CHAPTER XXI.
The fight was ended; the sun as it went to its rest behind the HolyMountain had lighted many corpses of Blemmyes, and now the stars shonedown on the oasis from the clear sky.
Hymns of praise sounded out of the church, and near it, under the hillagainst which it was built, torches were blazing and threw their ruddylight on a row of biers, on which under green palm-branches lay theheroes who had fallen in the battle against the Blemmyes. Now thehymn ceased, the gates of the house of God opened and Agapitus led hisfollowers towards the dead. The congregation gathered in a half-circleround their peaceful brethren, and heard the blessing that their pastorpronounced over the noble victims who had shed their blood in fightingthe heathen. When it was ended those who in life had been their nearestand dearest went up to the dead, and many tears fell into the sand fromthe eye of a mother or a wife, many a sigh went up to heaven from afather's breast. Next to the bier, on which old Stephanus was resting,stood another and a smaller one, and between the two Hermas knelt andwept. He raised his face, for a deep and kindly voice spoke his name.
"Petrus," said the lad, clasping the hand that the senator held outto him, "I felt forced and driven out into the world, and away from myfather--and now he is gone for ever how gladly I would have been kept byhim."
"He died a noble death, in battle for those he loved," said the senatorconsolingly,
"Paulus was near him when he fell," replied Hermas. "My father fellfrom the wall while defending the tower; but look here this girl--poorchild--who used to keep your goats, died like a heroine. Poor, wildMiriam, how kind I would be to you if only you were alive now!"
Hermas as he spoke stroked the arm of the shepherdess, pressed a kisson her small, cold hand, and softly folded it with the other across herbosom.
"How did the girl get into the battle with the men?" asked Petrus. "Butyou can tell me that in my own house. Come and be our guest as long asit pleases you, and until you go forth into the world; thanks are due toyou from us all."
Hermas blushed and modestly declined the praises which were showeredon him on all sides as the savior of the oasis. When the wailing womenappeared he knelt once more at the head of his father's bier, cast alast loving look at Miriam's peaceful face, and then followed his host.
The man and boy crossed the court together. Hermas involuntarily glancedup at the window where more than once he had seen Sirona, and said, ashe pointed to the centurion's house, "He too fell."
Petrus nodded and opened the door of his house. In the hall, which waslighted up, Dorothea came hastily to meet him, asking, "No news yet ofPolykarp?"
Her husband shook his head, and she added, "How indeed is it possible?He will write at the soonest from Klysma or perhaps even fromAlexandria."
"That is just what I think," replied Petrus, looking down to the ground.Then he turned to Hermas and introduced him to his wife.
Dorothea received the young man with warm sympathy; she had heardthat his father had fallen in the fight, and how nobly he too haddistinguished himself. Supper was ready, and Hermas was invited to shareit. The mistress gave her daughter a sign to make preparations fortheir guest, but Petrus detained Marthana, and said, "Hermas may fillAntonius' place; he has still something to do with some of the workmen.Where are Jethro and the house-slaves?"
"They have already eaten," said Dorothea.
The husband and wife looked at each other, and Petrus said with amelancholy smile, "I believe they are up on the mountain."
Dorothea wiped a tear from her eye as she replied, "They will meetAntonius there. If only they could find Polykarp! And yet I honestlysay--not merely to comfort you--it is most probable that he has not metwith any accident in the mountain gorges, but has gone to Alexandria toescape the memories that follow him here at every step--Was not that thegate?"
She rose quickly and looked into the court, while Petrus, who hadfollowed her, did the same, saying with a deep sigh, as he turned toMarthana--who, while she offered meat and bread to Hermas was watchingher parents--"It was only the slave Anubis."
For some time a painful silence reigned round the large table, to-day sosparely furnished with guests.
At last Petrus turned to his guest and said, "You were to tell me howthe shepherdess Miriam lost her life in the struggle. She had run awayfrom our house--"
"Up the mountain," added Hermas. "She supplied my poor father with waterlike a daughter."
