brighter or less bright, no doubt, according to the
way the wind blows, but it cannot be wholly smothered--least of all by
death."

Polykarp had been up the mountain, and Dorothea was quite satisfied
when he related what had led him thither. He had long since planned the
execution of a statue of Moses, and when his father had left him, he
could not get the tall and dignified figure of the old man out of his
mind. He felt that he had found the right model for his work. He must,
he would forget--and he knew, that he could only succeed if he found
a task which might promise to give some new occupation to his bereaved
soul. Still, he had seen the form of the mighty man of God which he
proposed to model, only in vague outline before his mind's eye, and he
had been prompted to go to a spot whither many pilgrims resorted, and
which was known as the Place of Communion, because it was there that the
Lord had spoken to Moses. There Polykarp had spent some time, for there,
if anywhere--there, where the Law-giver himself had stood, must he find
right inspiration.

"And you have accomplished your end?" asked his father.

Polykarp shook his head.

"If you go often enough to the sacred spot, it will come to you," said
Dorothea. "The beginning is always the chief difficulty; only begin at
once to model your father's head."

"I have already begun it," replied Polykarp, "but I am still tired from
last night."

"You look pale, and have dark lines under your eyes," said Dorothea
anxiously. "Go up stairs and he down to rest. I will follow you and
bring you a beaker of old wine."

"That will not hurt him," said Petrus, thinking as he spoke--"A draught
of Lethe would serve him even better."

When, an hour later, the senator sought his son in his work-room, he
found him sleeping, and the wine stood untouched on the table. Petrus
softly laid his hand on his son's forehead and found it cool and free
from fever. Then he went quietly up to the portrait of Sirona, raised
the cloth with which it was covered, and stood before it a long time
sunk in thought. At last he drew back, covered it up again, and examined
the models which stood on a shelf fastened to the wall.

A small female figure particularly fixed his attention, and he was
taking it admiringly in his band when Polykarp awoke.

"That is the image of the goddess of fate--that is a Tyche," said
Petrus.

"Do not be angry with me, father," entreated Polykarp. "You know, the
figur