CHAPTER III.
Hermas had hastened onwards without delay. He had already reached thelast bend of the path he had followed down the ravine, and he saw at hisfeet the long narrow valley and the gleaming waters of the stream, whichhere fertilized the soil of the desert. He looked down on lofty palmsand tamarisk shrubs innumerable, among which rose the houses ofthe inhabitants, surrounded by their little gardens and smallcarefully-irrigated fields; already he could hear the crowing of a cockand the hospitable barking of a dog, sounds which came to him like awelcome from the midst of that life for which he yearned, accustomed ashe was to be surrounded day and night by the deep and lonely stillnessof the rocky heights.
He stayed his steps, and his eyes followed the thin columns of smoke,which floated tremulously up in the clear light of the ever mounting sunfrom the numerous hearths that lay below him.
"They are cooking breakfast now," thought he, "the wives for theirhusbands, the mothers for their children, and there, where that darksmoke rises, very likely a splendid feast is being prepared for guests;but I am nowhere at home, and no one will invite me in." The contestwith Paulus had excited and cheered him, but the sight of the cityfilled his young heart with renewed bitterness, and his lips trembledas he looked down on his sheepskin and his unwashed limbs. With hastyresolve he turned his back on the oasis and hurried up the mountain.By the side of the brooklet that he knew of he threw off his coarsegarment, let the cool water flow over his body, washed himself carefullyand with much enjoyment, stroked clown his thick hair with his fingers,and then hurried down again into the valley.
The gorge through which he had descended debouched by a hillock thatrose from the valley-plain; a small newly-built church leaned againstits eastern declivity, and it was fortified on all sides by walls anddikes, behind which the citizens found shelter when they were threatenedby the Saracen robbers of the oasis. This hill passed for a particularlysacred spot. Moses was supposed to have prayed on its summit during thebattle with the Amalekites while his arms were held up by Aaron and Hur.
But there were other notable spots in the neighborhood of the oasis.There farther to the north was the rock whence Moses had struck thewater; there higher up, and more to the south-east, was the hill, wherethe Lord had spoken to the law-giver face to face, and where he hadseen the burning bush; there again was the spring where he had met thedaughters of Jethro, Zippora and Ledja, so called in the legend. Piouspilgrims came to these holy places in great numbers, and among them manynatives of the peninsula, particularly Nabateans, who had previouslyvisited the holy mountain in order to sacrifice on its summit to theirgods, the sun, moon, and planets. At the outlet, towards the north,stood a castle, which ever since the Syrian Prefect, Cornelius Palma,had subdued Arabia Petraea in the time of Trajan, had been held by aRoman garrison for the protection of the blooming city of the desertagainst the incursions of the marauding Saracens and Blemmyes.
But the citizens of Pharan themselves had taken measures for thesecurity of their property. On the topmost cliffs of the jagged crownof the giant mountain--the most favorable spots for a look-out far andwide--they placed sentinels, who day and night scanned the distance, soas to give a warning-signal in case of approaching clanger. Each houseresembled a citadel, for it was built of strong masonry, and the youngermen were all well exercised bowmen. The more distinguished familiesdwelt near the church-hill, and there too stood the houses of the BishopAgapitus, and of the city councillors of Pharan.
Among these the Senator Petrus enjoyed the greatest respect, partlyby reason of his solid abilities, and of his possessions in quarries,garden-ground, date palms, and cattle; partly in consequence of the rarequalities of his wife, the deaconess Dorothea, the granddaughter of thelong-deceased and venerable Bishop Chaeremon, who had fled hither withhis wife during the persecution of the Christians under Decius, and whohad converted many of the Pharanites to the knowledge of the Redeemer.