"You see, mother," interrupted Marthana, "she was not bad-hearted--Ialways said so."
"This morning," continued Hermas, nodding in sad assent to the maiden,"she followed my father to the castle, and immediately after his fall,Paulus told me, she rushed away from it, but only to seek me and tobring me the sad news. We had known each other a long time, for yearsshe had watered her goats at our well, and while I was still quite a boyand she a little girl, she would listen for hours when I played on mywillow pipe the songs which Paulus had taught me. As long as I playedshe was perfectly quiet, and when I ceased she wanted to hear more andstill more, until I had too much of it and went away. Then she wouldgrow angry, and if I would not do her will she would scold me with badwords. But she always came again, and as I had no other companionand she was the only creature who cared to listen to me, I was verywell-content that she should prefer our well to all the others. Then wegrew order and I began to be afraid of her, for she would talk in such agodless way--and she even died a heathen. Paulus, who once overheard us,warned me against her, and as I had long thrown away the pipe and huntedbeasts with my bow and arrow whenever my father would let me, I was withher for shorter intervals when I went to the well to draw water, and webecame more and more strangers; indeed, I could be quite hard to her.Only once after I came back from the capital something happened--butthat I need not tell you. The poor child was so unhappy at being a slaveand no doubt had first seen the light in a free-house.
"She was fond of me, more than a sister is of a brother--and when myfather was dead she felt that I ought not to learn the news from any onebut herself. She had seen which way I had gone with the Pharanites andfollowed me up, and she soon found me, for she had the eyes of a gazelleand the ears of a startled bird. It was not this time difficult to findme, for when she sought me we were fighting with the Blemmyes in thegreen hollow that leads from the mountain to the sea. They roared withfury like wild beasts, for before we could get to the sea the fishermenin the little town below had discovered their boats, which they hadhidden under sand and stones, and had carried them off to their harbor.The boy from Raithu who accompanied me, had by my orders kept them insight, and had led the fishermen to the hiding-place. The watchmen whomthey had left with the boats had fled, and had reached their companionswho were fighting round the castle; and at least two hundred of them hadbeen sent back to the shore to recover possession of the boats and topunish the fishermen. This troop met us in the green valley, and therewe fell to fighting.
"The Blemmyes outnumbered us; they soon surrounded us before and behind,on the right side and on the left, for they jumped and climbed from rockto rock like mountain goats and then shot down their reed-arrows fromabove. Three or four touched me, and one pierced my hair and remainedhanging in it with the feather at the end of the shaft.
"How the battle went elsewhere I cannot tell you, for the blood mountedto my head, and I was only conscious that I myself snorted and shoutedlike a madman and wrestled with the heathen now here and now there, andmore than once lifted my axe to cleave a skull. At the same time I saw apart of our men turn to fly, and I called them back with furious words;then they turned round and followed me again.
"Once, in the midst of the struggle, I saw Miriam too, clinging paleand trembling to a rock and looking on at the fight. I shouted to her toleave the spot, and go back to my father, but she stood still and shookher head with a gesture--a gesture so full of pity and anguish--I shallnever forget it. With hands and eyes she signed to me that my fatherwas dead, and I understood; at least I understood that some dreadfulmisfortune had
happened. I had no time for reflection, for before Icould gain any certain information by word of mouth, a captain of theheathen had seized me, and we came to a life and death struggle beforeMiriam's very eyes. My opponent was strong, but I showed the girl--whohad often taunted me for being a weakling because I obeyed my father ineverything--that I need yield to no one. I could not have borne to bevanquished before her and I flung the heathen to the ground and slew himwith my axe. I was only vaguely conscious of her presence, for duringmy severe struggle I could see nothing but my adversary. But suddenly Iheard a loud scream, and Miriam sank bleeding close before me. While Iwas kneeling over his comrade one of the Blemmyes had crept up tome, and had flung his lance at me from a few paces off. ButMiriam--Miriam--"
"She saved you at the cost of her own life," said Petrus completing thelad's sentence, for at the recollection of the occurrence his voice hadfailed and his eyes overflowed with tears.
