ngered 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.

The estate of Demetrius was even greater than the world had supposed.
There were fertile lands in Syria which the emperor had given him,
marble-quarries in Phrygia, and forests of valuable timber in Cilicia;
the vaults of the villa contained chests of gold and silver; the secret
cabinets in the master's room were full of precious stones. The stewards
were diligent and faithful. The servants of the household rejoiced at
the young master's return. His table was spread; the rose-garland of
pleasure was woven for his head; his cup was overflowing with the spicy
wine of power.

The period of mourning for his father came at a fortunate moment to
seclude and safeguard him from the storm of political troubles and
persecutions that fell upon Antioch after the insults offered by
the people to the imperial statues in the year 387. The friends of
Demetrius, prudent and conservative persons, gathered around Hermas and
made him welcome to their circle. Chief among them was Libanius, the
sophist, his nearest neighbour, whose daughter Athenais had been the
playmate of Hermas in the old days.

He had left her a child. He found her a beautiful woman. What
transformation is so magical, so charming, as this? To see the uncertain
lines of youth rounded into firmness and symmetry, to discover the
half-ripe, merry, changing face of the girl matured into perfect
loveliness, and looking at you with calm, clear, serious eyes, not
forgetting the past, but fully conscious of the changed present--this is
to behold a miracle in the flesh.

"Where have you been, these two years?" said Athenais, as they walked
together through the garden of lilies where they had so often played.

"In a land of tiresome dreams," answered Hermas; "but you have wakened
me, and I am never going back again."

It was not to be supposed that the sudden disappearance of Hermas from
among his former associates could long remain unnoticed. At first it
was a mystery. There was a