The house of Petrus was of strong and well-joined stone, and the palmgarden adjoining was carefully tended. Twenty slaves, many camels, andeven two horses belonged to him, and the centurion in command of theImperial garrison, the Gaul Phoebicius, and his wife Sirona, lived aslodgers under his roof; not quite to the satisfaction of the councillor,for the centurion was no Christian, but a worshipper of Mithras, inwhose mysteries the wild Gaul had risen to the grade of a 'Lion,' whencehis people, and with them the Pharanites in general, were wont to speakof him as "the Lion."
His predecessor had been an officer of much lower rank but a believingChristian, whom Petrus had himself requested to live in his house, andwhen, about a year since, the Lion Phoebicius had taken the place of thepious Pankratius, the senator could not refuse him the quarters, whichhad become a right.
Hermas went shyly and timidly towards the court of Petrus' house, andhis embarrassment increased when he found himself in the hall of thestately stone-house, which he had entered without let or hindrance, anddid not know which way to turn. There was no one there to direct him,and he dared not go up the stairs which led to the upper story, althoughit seemed that Petrus must be there. Yes, there was no doubt, for heheard talking overhead and clearly distinguished the senator's deepvoice. Hermas advanced, and set his foot on the first step of thestairs; but he had scarcely begun to go up with some decision, andfeeling ashamed of his bashfulness, when he heard a door fly open justabove him, and from it there poured a flood of fresh laughing children'svoices, like a pent up stream when the miller opens the sluice gate.
He glanced upwards in surprise, but there was no time for consideration,for the shouting troop of released little ones had already reached thestairs. In front of all hastened a beautiful young woman with goldenhair; she was laughing gaily, and held a gaudily-dressed doll high aboveher head. She came backwards towards the steps, turning her fair facebeaming with fun and delight towards the children, who, full of theirlonging, half demanding, half begging, half laughing, half crying,shouted in confusion, "Let us be, Sirona," "Do not take it away again,Sirona," "Do stay here, Sirona," again and again, "Sirona--Sirona."
A lovely six year old maiden stretched up as far as she could to reachthe round white arm that held the play-thing; with her left hand, whichwas free, she gaily pushed away three smaller children, who tried tocling to her knees and exclaimed, still stepping backwards, "No, no; youshall not have it till it has a new gown; it shall be as long and as gayas the Emperors's robe. Let me go, Caecilia, or you will fall down asnaughty Nikon did the other day."
By this time she had reached the steps; she turned suddenly, and withoutstretched arms she stopped the way of the narrow stair on whichHermas was standing, gazing open-mouthed at the merry scene above hishead. Just as Sirona was preparing to run down, she perceived him andstarted; but when she saw that the anchorite from pure embarrassmentcould find no words in which to answer her question as to what hewanted, she laughed heartily again and called out: "Come up, we shallnot hurt you--shall we children?"
Meanwhile Hermas had found courage enough to give utterance to hiswish to speak with the senator, and the young woman, who looked withcomplacency on his strong and youthful frame, offered to conduct him tohim.
Petrus had been talking to his grown up elder sons; they were tall men,but their father was even taller than they, and of unusual breadth ofshoulder.
While the young men were speaking, he stroked his short grey beard andlooked down at the ground in sombre gravity, as it might have seemedto the careless observer; but any one who looked closer might quicklyperceive that not seldom a pleased smile, though not less often asomewhat bitter one, played upon the lips of the prudent and judiciousman. He was one of those who can play with their children like a youngmother, take the sorrows of another as much to heart as if they weretheir own, and yet who look so gloomy, and allow themselves to make suchsharp speeches, that only those who are on terms of perfect confidencewith them, cease to misunderstand them and fear them. There wassomething fretting the soul of this man, who nevertheless possessed allthat cou
ld contribute to human happiness. His was a thankful nature,and yet he was conscious that he might have been destined to somethinggreater than fate had permitted him to achieve or to be. He had remaineda stone-cutter, but his sons had both completed their education in goodschools in Alexandria. The elder, Antonius, who already had a house ofhis own and a wife and children, was an architect and artist-mechanic;the younger, Polykarp, was a gifted young sculptor. The noble churchof the oasis-city had been built under the direction of the elder;Polykarp, who had only come home a month since, was preparing toestablish and carry on works of great extent in his father's quarries,for he had received a commission to decorate the new court ofthe Sebasteion or Caesareum, as it was called--a grand pile inAlexandria--with twenty granite lions. More than thirty artists hadcompeted with him for this work, but the prize was unanimously adjudgedto his models by qualified judges. The architect whose function it wasto construct the colonnades and pavement of the court was his friend,and had agreed to procure the blocks of granite, the flags and thecolumns which he required from Petrus' quarries, and not, as hadformerly been the custom, from those of Syene by the first Cataract.