Hermas nodded assent, and then added softly: "She threw up her armsand called my name as the spear struck her. The eldest son of Obedianuspunished the heathen that had done it, and I supported her as she felldying and took her curly head on my knees and spoke her name; sheopened her eyes once more, and spoke mine softly and with indescribabletenderness. I had never thought that wild Miriam could speak so sweetly,I was overcome with terrible grief, and kissed her eyes and her lips.She looked at me once more with a long, wide-open, blissful gaze, andthen she was dead."
"She was a heathen," said Dorothea, drying her eyes, "but for such adeath the Lord will forgive her much."
"I loved her dearly," said Marthana, "and will lay my sweetest flowerson her grave. May I cut some sprays from your blooming myrtle for awreath?"
"To-morrow, to-morrow, my child," replied Dorothea. "Now go to rest; itis already very late."
"Only let me stay till Antonius and Jethro come back," begged the girl.
"I would willingly help you to find your son," said Hermas, "and if youwish I will go to Raithu and Klysma, and enquire among the fishermen.Had the centurion--" and as he spoke the young soldier looked down insome embarrassment, "had the centurion found his fugitive wife of whomhe was in pursuit with Talib, the Amalekite, before he died?"
"Sirona has not yet reappeared," replied Petrus, "and perhaps--but justnow you mentioned the name of Paulus, who was so dear to you andyour father. Do you know that it was he who so shamelessly ruined thedomestic peace of the centurion?"
"Paulus!" cried Hermas. "How can you believe it?"
"Phoebicius found his sheepskin in his wife's room," replied Petrusgravely. "And the impudent Alexandrian recognized it as his own beforeus all and allowed the Gaul to punish him. He committed the disgracefuldeed the very evening that you were sent off to gain intelligence."
"And Phoebicius flogged him?" cried Hermas beside himself. "And the poorfellow bore this disgrace and your blame, and all--all for my sake. NowI understand what he meant! I met him after the battle and he told methat my father was dead. When he parted from me, he said he was of allsinners the greatest, and that I should hear it said down in the oasis.But I know better; he is great-hearted and good, and I will not bearthat he should be disgraced and slandered for my sake." Hermas hadsprung up with these words, and as he met the astonished gaze of hishosts, he tried to collect himself, and said:
"Paulus never even saw Sirona, and I repeat it, if there is a man whomay boast of being good and pure and quite without sin, it is he. Forme, and to save me from punishment and my father from sorrow, he owneda sin that he never committed. Such a deed is just like him--thebrave--faithful friend! But such shameful suspicion and disgrace shallnot weigh upon him a moment longer!"
"You are speaking to an older man," said Petrus angrily interrupting theyouth's vehement speech. "Your friend acknowledged with his own lips--"
"Then he told a lie out of pure goodness," Hermas insisted. "Thesheepskin that the Gaul found was mine. I had gone to Sirona, while herhusband was sacrificing to Mithras, to fetch some wine for my father,and she allowed me to try on the centurion's armor; when he unexpectedlyreturned I leaped out into the street and forgot that lucklesssheepskin. Paulus met me as I fled, and said he would set it all right,and sent me away--to take my place and save my father a great trouble.Look at me as severely as you will, Dorothea, but it was only inthoughtless folly that I slipped into the Gaul's house that evening,and by the memory of my father--of whom heaven has this day bereft me--Iswear that Sirona only amused herself with me as with a boy, a child,and even refused to let me kiss her beautiful golden hair. As surely asI hope to become a warrior, and as surely as my father's spirit hearswhat I say, the guilt that Paulus took upon himself was never committedat all, and when you condemned Sirona you did an injustice, for shenever broke her faith to her husband for me, nor still less for Paulus."
