door of her prison. He had been very gracious to her, but looked so
pale and sad. The overbearing young man was quite altered; his eyes,
which were dim with weeping, had moved her, Perpetua, to tears. She
trusted that God would forgive him for his sins against herself and
Paula; he must have been possessed by some evil demon; he had not been at
all like himself; for he had a kind, warm heart, and though he had been
so hard and unjust yesterday to poor Hiram he had made it up to him the
first thing this morning, and had not only let him out of prison but had
sent him and his son home to Damascus with large gifts and two horses.
Nilus had told her this. He who hoped to be forgiven by his neighbor must
also be ready to forgive. The great Augustine, even, had been no model of
virtue in his youth and yet he had become a shining light in the Church;
and now the son of the Mukaukas would tread in his father's footsteps. He
was a handsome, engaging man, who would be the joy of their hearts yet,
they might be very sure. Why, he had been as grave and as solemn as a
bishop to-day; perhaps he had already turned over a new leaf. He himself
had put her into his mother's chariot and desired the charioteer to drive
her hither: what would Paula say to that? Her things were to be given
over to her to-morrow morning, and packed under her own eyes, and sent
after her. Nilus, the treasurer, had come with her to deliver a message
to Paula; but he had gone first to the convent.

Paula desired the old woman to go thither and fetch him; as soon as
Perpetua had left the room, she exclaimed:

"There, you see, is some one who is quite of your opinion. What creatures
we are! Last evening my good Betta would have thought no pit of hell too
deep for our enemy, and now? To be led to a chariot by such a fine
gentleman in person is no doubt flattering; and how quickly the old body
has forgotten all her grievances, how soothed and satisfied she is by the
gracious permission to pack her precious and cherished possessions with
her own hands.--You told me once that the Jacobites had made a Saint
Orion out of the pagan god Osiris, and my old Betta sees a future Saint
Augustine in the governor's son. I can see that she already regards him
as her tutelary patron, and when we get back to Syria, she will be
begging me to join her in a pilgrimage to his shrine!"

"And you will perhaps consent," replied the physician, to whom Paula at
this moment, for the first