Antonius and Polykarp were now standing with their father before a largetable, explaining to him a plan which they had worked out together andtraced on the thin wax surface of a wooden tablet. The young architect'sproposal was to bridge over a deep but narrow gorge, which the beasts ofburden were obliged to avoid by making a wide circuit, and so to make anew way from the quarries to the sea, which should be shorter by a thirdthan the old one. The cost of this structure would soon be recoupedby the saving in labor, and with perfect certainty, if only thetransport-ships were laden at Clysma with a profitable return freightof Alexandrian manufactures, instead of returning empty as theyhad hitherto done. Petrus, who could shine as a speaker in thecouncil-meetings, in private life spoke but little. At each of his son'snew projects he raised his eyes to the speaker's face, as if to seewhether the young man had not lost his wits, while his mouth, only halfhidden by his grey beard, smiled approvingly.
When Antonius began to unfold his plan for remedying the inconvenienceof the ravine that impeded the way, the senator muttered, "Only getfeathers to grow on the slaves, and turn the black ones into ravens andthe white ones into gulls, and then they might fly across. What do notpeople learn in the metropolis!"
When he heard the word 'bridge' he stared at the young artist. "The onlyquestion," said he, "is whether Heaven will lend us a rainbow." But whenPolykarp proposed to get some cedar trunks from Syria through his friendin Alexandria, and when his elder son explained his drawings of the archwith which he promised to span the gorge and make it strong and safe,he followed their words with attention; at the same time he knit hiseyebrows as gloomily and looked as stern as if he were listening to somenarrative of crime. Still, he let them speak on to the end, and thoughat first he only muttered that it was mere "fancy-work" or "Aye, indeed,if I were the emperor;" he afterwards asked clear and precise questions,to which he received positive and well considered answers. Antoniusproved by figures that the profit on the delivery of material for theCaesareum only would cover more than three quarters of the outlay.Then Polykarp began to speak and declared that the granite of the HolyMountain was finer in color and in larger blocks than that from Syene.
"We work cheaper here than at the Cataract," interrupted Antonius. "Andthe transport of the blocks will not come too dear when we have thebridge and command the road to the sea, and avail ourselves of thecanal of Trajan, which joins the Nile to the Red Sea, and which in a fewmonths will again be navigable."
"And if my lions are a success," added Polykarp, "and if Zenodotus issatisfied with our stone and our work, it may easily happen that weoutstrip Syene in competition, and that some of the enormous orders thatnow flow from Constantine's new residence to the quarries at Syene, mayfind their way to us."
"Polykarp is not over sanguine," continued Antonius, "for the emperor isbeautifying and adding to Byzantium with eager haste. Whoever erects anew house has a yearly allowance of corn, and in order to attract folksof our stamp--of whom he cannot get enough--he promises entire exemptionfrom taxation to all sculptors, architects, and even to skilledlaborers. If we finish the blocks and pillars here exactly to thedesigns, they will take up no superfluous room in the ships, and no onewill be able to deliver them so cheaply as we."