Petrus and Dorothea exchanged a meaning glance, and Dorothea said:
"Why have we to learn all this from the lips of a stranger? It soundsvery extraordinary, and yet how simple! Aye, husband, it would havebecome us better to guess something of this than to doubt Sirona. Fromthe first it certainly seemed to me impossible that that handsome woman,for whom quite different people had troubled themselves should err forthis queer beggar--"
"What cruel injustice has fallen on the poor man!" cried Petrus. "If hehad boasted of some noble deed, we should indeed have been less ready togive him credence."
"We are suffering heavy punishment," sighed Dorothea, "and my heart isbleeding. Why did you not come to us, Hermas, if you wanted wine? Howmuch suffering would have been spared if you had!"
The lad looked down, and was silent; but soon he recollected himself,and said eagerly:
"Let me go and seek the hapless Paulus; I return you thanks for yourkindness but I cannot bear to stay here any longer. I must go back tothe mountain."
The senator and his wife did not detain him, and when the court-yardgate had closed upon him a great stillness reigned in Petrus'sitting-room. Dorothea leaned far back in her seat and sat looking inher lap while the tears rolled over her cheeks; Marthana held her handand stroked it, and the senator stepped to the window and sighed deeplyas he looked down into the dark court. Sorrow lay on all their heartslike a heavy leaden burden. All was still in the spacious room, only nowand then a loud, long-drawn cry of the wailing women rang through thequiet night and reached them through the open window; it was a heavyhour, rich in vain, but silent self-accusation, in anxiety, and shortprayers; poor in hope or consolation.
Presently Petrus heaved a deep sigh, and Dorothea rose to go up to himand to say to him some sincere word of affection; but just then thedogs in the yard barked, and the agonized father said softly--in deepdejection, and prepared for the worst:
"Most likely it is they."
The deaconess pressed his hand in hers, but drew back when a light tapwas heard at the court-yard gate. "It is not Jethro and Antonius." saidPetrus, "they have a key."
Marthana had gone up to him, and she clung to him as he leaned far outof the window and called to whoever it was that had tapped:
"Who is that knocking?"
The dogs barked so loud that neither the senator nor the women were ableto hear the answer which seemed to be returned.
"Listen to Argus," said Dorothea, "he never howls like that, but whenyou come home or one of us, or when he is pleased."
Petrus laid his finger on his lips and sounded a clear, shrill whistle,and as the dogs, obedient to this signal, were silent, he once morecalled out, "Whoever you may be, say plainly who you are, that I mayopen the gate."
They were kept waiting some few minutes for the answer, and the senatorwas on the point of repeating his enquiry, when a gentle voice timidlycame from the gate to the window, saying, "It is I, Petrus, the fugitiveSirona." Hardly had the words tremulously pierced the silence, whenMarthana broke from her father, whose hand was resting on her shoulder,and flew out of the door, down the steps and out to the gate.
"Sirona; poor, dear Sirona," cried the girl as she pus
hed back the bolt;as soon as she had opened the door and Sirona had entered the court, shethrew herself on her neck, and kissed and stroked her as if she were herlong lost sister found again; then, without allowing her to speak, sheseized her hand and drew her--in spite of the slight resistance sheoffered--with many affectionate exclamations up the steps and into thesitting-room. Petrus and Dorothea met her on the threshold, and thelatter pressed her to her heart, kissed her forehead and said, "Poorwoman; we know now that we have done you an injustice, and will try tomake it good." The senator too went up to her, took her hand and addedhis greetings to those of his wife, for he knew not whether she had asyet heard of her husband's end.
Sirona could not find a word in reply. She had expected to be expelledas a castaway when she came down the mountain, losing her way in thedarkness. Her sandals were cut by the sharp rocks, and hung in strips toher bleeding feet, her beautiful hair was tumbled by the night-wind, andher white robe looked like a ragged beggar's garment, for she had tornit to make bandages for Polykarp's wound.
Some hours had already passed since she had left her patient--her heartfull of dread for him and of anxiety as to the hard reception she mightmeet with from his parents.
