fever,
was first allowed to go out into the open air. She had gone out, clinging
to his arm into the peristyle of his father's house; as he walked
backward and forwards with poor, weary, abandoned Sirona, his neglected
figure seemed by degrees to assume the noble aspect of a high-born Greek;
and instead of the rough, rocky soil, he felt as if he were treading the
beautiful mosaic pavement of his father's court. Paulus was Menander
again, and if there was little in the presence of the recluse, which
could recall his identity with the old man he had trodden down, the
despised anchorite felt, while the expelled and sinful woman leaned on
his arm, the same proud sense of succoring a woman, as when he was the
most distinguished youth of a metropolis, and when he had led forward the
master's much courted daughter in the midst of a shouting troop of
slaves.

Sirona had to remind Paulus that night was coming on, and was startled,
when the hermit removed her hand from his arm with ungentle haste, and
called to her to follow him with a roughness that was quite new to him.
She obeyed, and wherever it was necessary to climb over the rocks, he
supported and lifted her, but he only spoke when she addressed him.

When they had reached their destination, he showed her the bed, and
begged her to keep awake, till he should have prepared a dish of warm
food for her, and he shortly brought her a simple supper, and wished her
a good night's rest, after she had taken it.

Sirona shared the bread and the salted meal-porridge with her dog, and
then lay down on the couch, where she sank at once into a deep, dreamless
sleep, while Paulus passed the night sitting by the hearth.

He strove to banish sleep by constant prayer, but fatigue frequently
overcame him, and he could not help thinking of the Gaulish lady, and of
the many things, which if only he were still the rich Menander, he would
procure in Alexandria for her and for her comfort. Not one prayer could
he bring to its due conclusion, for either his eyes closed before he came
to the "Amen," or else worldly images crowded round him, and forced him
to begin his devotions again from the beginning, when he had succeeded in
recollecting himself. In this half-somnolent state he obtained not one
moment of inward collectedness, of quiet reflection; not even when he
gazed up at the starry heavens, or looked down on the oasis, veiled in
night, where many others like himself were deserted by sleep