"No, nor so good," cried Polykarp, "for you yourself are an artist,father, and understand stone-work as well as any man. I never saw afiner or more equally colored granite than the block you picked out formy first lion. I am finishing it here on the spot, and I fancy it willmake a show. Certainly it will be difficult to take a foremost placeamong the noble works of the most splendid period of art, which alreadyfill the Caesareum, but I will do my best."
"The Lions will be admirable," cried Antonius with a glance of prideat his brother. "Nothing like them has been done by any one these tenyears, and I know the Alexandrians. If the master's work is praised thatis made out of granite from the Holy Mountain, all the world will havegranite from thence and from no where else. It all depends on whetherthe transport of the stone to the sea can be made less difficult andcostly."
"Let us try it then," said Petrus, who during his son's talk had walkedup and down before them in silence. "Let us try the building of thebridge in the name of the Lord. We will work out the road if themunicipality will declare themselves ready to bear half the cost; nototherwise, and I tell you frankly, you have both grown most able men."
The younger son grasped his father's hand and pressed it with warmaffection to his lips. Petrus hastily stroked his brown locks, thenhe offered his strong right hand to his eldest-born and said: "We mustincrease the number of our slaves. Call your mother, Polykarp." Theyouth obeyed with cheerful alacrity, and when Dame Dorothea--who wassitting at the loom with her daughter Marthana and some of her femaleslaves--saw him rush into the women's room with a glowing face, she rosewith youthful briskness in spite of her stout and dignified figure, andcalled out to her son:
"He has approved of your plans?"
"Bridge and all, mother, everything," cried the young man. "Finergranite for my lions, than my father has picked out for me is nowhereto be found, and how glad I am for Antonius! only we must have patienceabout the roadway. He wants to speak to you at once."
Dorothea signed to her son to moderate his ecstasy, for he had seizedher hand, and was pulling her away with him, but the tears that stoodin her kind eyes testified how deeply she sympathized in her favorite'sexcitement.
"Patience, patience, I am coming directly," cried she, drawing away herhand in order to arrange her dress and her grey hair, which was abundantand carefully dressed, and formed a meet setting for her still pleasingand unwrinkled face.
"I knew it would be so; when you have a reasonable thing to propose toyour father, he will always listen to you and agree with you without myintervention; women should not mix themselves up with men's work. Youthdraws a strong bow and often shoots beyond the mark. It would be apretty thing if out of foolish affection for you I were to try toplay the siren that should ensnare the steersman of the house--yourfather--with flattering words. You laugh at the grey-haired siren? Butlove overlooks the ravages of years and has a good memory for all thatwas once pleasing. Besides, men have not always wax in their ears whenthey should have. Come now to your father."
Dorothea went out past Polykarp and her daughter. The former held hissister back by the hand and asked--"Was not Sirona with you?"
The sculptor tried to appear quite indifferent, but he blushed as hespoke; Marthana observed this and replied not without a roguish glance:"She did show us her pretty face; but important business called heraway."
"Sirona?" asked Polykarp incredulously.
"Certainly, why not!" answered Marthana laughing. "She had to sew a newgown for the children's doll."
"Why do you mock at her kindness?" said Polykarp reproachfully.
"How sensitive you are!" said Marthana softl
y. "Sirona is as kind andsweet as an angel; but you had better look at her rather less, for sheis not one of us, and repulsive as the choleric centurion is to me--"
She said no more, for Dame Dorothea, having reached the door of thesitting-room, looked around for her children.
Petrus received his wife with no less gravity than was usual with him,but there was an arch sparkle in his half closed eyes as he asked: "Youscarcely know what is going on, I suppose?"
"You are madmen, who would fain take Heaven by storm," she answeredgaily.
"If the undertaking fails," said Petrus, pointing to his sons, "thoseyoung ones will feel the loss longer than we shall."
"But it will succeed," cried Dorothea. "An old commander and youngsoldiers can win any battle." She held out her small plump hand withfrank briskness to her husband, he clasped it cheerily and said: "Ithink I can carry the project for the road through the Senate. To buildour bridge we must also procure helping hands, and for that we need youraid, Dorothea. Our slaves will not suffice."