How her hand shook with fear of Petrus and Dorothea as she raised thebrazen knocker of the senator's door, and now--a father, a mother, asister opened their arms to her, and an affectionate home smiled uponher. Her heart and soul overflowed with boundless emotion and unlimitedthankfulness, and weeping loudly, she pressed her clasped hands to herbreast.
But she spared only a few moments for the enjoyment of these feelings ofdelight, for there was no happiness for her without Polykarp, and itwas for his sake that she had undertaken this perilous night-journey.Marthana had tenderly approached her, but she gently put her aside,saying, "Not just now, dear girl. I have already wasted an hour, forI lost my way in the ravines. Get ready Petrus to come back to themountain with me at once, for--but do not be startled Dorothea, Paulussays that the worst danger is over, and if Polykarp--"
"For God's sake, do you know where he is?" cried Dorothea, and hercheeks crimsoned while Petrus turned pale, and, interrupting her, askedin breathless anxiety, "Where is Polykarp, and what has happened tohim?"
"Prepare yourself to hear bad news," said Sirona, looking at the pairwith mournful anxiety as if to crave their pardon for the evil tidingsshe was obliged to bring. "Polykarp had a fall on a sharp stone and sowounded his head. Paulus brought him to me this morning before he setout against the Blemmyes, that I might nurse him. I have incessantlycooled his wound, and towards mid-day he opened his eyes and knew meagain, and said you would be anxious about him. After sundown he went tosleep, but he is not wholly free from fever, and as soon as Pauluscame in I set out to quiet your anxiety and to entreat you to give me acooling potion, that I may return to him with it at once." The deepestsorrow sounded in Sirona's accents as she told her story, and tearshad started to her eyes as she related to the parents what had befallentheir son. Petrus and Dorothea listened as to a singer, who, dressedindeed in robes of mourning, nevertheless sings a lay of return and hopeto a harp wreathed with flowers.
"Quick, quick, Marthana," cried Dorothea eagerly and with sparklingeyes, before Sirona had ended. "Quick, the basket with the bandages. Iwill mix the fever-draught myself." Petrus went up to the Gaulish woman.
"It is really no worse than you represent?" he asked in a low voice. "Heis alive? and Paulus--"
"Paulus says," interrupted Sirona, "that with good nursing the sick manwill be well in a few weeks."
"And you can lead me to him?"
"Oh, alas! alas!" Sirona cried, striking her hand against her forehead."I shall never succeed in finding my way back, for I noticed noway-marks! But stay--Before us a penitent from Memphis, who has beendead a few weeks--"
"Old Serapion?" asked Petrus.
"That was his name," exclaimed Sirona. "Do you know his cave?"
"How should I?" replied Petrus. "But perhaps Agapitus--"
"The spring where I got the water to cool Polykarp's wound, Paulus callsthe partridge's-spring."
"The partridge's-spring," repeated the senator, "I know that." With adeep sigh he took his staff, and called to Dorothea, "Do you prepare thedraught, the bandages, torches, and your good litter, while I knock atour neighbor Magadon's door, and ask him to lend us slaves."
"Let me go with you," said Marthana. "No, no; you stay here with yourmother."
"And do you think that I can wait here?" asked Dorothea. "I am goingwith you."
"There is much here for you to do," replied Petrus evasively, "and wemust climb the hill quickly."
"I should certainly delay you," sighed the mother, "but take the girlwith you; she has a light and lucky hand."
"If you think it best," said the senator, and he left the room.
While the mother and daughter prepared everything for thenight-expedition, and came and went, they found time to put manyquestions and say many affectionate words to Sirona. Marthana, evenwithout interrupting her work, set food and drink for the weary woman onthe table by which she had sunk on a seat; but she hardly moistened herlips.
When the young girl showed her the basket that she had filled withmedicine and linen bandages, with wine and pure water, Sirona said, "Nowlend me a pair of your strongest sandals, for mine are all torn, and Icannot follow the men without shoes, for the stones are sharp, and cutinto the flesh."
