and plead for mercy and help. To
leave this undone was to be false to his manhood; it was to be no better
than the dumb beasts when their young perish. How could he let his boy
suffer and die, without an effort, a cry, a prayer?

He sank on his knees beside Athenais.

"Out of the depths--out of the depths we call for pity. The light of
our eyes is fading--the child is dying. Oh, the child, the child! Spare
the child's life, thou merciful--"

Not a word; only that deathly blank. The hands of Hermas, stretched out
in supplication, touched the marble table. He felt the cool hardness of
the polished stone beneath his fingers. A roll of papyrus, dislodged by
his touch, fell rustling to the floor. Through the open door, faint
and far off, came the footsteps of the servants, moving cautiously. The
heart of Hermas was like a lump of ice in his bosom. He rose slowly to
his feet, lifting Athenais with him.

"It is in vain," he said; "there is nothing for us to do. Long ago I
knew something. I think it would have helped us. But I have forgotten
it. It is all gone. But I would give all that I have, if I could bring
it back again now, at this hour, in this time of our bitter trouble."

A slave entered the room while he was speaking, and approached
hesitatingly.

"Master," he said, "John of Antioch, whom we were forbidden to admit to
the house, has come again. He would take no denial. Even now he waits in
the peristyle; and the old man Marcion is with him, seeking to turn him
away."

"Come," said Hermas to his wife, "let us go to him."

In the central hall the two men were standing; Marcion, with disdainful
eyes and sneering lips, taunting the unbidden guest; John, silent,
quiet, patient, while the wondering slaves looked on in dismay. He
lifted his searching gaze to the haggard face of Hermas.

"My son, I knew that I should see you again, even though you did not
send for me. I have come to you because I have heard that you are in
trouble."

"It is true," answered Hermas, passionately; "we are in trouble,
desperate trouble, trouble accursed. Our child is dying. We are poor,
we are destitute, we are afflicted. In all this house, in all the world,
there is no one that can help us. I knew something long ago, when I was
with you,--a word, a name,--in which we might have found hope. But
I have lost it. I gave it to this man. He has taken it away from me
forever."

He pointed to Marcion. The old man's lips curled scornfully.