"Wait," cried the lady eagerly; she went to the window and called,"Jethro, Jethro!"
The person thus addressed, the old house-steward, appeared, and Dorotheabegan to discuss with him as to which of the inhabitants of the oasismight be disposed to let them have some able-bodied men, and whether itmight not be possible to employ one or another of the house-slaves atthe building.
All that she said was judicious and precise, and showed that she herselfsuperintended her household in every detail, and was accustomed tocommand with complete freedom.
"That tall Anubis then is really indispensable in the stable?" she askedin conclusion. The steward, who up to this moment had spoken shortlyand intelligently, hesitated to answer; at the same time he looked up atPetrus, who, sunk in the contemplation of the plan, had his back to him;his glance, and a deprecating movement, expressed very clearly thathe had something to tell, but feared to speak in the presence ofhis master. Dame Dorothea was quick of comprehension, and she quiteunderstood Jethro's meaning; it was for that very reason that she saidwith more of surprise than displeasure: "What does the man mean with hiswinks? What I may hear, Petrus may hear too."
The senator turned, and looked at the steward from head to foot with sodark a glance, that he drew back, and began to speak quickly. But he wasinterrupted by the children's clamors on the stairs and by Sirona, whobrought Hermas to the senator, and said laughing: "I found this greatfellow on the stairs, he was seeking you."
Petrus looked at the youth, not very kindly, and asked: "Who areyou? what is your business?" Hermas struggled in vain for speech; thepresence of so many human beings, of whom three were women, filled himwith the utmost confusion. His fingers twisted the woolly curls on hissheep-skin, and his lips moved but gave no sound; at last he succeededin stammering out, "I am the son of old Stephanus, who was wounded inthe last raid of the Saracens. My father has hardly slept thesefive nights, and now Paulus has sent me to you--the pious Paulus ofAlexandria--but you know--and so I--"
"I see, I see," said Petrus with encouraging kindness. "You want somemedicine for the old man. See Dorothea, what a fine young fellow he isgrown, this is the little man that the Antiochian took with him up themountain."
Hermas colored, and drew himself up; then he observed with greatsatisfaction that he was taller than the senator's sons, who were ofabout the same age as he, and for whom he had a stronger feeling,allied to aversion and fear, than even for their stern father. Polykarpmeasured him with a glance, and said aloud to Sirona, with whom he hadexchanged a greeting, are off whom he had never once taken his eyessince she had come in: "If we could get twenty slaves with suchshoulders as those, we should get on well. There is work to be donehere, you big fellow--"
"My name is not 'fellow,' but Hermas," said the anchorite, and the veinsof his forehead began to swell. Polykarp felt that his father's visitorwas something more than his poor clothing would seem to indicateand that he had hurt his feelings. He had certainly seen some oldanchorites, who led a contemplative and penitential life up on thesacred mountain, but it had never occurred to him that a strong youthcould be long to the brotherhood of hermits. So he said to him kindly:"Hermas--is that your name? We all use our hands here and labor is nodisgrace; what is your handicraft?"
This question roused the young anchorite to the highest excitement, andDame Dorothea, who perceives what was passing in his mind, said withquick decision: "He nurses his sick father. That is what you do, my sonis it not? Petrus will not refuse you his help."
"Certainly not," the senator added, "I will accompany you by-and-bye tosee him. You must know my children, that this youth's father was a greatLord, who gave up rich possessions in order to forget the world, wherehe had gone through bitter experiences, and to serve God in his own way,which we ought to respect though it is not our own. Sit down there, myson. First we must finish some important business, and then I will gowith you."
"We live high up on the mountain," stammered Hermas.
"Then the air will be all the purer," replied the senator. "Butstay--perhaps the old man is alone no? The good Paulus, you say, is withhim? Then he is in good hands, and you may wait."
