n to add to it, "Beautiful as
the son of Hermas"; for the child developed swiftly in that
favouring clime. At nine years of age he was straight and strong,
firm of limb and clear of eye. His brown head was on a level with
his father's heart. He was the jewel of the House of the Golden
Pillars; the pride of Hermas, the new Fortunatus.

That year another drop of success fell into his brimming cup. His
black Numidian horses, which he had been training for three years
for the world-renowned chariot-races of Antioch, won the victory
over a score of rivals. Hermas received the prize carelessly from
the judge's hands, and turned to drive once more around the circus,
to show himself to the people. He lifted the eager boy into the
chariot beside him to share his triumph.

Here, indeed, was the glory of his life--this matchless son, his
brighter counterpart carved in breathing ivory, touching his arm,
and balancing himself proudly on the swaying floor of the chariot.
As the horses pranced around the ring, a great shout of applause
filled the amphitheatre, and thousands of spectators waved their
salutations of praise: "Hail, fortunate Hermas, master of success!
Hail, little Hermas, prince of good luck!"

The sudden tempest of acclamation, the swift fluttering of
innumerable garments in the air, startled the horses. They dashed
violently forward, and plunged upon the bits. The left rein broke.
They swerved to the right, swinging the chariot sideways with a
grating noise, and dashing it against the stone parapet of the
arena. In an instant the wheel was shattered. The axle struck the
ground, and the chariot was dragged onward, rocking and staggering.

By a strenuous effort Hermas kept his place on the frail platform,
clinging to the unbroken rein. But the boy was tossed lightly from
his side at the first shock. His head struck the wall. And when
Hermas turned to look for him, he was lying like a broken flower on
the sand.

VI

GREAT FEAR AND RECOVERED JOY

THEY carried the boy in a litter to the House of the Golden Pillars,
summoning the most skilful physician of Antioch to attend him. For
hours the child was as quiet as death. Hermas watched the white
eyelids, folded close like lily-buds at night, even as one watches
for the morning. At last they opened; but the fire of fever was
burning in the eyes, and the lips were moving in a wild delirium.

Hour after hour that sweet childish voice rang through the halls and