“And I loved, oh! how I loved Glycera!” groaned the old man.  “She lived like a princess and I fulfilled her every wish before it was uttered.  She herself has said a hundred times that I was too kind and too yielding, and that there was nothing left for her to wish.  Then the Gaul came to our house, a man as acrid as sour wine, but with a fluent tongue and sparkling eyes.  How he entangled Glycera I know not, nor do I want to know; he shall atone for it in hell.  For the poor lost woman I pray day and night.  A spell was on her, and she left her heart behind in my house, for her child was there and she loved Hermas so fondly; indeed she was deeply devoted to me.  Think what the spell must be that can annihilate a mother’s love!  Wretch, hapless wretch that I am!  Did you ever love a woman, Paulus?”

“You ought to be asleep,” said Paulus in a warning tone.  “Who ever lived nearly half a century without feeling love!  Now I will not speak another word, and you must take this drink that Petrus has sent for you.”  The senator’s medicine was potent, for the sick man fell asleep and did not wake till broad day lighted up the cave.

Paulus was still sitting on his bed, and after they had prayed together, he gave him the jar which Hermas had filled with fresh water before going down to the oasis.

“I feel quite strong,” said the old man.  “The medicine is good; I have slept well and dreamed sweetly; but you look pale and as if you had not slept.”

“I,” said Paulus, “I lay down there on the bed.  Now let me go out in the air for a moment.”  With these words he went out of the cave.

As soon as he was out of sight of Stephanus he drew a deep breath, stretched his limbs, and rubbed his burning eyes; he felt as if there was sand gathered under their lids, for he had forbidden them to close for three days and nights.  At the same time he was consumed by a violent thirst, for neither food nor drink had touched his lips for the same length of time.  His hands were beginning to tremble, but the weakness and pain that he experienced filled him with silent joy, and he would willingly have retired into his cave and have indulged, not for the first time, in the ecstatic pain of hanging on the cross, and bleeding from five wounds, in imitation of the Saviour.

But Stephanus was calling him, and without hesitation he returned to him and replied to his questions; indeed it was easier to him to speak than to listen, for in his ears there was a roaring, moaning, singing, and piping, and he felt as if drunk with strong wine.

“If only Hermas does not forget to thank the Gaul!” exclaimed Stephanus.

“Thank—­aye, we should always be thankful!” replied his companion, closing his eyes.

“I dreamed of Glycera,” the old man began again.  You said yesterday that love had stirred your heart too, and yet you never were married.  You are silent?  Answer me something.”

“I—­who called me?” murmured Paulus, staring at the questioner with a fixed gaze.