Marthana now perceived for the first time the blood on her friend'sfeet, she quickly took the lamp from the table and placed it on thepavement, exclaiming, as she knelt down in front of Sirona and took herslender white feet in her hand to look at the wounds on the soles, "Goodheavens! here are three deep cuts!"
In a moment she had a basin at hand, and was carefully bathing thewounds in Sirona's feet; while she was wrapping the injured foot instrips of linen Dorothea came up to them.
"I would," she said, "that Polykarp were only here now, this roll wouldsuffice to bind you both." A faint flush overspread Sirona's cheeks,but Dorothea was suddenly conscious of what she had said, and Marthanagently pressed her friend's hand.
When the bandage was securely fixed, Sirona attempted to walk, butshe succeeded so badly that Petrus, who now came back with his friendMagadon and his sons, and several slaves, found it necessary to strictlyforbid her to accompany them. He felt sure of finding his son withouther, for one of Magadon's people had often carried bread and oil to oldSerapion and knew his cave.
Before the senator and his daughter left the room he whispered a fewwords to his wife, and together they went up to Sirona.
"Do you know," he asked, "what has happened to your husband?"
Sirona nodded. "I heard it from Paulus," she answered. "Now I am quitealone in the world."
"Not so," replied Petrus. "You will find shelter and love under our roofas if it were your father's, so long as it suits you to stay with us.You need not thank us--we are deeply in your debt. Farewell till we meetagain wife. I would Polykarp were safe here, and that you had seen hiswound. Come, Marthana, the minutes are precious."
When Dorothea and Sirona were alone, the deaconess said, "Now I will goand make up a bed for you, for you must be very tired."
"No, no!" begged Sirona. "I will wait and watch with you, for Icertainly could not sleep till I know how it is with him." She spoke sowarmly and eagerly that the deaconess gratefully offered her hand to heryoung friend. Then she said, "I will leave you alone for a few minutes,for my heart is so full of anxiety that I must needs go and pray forhelp for him, and for courage and strength for myself."
"Take me with you," entreated Sirona in a low tone. "In my need I openedmy heart to your good and loving God, and I will never more pray to anyother. The mere thought of Him strengthened and comforted me, and now,if ever, in this hour I need His merciful support."
"My child, my daughter!" cried the deaconess, deeply moved; she bentover Sirona, kissed her forehead and her lips, and led her by the handinto her quiet sleeping-room.
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"This is the place where I most love to pray," she said, "although thereis here no image and no altar. My God is everywhere present and in everyplace I can find Him."
The two women knelt down side by side, and both besought the same Godfor the same mercies--not for themselves, but for another; and bothin their sorrow could give thanks--Sirona, because in Dorothea she hadfound a mother, and Dorothea, because in Sirona she had found a dear andloving daughter.
CHAPTER XXII.
Paulus was sitting in front of the cave that had sheltered Polykarp andSirona, and he watched the torches whose light lessened as the bearerswent farther and farther towards the valley. They lighted the way forthe wounded sculptor, who was being borne home to the oasis, lying inhis mother's easy litter, and accompanied by his father and his sister.
"Yet an hour," thought the anchorite, "and the mother will have her sonagain, yet a week and Polykarp will rise from his bed, yet a year and hewill remember nothing of yesterday but a scar--and perhaps a kiss thathe pressed on the Gaulish woman's rosy lips. I shall find it harder toforget. The ladder which for so many years I had labored to construct,on which I thought to scale heaven, and which looked to me so lofty andso safe, there it lies broken to pieces, and the hand that struck itdown was my own weakness. It would almost seem as if this weakness ofmine had more power than what we call moral strength for that which ittook the one years to build up, was wrecked by the other in a' moment.In weakness only am I a giant."
