sion of pity and
love took the young man by the throat. His voice shook a little as
he answered eagerly:

"Father, there is nothing to forgive. I am your son; I will gladly
tell, you all that I know. I will give you the secret of faith.
Father, you must believe with all your heart, and soul, and strength
in--"

Where was the word--the word that he had been used to utter night
and morning, the word that had meant to him more than he had ever
known? What had become of it?

He groped for it in the dark room of his mind. He had thought he
could lay his hand upon it in a moment, but it was gone. Some one
had taken it away. Everything else was most clear to him: the terror
of death; the lonely soul appealing from his father's eyes; the
instant need of comfort and help. But at the one point where he
looked for help he could find nothing; only an empty space. The word
of hope had vanished. He felt for it blindly and in desperate haste.

"Father, wait! I have forgotten something--it has slipped away
from me. I shall find it in a moment. There is hope--I will tell
you presently--oh, wait!"

The bony hand gripped his like a vice; the glazed eyes opened wider.
"Tell me," whispered the old man; "tell me quickly, for I must go."

The voice sank into a dull rattle. The fingers closed once more, and
relaxed. The light behind the eyes went out.

Hermas, the master of the House of the Golden Pillars, was keeping
watch by the dead.

IV

LOVE IN SEARCH OF A WORD

THE break with the old life was as clean as if it had been cut with
a knife. Some faint image of a hermit's cell, a bare lodging in a
back street of Antioch, a class-room full of earnest students,
remained in Hermas' memory. Some dull echo of the voice of John the
Presbyter, and the murmured sound of chanting, and the murmur of
great congregations, still lingered in his ears; but it was like
something that had happened to another person, something that he had
read long ago, but of which he had lost the meaning.

His new life was full and smooth and rich--too rich for any sense
of loss to make itself felt. There were a hundred affairs to busy
him, and the days ran swiftly by as if they were shod with winged
sandals.

Nothing needed to be considered, prepared for, begun. Everything was
ready and waiting for him. All that he had to do was to go on with
it. The estate of Demetrius was even greater than the world had
supposed. There were fertile lands in Syria