na's feet; while she was wrapping the injured foot in
strips of linen Dorothea came up to them.

"I would," she said, "that Polykarp were only here now, this roll would
suffice to bind you both." A faint flush overspread Sirona's cheeks,
but Dorothea was suddenly conscious of what she had said, and Marthana
gently pressed her friend's hand.

When the bandage was securely fixed, Sirona attempted to walk, but
she succeeded so badly that Petrus, who now came back with his friend
Magadon and his sons, and several slaves, found it necessary to strictly
forbid her to accompany them. He felt sure of finding his son without
her, for one of Magadon's people had often carried bread and oil to old
Serapion and knew his cave.

Before the senator and his daughter left the room he whispered a few
words to his wife, and together they went up to Sirona.

"Do you know," he asked, "what has happened to your husband?"

Sirona nodded. "I heard it from Paulus," she answered. "Now I am quite
alone in the world."

"Not so," replied Petrus. "You will find shelter and love under our roof
as if it were your father's, so long as it suits you to stay with us.
You need not thank us--we are deeply in your debt. Farewell till we meet
again wife. I would Polykarp were safe here, and that you had seen his
wound. Come, Marthana, the minutes are precious."

When Dorothea and Sirona were alone, the deaconess said, "Now I will go
and make up a bed for you, for you must be very tired."

"No, no!" begged Sirona. "I will wait and watch with you, for I
certainly could not sleep till I know how it is with him." She spoke so
warmly and eagerly that the deaconess gratefully offered her hand to her
young friend. Then she said, "I will leave you alone for a few minutes,
for my heart is so full of anxiety that I must needs go and pray for
help for him, and for courage and strength for myself."

"Take me with you," entreated Sirona in a low tone. "In my need I opened
my heart to your good and loving God, and I will never more pray to any
other. The mere thought of Him strengthened and comforted me, and now,
if ever, in this hour I need His merciful support."

"My child, my daughter!" cried the deaconess, deeply moved; she bent
over Sirona, kissed her forehead and her lips, and led her by the hand
into her quiet sleeping-room.

"This is the place where I most love to pray," she said, "although there
is here no image and no altar. My God is everywhere prese