Paulus shivered at these words, for he was cold. Early in that morningwhen he had taken upon himself Hermas' guilt he had abjured wearing hissheepskin; now his body, accustomed to the warm wrap, suffered severely,and his blood coursed with fevered haste through his veins since theefforts, night-watches, and excitement of the last few days. He drew hislittle coat close around him with a shiver and muttered, "I feel like asheep that has been shorn in midwinter, and my head burns as if I were abaker and had to draw the bread out of the oven; a child might knock medown, and my eyes are heavy. I have not even the energy to collectmy thoughts for a prayer, of which I am in such sore need. My goal isundoubtedly the right one, but so soon as I seem to be nearing it, myweakness snatches it from me, as the wind swept back the fruit-ladenboughs which Tantalus, parched with thirst, tried to grasp. I fled fromthe world to this mountain, and the world has pursued me and has flungits snares round my feet. I must seek a lonelier waste in which I may bealone--quite alone with my God and myself. There, perhaps I may findthe way I seek, if indeed the fact that the creature that I call 'I,' inwhich the whole world with all its agitations in little finds room--andwhich will accompany me even there--does not once again frustrate all mylabor. He who takes his Self with him into the desert, is not alone."
Paulus sighed deeply and then pursued his reflections: "How puffed upwith pride I was after I had tasted the Gaul's rods in place of Hermas,and then I was like a drunken man who falls down stairs step by step.And poor Stephanus too had a fall when he was so near the goal! Hefailed in strength to forgive, and the senator who has just now left me,and whose innocent son I had so badly hurt, when we parted forgivinglygave me his hand. I could see that he did forgive me with all his heart,and this Petrus stands in the midst of life, and is busy early and latewith mere worldly affairs."
For a time he looked thoughtfully before him, and then he went on in hissoliloquy, "What was the story that old Serapion used to tell? In theThebaid there dwelt a penitent who thought he led a perfectly saintlylife and far transcended all his companions in stern virtue. Oncehe dreamed that there was in Alexandria a man even more perfect thanhimself; Phabis was his name, and he was a shoemaker, dwelling in theWhite road near the harbor of Kibotos. The anchorite at once went tothe capital and found the shoemaker, and when he asked him, 'How do youserve the Lord? How do you conduct your life?' Phabis looked at him inastonishment. 'I? well, my Saviour! I work early and late, and providefor my family, and pray morning and evening in few words for the wholecity.' Petrus, it seems to me, is such an one as Phabis; but many roadslead to God, and we--and I--"
Again a cold shiver interrupted his meditation, and as morningapproached the cold was so keen that he endeavored to light a fire.While he was painfully blowing the charcoal Hermas came up to him.
He had learned from Polykarp's escort where Paulus was to be found, andas he stood opposite his friend he grasped his hand, stroked hisrough hair and thanked him with deep and tender emotion for the greatsacrifice he had made for him when he had taken upon himself thedishonoring punishment of his fault.
Paulus declined all pity or thanks, and spoke to Hermas of his fatherand of his future, until it was light, and the young man prepared to godown to the oasis to pay the last honors to the dead. To his entreatythat he would accompany him, Paulus only answered:
"No--no; not now, not now; for if I were to mix with men now I shouldfly asunder like a rotten wineskin full of fermenting wine; a swarm ofbees is buzzing in my head, and an ant-hill is growing in my bosom. Gonow and leave me alone."
After the funeral ceremony Hermas took an affectionate leave ofAgapitus, Petrus, and Dorothea, and then returned to the Alexandrian,with whom he went to the cave where he had so long lived with his deadfather.
There Paulus delivered to him his father's letter to his uncle, andspoke to him more lovingly than he had ever done before. At night theyboth 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 keenanguish, "In vain--all in vain--" and again, "I seek, I seek--but whocan 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 hisfather and Miriam.
Memories of every kind rose up in his soul, and so mighty is theglorifying power of love that the miserable, brown-skinned shepherdessMiriam seemed to him a thousand-fold more beautiful than that splendidwoman who filled the soul of a great artist with delight.
