elf out of window into
the roadway, Phoebicius walked into his sleeping-room. Sirona had had
time to throw herself on to her couch; she was terribly frightened, and
had turned her face to the wall. Did he actually know that some one had
been with her? And who could have betrayed her, and have called him home?
Or could he have come home by accident sooner than usual?

It was dark in the room, and he could not see her face, and yet she kept
her eyes shut as if asleep, for every fraction of a minute in which she
could still escape seeing him in his fury seemed a reprieve; and yet her
heart beat so violently that it seemed to her that he must hear it, when
he approached the bed with a soft step that was peculiar to him. She
heard him walk up and down, and at last go into the kitchen that adjoined
the sleeping-room. In a few moments she perceived through her half-closed
eyes, that he, had brought in a light; he had lighted a lamp at the
hearth, and now searched both the rooms.

As yet he had not spoken to her, nor opened his lips to utter a word.

Now he was in the sitting-room, and now--involuntarily she drew herself
into a heap, and pulled the coverlet over her head--now he laughed aloud,
so loud and scornfully, that she felt her hands and feet turn cold, and a
rushing crimson mist floated before her eyes. Then the light came back
into the bed-room, and came nearer and nearer. She felt her head pushed
by his hard hand, and with a feeble scream she flung off the coverlet and
sat up.

Still he did not speak a word, but what she saw was quite enough to
smother the last spark of her courage and hope, for her husband's eyes
showed only the whites, his sallow features were ashy-pale, and on his
brow the branded mark of Mithras stood out more clearly than ever. In his
right hand he held the lamp, in his left Hermas' sheepskin.

As his haggard eye met hers he held the anchorite's matted garment so
close to her face, that it touched her. Then he threw it violently on the
floor, and asked in a low, husky voice, "What is that?"

She was silent. He went up to the little table near her bed; on it stood
her night-draught in a pretty colored glass, that Polykarp had brought
her from Alexandria as a token, and with the back of his hand he swept it
from the table, so that it fell on the dais, and flew with a crash into a
thousand fragments. She screamed, the greyhound sprang up and barked at
the Gaul. He seized the little beast's coll