He thought he was returning from a noisy banquet in the palace of the Caesars.  His slaves had taken the garlands of roses and poplar leaves from his brow and breast, and robed him in his night-dress; now, with a silver lamp in his hand, he was approaching his bedroom, and he smiled, for his young wife was awaiting him, the mother of his Hermas.  She was fair and he loved her well, and he had brought home witty sayings to repeat to her from the table of the emperor.  He, if any one, had a right to smile.  Now he was in the ante-room, in which two slave-women were accustomed to keep watch; he found only one, and she was sleeping and breathing deeply; he still smiled as he threw the light upon her face—­how stupid she looked with her mouth open!  An alabaster lamp shed a dim light in the bed-room, softly and still smiling he went up to Glycera’s ivory couch, and held up his lamp, and stared at the empty and undisturbed bed—­and the smile faded from his lips.  The smile of that evening came back to him no more through all the long years, for Glycera had betrayed him, and left him—­him and her child.  All this had happened twenty years since, and to-day all that he had then felt had returned to him, and he saw his wife’s empty couch with his “mind’s eye,” as plainly as he had then seen it, and he felt as lonely and as miserable as in that night.  But now a shadow appeared before the opening of the cave, and he breathed a deep sigh as he felt himself released from the hideous vision, for he had recognized Paulus, who came up and knelt down beside him.

“Water, water!” Stephanus implored in a low voice, and Paulus, who was cut to the heart by the moaning of the old man, which he had not heard till he entered the cave, seized the pitcher.  He looked into it, and, finding it quite dry, he rushed down to the spring as if he were running for a wager, filled it to the brim and brought it to the lips of the sick man, who gulped the grateful drink down with deep draughts, and at last exclaimed with a sigh of relief; “That is better; why were you so long away?  I was so thirsty!” Paulus who had fallen again on his knees by the old man, pressed his brow against the couch, and made no reply.  Stephanus gazed in astonishment at his companion, but perceiving that he was weeping passionately he asked no further questions.  Perfect stillness reigned in the cave for about an hour; at last Paulus raised his face, and said, “Forgive me Stephanus.  I forgot your necessity in prayer and scourging, in order to recover the peace of mind I had trifled away—­no heathen would have done such a thing!” The sick man stroked his friend’s arm affectionately; but Paulus murmured, “Egoism, miserable egoism guides and governs us.  Which of us ever thinks of the needs of others?  And we—­we who profess to walk in the way of the Lamb!”

He sighed deeply, and leaned his head on the sick man’s breast, who lovingly stroked his rough hair, and it was thus that the senator found him, when he entered the cave with Hermas.