Shortly after sunrise Paulus conducted him to the fishing-port, and tothe Israelite friend who managed the business of his father's house; hecaused him to be bountifully supplied with gold and accompanied him tothe ship laden with charcoal, that was to convey hire to Klysma.
The parting was very painful to him, and when Hermas saw his eyes fullof tears and felt his hands tremble, he said, "Do not be troubled aboutme, Paulus; we shall meet again, and I will never forget you and myfather."
"And your mother," added the anchorite. "I shall miss you sorely, buttrouble is the very thing I look for. He who succeeds in making thesorrows of the whole world his own--he whose soul is touched by asorrow at every breath he draws--he indeed must long for the call of theRedeemer."
Hermas fell weeping on his neck and started to feel how burning theanchorite's lips were as he pressed them to his forehead.
At last the sailors drew in the ropes; Paulus turned once more to theyouth. "You are going your own way now," he said. "Do not forget theHoly Mountain, and hear this: Of all sins three are most deadly: Toserve false gods, to covet your neighbor's wife, and to raise your handsto kill; keep yourself from them. And of all virtues two are theleast conspicuous, and at the same time the greatest: Truthfulness andhumility; practise these. Of all consolations these two are the best:The consciousness of wishing the right however much we may err andstumble through human weakness, and prayer."
Once more he embraced the departing youth, then he went across the sandof the shore back to the mountain without looking round.
Hermas looked after him for a long time greatly distressed, for hisstrong friend tottered like a drunken man, and often pressed his hand tohis head which was no doubt as burning as his lips.
The young warrior never again saw the Holy Mountain or Paulus, but afterhe himself had won fame and distinction in the army he met again withPetrus' son, Polykarp, whom the emperor had sent for to Byzantium withgreat honor, and in whose house the Gaulish woman Sirona presided as atrue and loving wife and
mother.
After his parting from Hermas, Paulus disappeared. The other anchoriteslong sought him in vain, as well as bishop Agapitus, who had learnedfrom Petrus that the Alexandrian had been punished and expelled ininnocence, and who desired to offer him pardon and consolation in hisown person. At last, ten days after, Orion the Saite found him in aremote cave. The angel of death had called him only a few hours beforewhile in the act of prayer, for he was scarcely cold. He was kneelingwith his forehead against the rocky wall and his emaciated hands wereclosely clasped over Magdalena's ring. When his companions had laid himon his bier his noble, gentle features wore a pure and transfiguringsmile.
The news of his death flew with wonderful rapidity through the oasis andthe fishing-town, and far and wide to the caves of the anchorites,and even to the huts of the Amalekite shepherds. The procession thatfollowed him to his last resting-place stretched to an invisibledistance; in front of all walked Agapitus with the elders and deacons,and behind them Petrus with his wife and family, to which Sirona nowbelonged. Polykarp, who was now recovering, laid a palm-branch in tokenof reconcilement on his grave, which was visited as a sacred spot by themany whose needs he had alleviated in secret, and before long by all thepenitents from far and wide.
Petrus erected a monument over his grave, on which Polykarp incised thewords which Paulus' trembling fingers had traced just before his deathwith a piece of charcoal on the wall of his cave:
"Pray for me, a miserable man--for I was a man."
ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:
Action trod on the heels of resolve Can such love be wrong? He who wholly abjures folly is a fool He out of the battle can easily boast of being unconquered Homo sum; humani nil a me alienum puto I am human, nothing that is human can I regard as alien to me Love is at once the easiest and the most difficult Love overlooks the ravages of years and has a good memory No judgment is so hard as that dealt by a slave to slaves No man is more than man, and many men are less Overlooks his own fault in his feeling of the judge's injustice Pray for me, a miserable man--for I was a man Sky as bare of cloud as the rocks are of shrubs and herbs Sleep avoided them both, and each knew that the other was awake Some caution is needed even in giving a warning The older one grows the quicker the hours hurry away To pray is better than to bathe Wakefulness may prolong the little term of life Who can point out the road that another will take
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