they had gained over their pursuers. They were hungry and enjoyed their
evening meal; the abbess made friends with the worthy ship-wright, and
began an eager conversation with Rufinus as to Paula and Orion: Her
wish that the young man should spend a time of probation did not at all
please Rufinus; with such a wife as Paula, he could not fail to be at
all times the noble fellow which his old friend held him to be in spite
of his having remained at home.

The hump-backed gardener made the younger nuns merry with his jests, and
after supper they all united in prayer.

Even the oarsmen had found new vigor and new life; and it was well that
few of the Greek sisters understood Egyptian, for the more jovial of
them started a song in praise of the charms of the maids they loved,
which was not composed for women's ears.

The nuns chatted of those they had left behind, and many a one spoke
of a happy meeting at home once more; but an elderly nun put a stop to
this, saying that it was a sin to anticipate the ways of God's mercy,
or, when His help was still so sorely needed, to speak as though He had
already bestowed it. They could only tremble and pray, for they knew
from experience that a threatening disaster never turned to a good end
unless it had been expected with real dread.

Another one then began to speculate as to whether their pursuers
could overtake them on foot or on horseback, and as it seemed only too
probable that they could, their hearts sank again with anxiety. Ere
long, however, the moon rose; the objects that loomed on the banks and
were mirrored in the stream, were again clearly visible and lost their
terrors.

The lower down they sailed, the denser were the thickets of papyrus on
the shore. Thousands of birds were roosting there, but they were all
asleep; a "dark ness that might be felt" brooded over the silent land
scape. The image of the moon floated on the dark water, like a gigantic
lotos-flower below the smaller, fragrant lotos-blossoms that it out-did
in sheeny whiteness; the boat left a bright wake in its track, and every
stroke of the oar broke the blackness of the water, which reflected the
light in every drop. The moonlight played on the delicate tufts that
crowned the slender papyrus-stems, filmy mist, like diaphanous brocade
of violet and silver, veiled the trees; and owls that shun the day, flew
from one branch to another on noiseless, rhythmic wings.

The magic of the night fell on the sou