in a man's
early years that he takes the bent which he follows throughout his later
life, and that he had done before he left our house. Nay--even if I did
not know what a good fellow Polykarp is--I need only look at you to say,
'A child that was brought up by this father, could never turn out a bad
man.'"

Petrus sadly shrugged his shoulders, as though he regarded his wife's
flattering words as mere idle folly, and yet he smiled, as he asked,
"Whose school of rhetoric did you go to? So be it then; speak to the
lad when he returns from Raithu. How high the moon is already; come to
rest--Antonius is to place the altar in the early dawn, and I wish to be
present."

CHAPTER IX.

Miriam's ears had not betrayed her. While she was detained at supper,
Hermas had opened the courtyard-gate; he came to bring the senator
a noble young buck, that he had killed a few hours before, as a
thank-offering for the medicine to which his father owed his recovery.
It would no doubt have been soon enough the next morning, but he could
find no rest up on the mountain, and did not--and indeed did not care
to--conceal from himself the fact, that the wish to give expression to
his gratitude attracted him down into the oasis far less than the hope
of seeing Sirona, and of hearing a word from her lips.

Since their first meeting he had seen her several times, and had even
been into her house, when she had given him the wine for his father,
and when he had taken back the empty flask. Once, as she was filling
the bottle which he held, out of the large jar, her white fingers had
touched his, and her enquiry whether he were afraid of her, or if not,
why his hands which looked so strong should tremble so violently, dwelt
still in his mind. The nearer he approached Petrus's house the more
vehemently his heart beat; he stood still in front of the gate-way, to
take breath, and to collect himself a little, for he felt that, agitated
as he was, he would find it difficult to utter any coherent words.

At last he laid his hand on the latch and entered the yard. The
watch-dogs already knew him, and only barked once as he stepped over the
threshold.

He brought a gift in his hand, and he wanted to take nothing away, and
yet he appeared to himself just like a thief as he looked round, first
at the main building lighted up by the moon, and then at the Gaul's
dwelling-house, which, veiled in darkness, stood up as a vague
silhouette, and threw a broad