hich Hermas proved himself
unskilful enough, her gay and pleasant laugh rang out again and again.
When he sought to seize her hand, as he not seldom did, she hit him
sharply on the fingers, and scolded him.

Hermas' embarrassment thawed before this pleasant sport, and soon he
began to tell her how hateful the lonely life on the mountain was to
him. He told her that Petrus himself had advised him to try his strength
out in the world, and he confided to her that if his father got well,
he meant to be a soldier, and do great deeds. She quite agreed with him,
praised and encouraged him, then she criticised his slovenly deportment,
showed him with comical gravity how a warrior ought to stand and walk,
called herself his drill-master, and was delighted at the zeal with
which he strove to imitate her.

In such play the hours passed quickly. Hermas was proud of himself in
his soldierly garb, and was happy in her presence and in the hope of
future triumphs; and Sirona was gay, as she had usually been only when
playing with the children, so that even Miriam's wild cry, which the
youth explained to be the scream of an owl, only for a moment reminded
her of the danger in which she was placing herself. Petrus' slaves had
long gone to rest before she began to weary of amusing herself with
Hermas, and desired him to lay aside her husband's equipment, and to
leave her. Hermas obeyed while she warily opened the shutters, and
turning to him, said, "You cannot venture through the court-yard; you
must go through this window into the open street. But there is some one
coming down the road; let him pass first, it will not be long to wait,
for he is walking quickly."

She carefully drew the shutters to, and laughed to see how clumsily
Hermas set to work to unbuckle the greaves; but the gay laugh died
upon her lips when the gate flew open, the greyhound and the senator's
watch-dogs barked loudly, and she recognized her husband's voice as he
ordered the dogs to be quiet.

"Fly-fly-for the gods' sake!" she cried in a trembling voice. With that
ready presence of mind with which destiny arms the weakest woman in
great and sudden danger, she extinguished the lamp, flung open the
shutter, and pushed Hermas to the window. The boy did not stay to bid
her farewell, but swung himself with a strong leap down into the
road, and, followed by the barking of the dogs, which roused all the
neighboring households, he flew up the street to the little church