s snares round my feet. I must seek a lonelier waste in which I may be
alone--quite alone with my God and myself. There, perhaps I may find
the way I seek, if indeed the fact that the creature that I call 'I,' in
which the whole world with all its agitations in little finds room--and
which will accompany me even there--does not once again frustrate all my
labor. He who takes his Self with him into the desert, is not alone."

Paulus sighed deeply and then pursued his reflections: "How puffed up
with pride I was after I had tasted the Gaul's rods in place of Hermas,
and then I was like a drunken man who falls down stairs step by step.
And poor Stephanus too had a fall when he was so near the goal! He
failed in strength to forgive, and the senator who has just now left me,
and whose innocent son I had so badly hurt, when we parted forgivingly
gave me his hand. I could see that he did forgive me with all his heart,
and this Petrus stands in the midst of life, and is busy early and late
with mere worldly affairs."

For a time he looked thoughtfully before him, and then he went on in his
soliloquy, "What was the story that old Serapion used to tell? In the
Thebaid there dwelt a penitent who thought he led a perfectly saintly
life and far transcended all his companions in stern virtue. Once
he dreamed that there was in Alexandria a man even more perfect than
himself; Phabis was his name, and he was a shoemaker, dwelling in the
White road near the harbor of Kibotos. The anchorite at once went to
the capital and found the shoemaker, and when he asked him, 'How do you
serve the Lord? How do you conduct your life?' Phabis looked at him in
astonishment. 'I? well, my Saviour! I work early and late, and provide
for my family, and pray morning and evening in few words for the whole
city.' Petrus, it seems to me, is such an one as Phabis; but many roads
lead to God, and we--and I--"

Again a cold shiver interrupted his meditation, and as morning
approached the cold was so keen that he endeavored to light a fire.
While he was painfully blowing the charcoal Hermas came up to him.

He had learned from Polykarp's escort where Paulus was to be found, and
as he stood opposite his friend he grasped his hand, stroked his
rough hair and thanked him with deep and tender emotion for the great
sacrifice he had made for him when he had taken upon himself the
dishonoring punishment of his fault.

Paulus declined all pity or thanks, and spoke to