For a moment Petrus stood considering, then he beckoned to his sons, andsaid, "Antonius, go at once and see about some slaves--you, Polykarp,find some strong beasts of burden. You are generally rather easy withyour money, and in this case it is worth while to buy the dearest. Thesooner you return well supplied the better. Action must not halt behinddecision, but follow it quickly and sharply, as the sound follows theblow. You, Marthana, mix some of the brown fever-potion, and preparesome bandages; you have the key."
"I will help her," cried Sirona, who was glad to prove herself useful,and who was sincerely sorry for the sick old hermit; besides, Hermasseemed to her like a discovery of her own, for whom she involuntarilyfelt more consideration since she had learned that he was the son of aman of rank.
While the young women were busy at the medicine-cupboard, Antonius andPolykarp left the room.
The latter had already crossed the threshold, when he turned once more,and cast a long look at Sirona. Then, with a hasty movement, he went on,closed the door, and with a heavy sigh descended the stairs.
As soon as his sons were gone, Petrus turned to the steward again.
"What is wrong with the slave Anubis?" he asked.
"He is--wounded, hurt," answered Jethro, "and for the next few days willbe useless. The goat-girl Miriam--the wild cat--cut his forehead withher reaping hook."
"Why did I not hear of this sooner?" cried Dorothea reprovingly. "Whathave you done to the girl?"
"We have shut her up in the hay loft," answered Jethro, "and there sheis raging and storming."
The mistress shook her head disapprovingly. "The girl will not beimproved by that treatment," she said. "Go and bring her to me."
As soon as the intendant had left the room, she exclaimed, turning toher husband, "One may well be perplexed about these poor creatures, whenone sees how they behave to each other. I have seen it a thousand times!No judgment is so hard as that dealt by a slave to slaves!"
Jethro and a woman now led Miriam into the room. The girl's hands werebound with thick cords, and dry grass clung to her dress and rough blackhair. A dark fire glowed in her eyes, and the muscles of her face movedincessantly, as if she had St. Vitus' dance. When Dorothea looked ather she drew herself up defiantly, and looked around the room, as if toestimate the strength of her enemies.
She then perceived Hermas; the blood left her lips, with a violenteffort she tore her slender hands out of the loops that confined them,covering her face with them, and fled to the door. But Jethro puthimself in her way, and seized her shoulder with a strong grasp.Miriam shrieked aloud, and the senator's daughter, who had set down themedicines she had had in her hand, and had watched the girl's movementswith much sympathy, hastened towards her. She pushed away the old man'shand, and said, "Do not be frightened, Miriam. Whatever you may havedone, my father can forgive y
ou."
Her voice had a tone of sisterly affection, and the shepherdess followedMarthana unresistingly to the table, on which the plans for the bridgewere lying, and stood there by her side.
For a minute all were silent; at last Dame Dorothea went up to Miriam,and asked, "What did they do to you, my poor child, that you could soforget yourself?"
Miriam could not understand what was happening to her; she had beenprepared for scoldings and blows, nay for bonds and imprisonment, andnow these gentle words and kind looks! Her defiant spirit was quelled,her eyes met the friendly eyes of her mistress, and she said in a lowvoice: "he had followed me for such a long time, and wanted to ask youfor me as his wife; but I cannot bear him--I hate him as I do all yourslaves." At these words her eyes sparkled wildly again, and with her oldfire she went on, "I wish I had only hit him with a stick instead of asickle; but I took what first came to hand to defend myself. When a mantouches me--I cannot bear it, it is horrible, dreadful! Yesterday I camehome later than usual with the beasts, and by the time I had milked thegoats, and was going to bed, every one in the house was asleep. ThenAnubis met me, and began chattering about love; I repelled him, but heseized me, and held me with his hand here on my head and wanted to kissme; then my blood rose, I caught hold of my reaping hook, that hung bymy side, and it was not till I saw him roaring on the ground, that I sawI had done wrong. How it happened I really cannot tell--something seemedto rise up in me--something--I don't know what to call it. It drives meon as the wind drives the leaves that lie on the road, and I cannot helpit. The best thing you can do is to let me die, for then you would besafe once for all from my wickedness, and all would be over and donewith."
