heart is
bleeding. Why did you not come to us, Hermas, if you wanted wine? How
much 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 your
kindness but I cannot bear to stay here any longer. I must go back to the
mountain."

The senator and his wife did not detain him, and when the court-yard gate
had closed upon him a great stillness reigned in Petrus' sitting-room.
Dorothea leaned far back in her seat and sat looking in her lap while the
tears rolled over her cheeks; Marthana held her hand and stroked it, and
the senator stepped to the window and sighed deeply as he looked down
into the dark court. Sorrow lay on all their hearts like a heavy leaden
burden. All was still in the spacious room, only now and then a loud,
long-drawn cry of the wailing women rang through the quiet night and
reached them through the open window; it was a heavy hour, rich in vain,
but silent self-accusation, in anxiety, and short prayers; poor in hope
or consolation.

Presently Petrus heaved a deep sigh, and Dorothea rose to go up to him
and to say to him some sincere word of affection; but just then the dogs
in the yard barked, and the agonized father said softly--in deep
dejection, and prepared for the worst:

"Most likely it is they."

The deaconess pressed his hand in hers, but drew back when a light tap
was heard at the court-yard gate. "It is not Jethro and Antonius." said
Petrus, "they have a key."

Marthana had gone up to him, and she clung to him as he leaned far out of
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 able
to hear the answer which seemed to be returned.

"Listen to Argus," said Dorothea, "he never howls like that, but when you
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 more
called out, "Whoever you may be, say plainly who you are, that I may open
the gate."

They were kept waiting some few minutes for the answer, and the senator
was on the point of repeating his enquiry, when a gentle voice timidly
came from the gate to the window, saying, "It is I, Petrus, the fugitive
Sirona." Hardly had the words tremulously pier