The Alexandrian sprang over the wall, went up to Stephanus, lifted him from the shoulders of the panting youth and, taking him on his own, carried him towards the tower; but the old warrior refused to enter the place of refuge, and begged his friend to lay him down by the wall.  Paulus obeyed his wish and then went with Hermas to the top of the tower to spy the distance from thence.

As soon as he had quitted him, Stephanus turned to the anchorites who stood near him, saying, “These stones are loose, and though my strength is indeed small still it is great enough to send one of them over with a push.  If it comes to a battle my old soldier’s eyes, dim as they are now, may with the help of yours see many things that may be useful to you young ones.  Above all things, if the game is to be a hot one for the robbers, one must command here whom the others will obey.”

“It shall be you, father,” interrupted Salathiel the Syrian.  “You have served in Caesar’s army, and you proved your courage and knowledge of war in the last raid.  You shall command us.”

Stephanus sadly shook his head and replied, “My voice is become too weak and low since this wound in my breast and my long illness.  Not even those who stand nearest to me would understand me in the noise of battle.  Let Paulus be your captain, for he is strong, cautious and brave.”

Many of the anchorites had long looked upon the Alexandrian as their best stay; for many years he had enjoyed the respect of all and on a thousand occasions had given proof of his strength and presence of mind, but at this proposal they looked at each other in surprise, doubt and disapproval.

Stephanus saw what was passing in their minds.

“It is true he has erred gravely,” he said.  “And before God he is the least of the least among us; but in animal strength and indomitable courage he is superior to you all.  Which of you would be willing to take his place, if you reject his guidance.”

“Orion the Saite,” cried one of the anchorites, “is tall and strong.  If he would—­”

But Orion eagerly excused himself from assuming the dangerous office, and when Andreas and Joseph also refused with no less decision the leadership that was offered them, Stephanus said: 

“You see there is no choice left us but to be, the Alexandrian to command us here so long as the robbers threaten us, and no longer.  There he comes—­shall I ask him?”

A murmur of consent, though by no means of satisfaction, answered the old man, and Paulus, quite carried away by his eagerness to stake his life and blood for the protection of the weak, and fevered with a soldier’s ardor, accepted Stephanus’ commission as a matter of course, and set to work like a general to organize the helpless wearers of sheepskin.

Some he sent to the top of the tower to keep watch, others he charged with the transport of the stones; to a third party he entrusted the duty of hurling pieces of rock and blocks of stone down into the abyss in the moment of danger; he requested the weaker brethren to assemble themselves together, to pray for the others and to sing hymns of praise, and he concerted signs and passwords with all; he was now here, now there, and his energy and confidence infused themselves even into the faint-hearted.