"How can you speak so?" interrupted Marthana. "You are wild andungovernable, but not wicked."
"Only ask him!" cried the girl, pointing with flashing eyes to Hermas,who, on his part, looked down a the floor in confusion. The senatorexchanged a hasty glance with his wife, they were accustomed to understand each other without speech, and Dorothea said: "He who feels thathe is not what he ought to be is already on the high-road to amendment.We let you keep the goats because you were always running after theflocks, and never can rest in the house. You are up on the mountainbefore morning-prayer, and never come home till after supper is over,and no one takes any thought for the better part of you. Half of yourguilt recoils upon us, and we have no right to punish you. You neednot be so astonished; every one some times does wrong. Petrus and I arehuman beings like you, neither more nor less; but we are Christians, andit is our duty to look after the souls which God has entrusted to ourcare, be they our children or our slaves. You must go no more up themountain, but shall stay with us in the house. I shall willingly forgiveyour hasty deed if Petrus does not think it necessary to punish you."
The senator gravely shook his head in sign of agreement, and Dorotheaturned to enquire of Jethro: "Is Anubis badly wounded and does he needany care?'
"He is lying in a fever and wanders in his talk," was the answer. "OldPraxinoa is cooling his wound with water."
"Then Miriam can take her place and try to remedy the mischief whichshe was the cause of," said Dorothea. "Half of your guilt will be atonedfor, girl, if Anubis recovers under your care. I will come presentlywith Marthana, and show you how to make a bandage." The shepherdesscast down her eyes, and passively allowed herself to be conducted to thewounded man.
Meanwhile Marthana had prepared the brown mixture. Petrus had his staffand felt-hat brought to him, gave Hermas the medicine and desired him tofollow him.
Sirona looked after the couple as they went. "What a pity for such afine lad!" she exclaimed. "A purple coat would suit him better than thatwretched sheepskin."
The mistress shrugged her shoulders, and signing to her daughter said:"Come to work, Marthana, the sun is already high. How the days fly! theolder one grows the quicker the hours hurry away."
"I must be very young then," said the centurion's wife, "for in thiswilderness time seems to me to creep along frightfully slow. One day isthe same as another, and I often feel as if life were standing perfectlystill, and my heart pulses with it. What should I be without your houseand the children?--always the same mountain, the same palm-trees, thesame faces!--"
"But the mountain is glorious, the trees are beautiful!" answeredDorothea. "And if we love the people with whom we are in dailyintercourse, even here we may be contented and happy. At least weourselves are, so far as the difficulties of life allow. I have oftentold you, what you want is work."
"Work! but for whom?" asked Sirona. "If indeed I had children like you!Even in Rome I was not happy, far from it; and yet there was plenty todo and to think about. Here a procession, there a theatre; but here! Andfor whom should I dress even? My jewels grow dull in my chest, and themoths eat my best clothes. I am making doll's clothes now of my coloredcloak for your little ones. If some demon were to transform me into ahedge-hog or a grey owl, it would be all the same to me."
"Do not be so sinful," said Dorothea gravely, but looking with kindlyadmiration at the golden hair and lovely sweet face of the young woman."It ought to be a pleasure to you to dress yourself for your husband."
"For him?" said Sirona. "He never looks at me, or if he does it is onlyto abuse me. The only wonder to me is that I can still be merry at all;nor am I, except in your house, and not there even but when I forget himaltogether."
"I will not hear such things said--not another word," interruptedDorothea severely. "Take the linen and cooling lotion, Marthana, we willgo and bind up Anubis' wound."