

“Hermas,” answered the lad.  “And who are you, pray?”

The Gaul’s lips were parted for an angry reply, but he suppressed it and said, “I am the emperor’s centurion, and I ask you, what did the woman look like whom you saw, and where did you meet her?”

The soldier’s fierce looks, and his captain’s words showed Hermas that the fugitive woman had nothing good to expect if she were caught, and as he was not in the least inclined to assist her pursuers he hastily replied, giving the reins to his audacity, “I at any rate did not meet the person whom you seek; the woman I saw is certainly not this man’s wife, for she might very well be his granddaughter.  She had gold hair, and a rosy face, and the greyhound that followed her was called Iambe.”

“Where did you meet her?” shrieked the centurion.

“In the fishing-village at the foot of the mountain,” replied Hermas.  “She got into a boat, and away it went!”

“Towards the north?” asked the Gaul.

“I think so,” replied Hermas, “but I do not know, for I was in a hurry, and could not look after her.”

“Then we will try to take her in Klysma,” cried Phoebicius to the Amalekite.  “If only there were horses in this accursed desert!”

“It is four days’ journey,” said Talib considering.  “And beyond Elim there is no water before the Wells of Moses.  Certainly if we could get good dromedaries—­”

“And if,” interrupted Hermas, “it were not better that you, my lord centurion, should not go so far from the oasis.  For over there they say that the Blemmyes are gathering, and I myself am going across as a spy so soon as it is dark.”