on he was occupied
in thinking of the furnishing of the house, which he intended to assign
to the fair Sirona. At first he thought of a simple citizen's dwelling,
but by degrees he began to picture the house intended for her as fitted
with shining gold, white and colored marble, many-colored Syrian carpets,
nay even with vain works of the heathen, with statues, and a luxurious
bath. In increasing unrest he wandered from rock to rock, and many times
as he went up and down he paused in front of the cave where Sirona was.
Once he saw her light robe, and its conspicuous gleam led him to the
reflection, that it would be imprudent to conduct her to the humble
fishing-village in that dress. If he meant to conceal her traces from the
search of Phoebicius and Polykarp, he must first provide her with a
simple dress, and a veil that should hide her shining hair and fair face,
which even in the capital could find no match.

The Amalekite, from whom he had twice bought some goat's-milk for her,
lived in a but which Paulus could easily reach. He still possessed a few
drachmas, and with these he could purchase what he needed from the wife
and daughter of the goatherd. Although the sky was now covered with mist
and a hot sweltering south-wind had risen, he prepared to start at once.
The sun was no longer visible though its scorching heat could be felt,
but Paulus paid no heed to this sign of an approaching storm.

Hastily, and with so little attention that he confused one object with
another in the little store-cellar, he laid some bread, a knife, and some
dates in front of the entrance to the cave, called out to his guest that
he should soon return, and hurried at a rapid pace up the mountain.

Sirona answered him with a gentle word of farewell, and did not even look
round after him, for she was glad to be alone, and so soon as the sound
of his step had died away she gave herself up once more to the
overwhelming torrent of new and deep feelings which had flooded her soul
ever since she had heard Polykarp's ardent hymn of love.

Paulus, in the last few hours, was Menander again, but the lonely woman
in the cavern--the cause of this transformation--the wife of Phoebicius,
had undergone an even greater change than he. She was still Sirona, and
yet not Sirona.

When the anchorite had commanded her to retire into the cave she had
obeyed him willingly, nay, she would have withdrawn even without his
desire, and have sought for solitude;