d disjointed it, but by so
doing saved his head and his life."

"Thou hast had more than one of the brotherhood in thy care," added
Crispus, "and hast the repute of a skilful physician; therefore I sent
Ursus to bring thee."

"Ursus, who on the road confessed that yesterday he was ready to kill
me!"

"He confessed his intention earlier to me than to thee; but I, who know
thee and thy love for Christ, explained to him that the traitor is not
thou, but the unknown, who tried to persuade him to murder."

"That was an evil spirit, but I took him for an angel," said Ursus, with
a sigh.

"Some other time thou wilt tell me, but now we must think of this
wounded man." Thus speaking, he began to set the arm. Though Crispus
sprinkled water on his face, Vinicius fainted repeatedly from suffering;
that was, however, a fortunate circumstance, since he did not feel the
pain of putting his arm into joint, nor of setting it. Glaucus fixed the
limb between two strips of wood, which he bound quickly and firmly, so
as to keep the arm motionless. When the operation was over, Vinicius
recovered consciousness again and saw Lygia above him. She stood there
at the bed holding a brass basin with water, in which from time to time
Glaucus dipped a sponge and moistened the head of his patient.

Vinicius gazed and could not believe his eyes. What he saw seemed a
dream, or the pleasant vision brought by fever, and only after a long
time could he whisper,--"Lygia!"

The basin trembled in her hand at that sound, but she turned on him eyes
full of sadness.

"Peace be with thee!" answered she, in a low voice.

She stood there with extended arms, her face full of pity and sorrow.
But he gazed, as if to fill his sight with her, so that after his lids
were closed the picture might remain under them. He looked at her face,
paler and smaller than it had been, at the tresses of dark hair, at the
poor dress of a laboring woman; he looked so intently that her snowy
forehead began to grow rose-colored under the influence of his look. And
first he thought that he would love her always; and second, that that
paleness of hers and that poverty were his work,--that it was he who had
driven her from a house where she was loved, and surrounded with plenty
and comfort, and thrust her into that squalid room, and clothed her in
that poor robe of dark wool.

He would have arrayed her in the costliest brocade, in all the jewels of
the earth; hence astonishment,