at of the quiet reserved man in
health. Sitting up and pointing to the walls he would cry--

"Great God! the fiends, mad, malignant, blood-thirsty, the fiends of
Tartarus have entered thy fair world in the bodies of men."

CHAPTER XIV.

DAY.

Tharsos did not die. Had the lion's claws twisted, or torn a little
deeper, or had there been incapable nursing, there would have been no
hope. But the animal missed the vitals, and the faithful nurse made
the most of what remained--she would have readily yielded life at her
loving though painful duty.

When the consuming fever was completely turned and past, and a little
strength gained through death-like sleep and judicious nourishment, it
dawned upon the sick man's mind that someone strange but fascinating
was constantly by his side. And when he learned that his attendant was
Pathema, there came a peace over his soul that could not be expressed.

After a long time Tharsos recovered strength, but he was never again
the same. He was subject to spells of weakness that kept him to his
couch for days, and he had to resign his position in the army. Yet he
lived for many years afterwards, and did a noble work, impossible to be
done in the service of the emperor, a work that could not be hid, as a
good soldier of Jesus Christ.

Pathema, relieved in due time, went back to her home in Asia Minor.
She carried many costly gifts, showered upon her and refused in vain.
But, better still, she carried away the undying devotion of Tharsos,
the close sisterly affection of Coryna, and the goodwill of all that
really knew her worth.

Her parents in Patara were overjoyed at her return, and so were many
others in the city and wide surroundings--many, who waited for tender
attention and waited not in vain.

Tharsos sold his mansion in Rome, and followed Pathema to Patara. He
bought a beautiful residence in that city, and built another farther up
the river Xanthus among the hills. And Pathema became his wife.
Staying in these two houses alternately, at different seasons of the
year, they passed the rest of their lives. No two beings loved ouch
other better, or did a more useful and beneficent work. Their city
home was a centre of Christian light and hospitality, while their rural
retreat was the scene of many joyous and instructive gatherings of the
country people. In these abodes the friendless wanderer, of whatever
race or tribe, could lay down his weary head and there fin