“He shall have them—­as much as he wants!” cried Paula.  But Hiram entreated her, more by looks and vague cries than by articulate words, not to hope for too much.  Dusare the Nabathaean—­Perpetua now took up the tale—­had heard of a recluse, living at Raithu on the Red Sea, who had been a great warrior, by birth a Greek, and who for two years had been leading a life of penance in great seclusion among the pious brethren on the sacred Mount of Sinai.  The messenger had not been able to learn what his name in the world had been, but among the hermits he was known as Paulus.”

“Paulus!” interrupted the girl with panting breath.  “A name that must remind him of my mother and of me, yes, of me!  And he, the hero of Damascus, who was called Thomas in the world, believing that I was dead, has no doubt dedicated himself to the service of God and of Christ, and has taken the name of Paulus, as Saul, the other man of Damascus did after his con version,—­exactly like him!  Oh!  Betta, Hiram, you will see:  it is he, it must be!  How can you doubt it?”

The Syrian shook his head doubtfully and gave vent to a long-drawn whistle, and Perpetua clasped her hands exclaiming distressfully:  “Did I not say so?  She takes the fire lighted by shepherds at night to warm their hands for the rising sun—­the rattle of chariots for the thunders of the Almighty!—­Why, how many thousands have called themselves Paulus!  By all the Saints, child, I beseech you keep quiet, and do not try to weave a holiday-robe out of airy mist!  Be prepared for the worst; then you are armed against failure and preserve your right to hope!  Tell her, tell her, Hiram, what else the messenger said; it is nothing positive; everything is as uncertain as dust in the breeze.”

The freedman then explained that this Nabathaean was a trustworthy man, far better skilled in such errands than himself, for he understood both Syriac and Egyptian, Greek and Aramaic; and nevertheless he had failed to find out anything more about this hermit Paulus at Tor, where the monks of the monastery of the Transfiguration had a colony.  Subsequently, however, on the sea voyage to Holzum, he had been informed by some monks that there was a second Sinai.  The monastery there—­but here Perpetua again was the speaker, for the hapless stammerer’s brow was beaded with sweat—­the monastery at the foot of the peaked, heaven-kissing mountain, had been closed in consequence of the heresies of its inhabitants; but in the gorges of these great heights there were still many recluses, some in a small Coenobium, some in Lauras and separate caves, and among these perchance Paulus might be found.  This clue seemed a good one and she and Hiram had already made up their minds to follow it up; but the warrior monk was very possibly a stranger, and they had thought it would be cruel to expose her to so keen a disappointment.

Here Paula interrupted her, crying in joyful excitement: