ched her white arm with his bearded lips
and she drew it back in her sleep, then his gaze fell on her parted lips
and the pearly teeth that shone between them, and a mad longing to kiss
them came irresistibly over him. He bent trembling over her, and was on
the point of gratifying his impulse when, as if startled by a sudden
apparition, he drew back, and raised his eyes from the rosy lips to the
hand that rested on the sleeper's brow.

The lamplight played on a golden ring on Sirona's finger, and shone
brightly on an onyx on which was engraved an image of Tyche, the tutelary
goddess of Antioch, with a sphere upon her head, and bearing Amalthea's
horn in her hand.

A new and strange emotion took possession of the anchorite at the sight
of this stone. With trembling hands he felt in the breast of his torn
garment, and presently drew forth a small iron crucifix and the ring that
he had taken from the cold hand of Hermas' mother. In the golden circlet
was set an onyx, on which precisely the same device was visible as that
on Sirona's hand. The string with its precious jewel fell from his grasp,
he clutched his matted hair with both hands, groaned deeply, and repeated
again and again, as though to crave forgiveness, the name of "Magdalen."

Then he called Sirona in a loud voice, and as she awoke excessively
startled, he asked her in urgent tones: "Who gave you that ring?"

"It was a present from Phoebicius," replied she. "He said he had had it
given to him many years since in Antioch, and that it had been engraved
by a great artist. But I do not want it any more, and if you like to have
it you may."

"Throw it away!" exclaimed Paulus, "it will bring you nothing but
misfortune." Then he collected himself, went out into the air with his
head sunk on his breast, and there, throwing himself down on the wet
stones by the hearth, he cried out:

"Magdalen! dearest and purest! You, when you ceased to be Glycera, became
a saintly martyr, and found the road to heaven; I too had my day of
Damascus--of revelation and conversion--and I dared to call myself by the
name of Paulus--and now--now?"

Plunged in despair he beat his forehead, groaning out, "All, all in
vain!"

ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

Can such love be wrong?

HOMO SUM

By Georg Ebers

Volume 5.

CHAPTER XVIII.

Common natures can only be lightly touched by the immeasurable depth of
anguish that is experienced by a soul that despairs