After the funeral ceremony Hermas took an affectionate leave of Agapitus, Petrus, and Dorothea, and then returned to the Alexandrian, with whom he went to the cave where he had so long lived with his dead father.

There Paulus delivered to him his father’s letter to his uncle, and spoke to him more lovingly than he had ever done before.  At night they both lay down on their beds, but neither of them found rest or sleep.

From time to time Paulus murmured in a low voice, but in tones of keen anguish, “In vain—­all in vain—­” and again, “I seek, I seek—­but who can show me the way?”

They both rose before daybreak; Hermas went once more down to the well, knelt down near it, and felt as though he were bidding farewell to his father and Miriam.

Memories of every kind rose up in his soul, and so mighty is the glorifying power of love that the miserable, brown-skinned shepherdess Miriam seemed to him a thousand-fold more beautiful than that splendid woman who filled the soul of a great artist with delight.

Shortly after sunrise Paulus conducted him to the fishing-port, and to the Israelite friend who managed the business of his father’s house; he caused him to be bountifully supplied with gold and accompanied him to the ship laden with charcoal, that was to convey hire to Klysma.

The parting was very painful to him, and when Hermas saw his eyes full of tears and felt his hands tremble, he said, “Do not be troubled about me, Paulus; we shall meet again, and I will never forget you and my father.”

“And your mother,” added the anchorite.  “I shall miss you sorely, but trouble is the very thing I look for.  He who succeeds in making the sorrows of the whole world his own—­he whose soul is touched by a sorrow at every breath he draws—­he indeed must long for the call of the Redeemer.”

Hermas fell weeping on his neck and started to feel how burning the anchorite’s lips were as he pressed them to his forehead.

At last the sailors drew in the ropes; Paulus turned once more to the youth.  “You are going your own way now,” he said.  “Do not forget the Holy Mountain, and hear this:  Of all sins three are most deadly:  To serve false gods, to covet your neighbor’s wife, and to raise your hands to kill; keep yourself from them.  And of all virtues two are the least conspicuous, and at the same time the greatest:  Truthfulness and humility; practise these.  Of all consolations these two are the best:  The consciousness of wishing the right however much we may err and stumble through human weakness, and prayer.”

Once more he embraced the departing youth, then he went across the sand of the shore back to the mountain without looking round.

Hermas looked after him for a long time greatly distressed, for his strong friend tottered like a drunken man, and often pressed his hand to his head which was no doubt as burning as his lips.

The young warrior never again saw the Holy Mountain or Paulus, but after he himself had won fame and distinction in the army he met again with Petrus’ son, Polykarp, whom the emperor had sent for to Byzantium with great honor, and in whose house the Gaulish woman Sirona presided as a true and loving wife and mother.