head, where her abundant
hair parted into two flowing tresses, Paulus observed on the snowy neck
of the insensible woman a red spot which the sun must have burnt there.

His whole soul was full of compassion for the young, fair, and unhappy
creature, and, while he took hold of her chin, which had sunk on her
bosom, lifted her white face, and moistened her forehead and lips with
water, he softly prayed for her salvation.

The shallow cavity of the stones only offered room for a very small
quantity of the refreshing moisture, and so he was obliged to return
several times to the spring. While he was away the dog remained by his
mistress, and would now lick her hand, now put his sharp little nose
close up to her mouth, and examine her with an anxious expression, as if
to ascertain her state of health.

When Paulus had gone the first time to fetch some water for Sirona he had
found the dog by the side of the spring, and he could not help thinking,
"The unreasoning brute has found the water without a guide while his
mistress is dying of thirst. Which is the wiser--the man or the brute?"
The little dog on his part strove to merit the anchorite's good feelings
towards him, for, though at first he had barked at him, he now was very
friendly to him, and looked him in the face from time to time as though
to ask, "Do you think she will recover?"

Paulus was fond of animals, and understood the little dog's language.
When Sirona's lips began to move and to recover their rosy color, he
stroked Iambe's smooth sharp head, and said, as he held a leaf that he
had curled up to hold some water to Sirona's lips, "Look, little fellow,
how she begins to enjoy it! A little more of this, and again a little
more. She smacks her lips as if I were giving her sweet Falernian. I will
go and fill the stone again; you stop here with her, I shall be back
again directly, but before I return she will have opened her eyes; you
are pleasanter to look upon than a shaggy old graybeard, and she will be
better pleased to see you than me when she awakes." Paulus' prognosis was
justified, for when he returned to Sirona with a fresh supply of water
she was sitting upright; she rubbed her open eyes, stretched her limbs,
clasped the greyhound in both arms, and burst into a violent flood of
tears.

The Alexandrian stood aside motionless, so as not to disturb her,
thinking to himself:

"These tears will wash away a large part of her suffering from her soul."