y and ochre ground. Simon felt admiration for the
face; in that desolate scene the saint must have endured great privation
and come through with holy wisdom.

"A wonderful face," he said, turning to Sophia with a smile. "And you
say this is my patron saint?"

"Simon of the Desert," she said. "Simon Stylites."

"Stylites? What does that mean? I do not know Greek."

"Neither do I," she said, "but a priest told me that his name means 'he
of the pillar.' Saint Simon was a hermit who lived ages ago, when the
Church was young. He dwelt and prayed for thirty years on top of a
pillar that was all that was left of an ancient pagan temple. That is
the pillar behind him."

Live on top of a pillar for thirty years? Questions crowded into Simon's
mind. How did he keep from falling off when he slept? Would not the
burning desert sun have killed him? How did he get food and water? After
thirty years the pillar ought to be surrounded by quite a pile of--

No, he put that thought firmly out of his mind. After all, the whole
point about saints was that they were not subject to natural laws.

He asked only one question. "How high was the pillar?"

She shook her head. "I do not know. So high that he had to climb a
ladder to get to the top. Then his disciples took the ladder away." She
pointed at the pillar in the painting. "I tried to paint it so that it
could be any height you might imagine."

"_You_ painted this?"

"You find that hard to believe," she said with amused resignation. "That
is why I hardly ever tell anyone. Many people would be sure I was lying.
Others would think that a woman who paints is some kind of freak. Or
that it is somehow dishonorable for a lady to paint, as if you, for
instance, were to engage in trade. What do you think?"

"I think God has given you a very great gift," said Simon solemnly.

She squeezed his hand, giving him exquisite pleasure, and then, to his
sorrow, let it go. "I hoped you would understand." She put the
candlestick down, and Saint Simon Stylites receded into the shadows.

"I knew that you were going to be someone very important in my life when
I found out your name is Simon," she said. "I think my saint wished us
to meet."

How sweetly innocent she was, Simon mused. He was ashamed of the
thoughts he had been entertaining about her ever since they had kissed
in the Contessa di Monaldeschi's garden. Over the days and nights he had
gradually grown more and more familiar with her--i