pect my brother of bad
intentions. But our father Anthony also said, 'Fishes die on dry land,
and so is it with those monks who leave their cells and mingle with the
men of this world, amongst whom no good thing is to be found.'"

Having thus spoken, the old man pressed his foot on the spade, and began
to dig energetically round a fig tree laden with fruit. As he was thus
engaged, there was a rustling in the bushes, and an antelope leaped
over the hedge which surrounded the garden; it stopped, surprised and
frightened, its delicate legs trembling, then ran up to the old man, and
laid its pretty head on the breast of its friend.

"God be praised in the gazelle of the desert," said Palemon.

He went to his hut, the light-footed little animal trotting after him,
and brought out some black bread, which the antelope ate out of his
hand.

Paphnutius remained thoughtful for some time, his eyes fixed upon the
stones at his feet. Then he slowly walked back to his cell, pondering on
what he had heard. A great struggle was going on in his mind.

"The hermit gives good advice," he said to himself; "the spirit of
prudence is in him. And he doubts the wisdom of my intention. Yet it
would be cruel to leave Thais any longer in the power of the demon who
possesses her. May God advise and conduct me."

As he was walking along, he saw a plover, caught in the net that a
hunter had laid on the sand, and he knew that it was a hen bird, for
he saw the male fly to the net, and tear the meshes one by one with its
beak, until it had made an opening by which its mate could escape. The
holy man watched this incident, and as, by virtue of his holiness, he
easily comprehended the mystic sense of all occurrences, he knew that
the captive bird was no other than Thais, caught in the snares of sin,
and that--like the plover that had cut the hempen threads with its
beak--he could, by pronouncing the word of power, break the invisible
bonds by which Thais was held in sin. Therefore he praised God, and was
confirmed in his first resolution. But then seeing the plover caught
by the feet, and hampered by the net it had broken, he fell into
uncertainty again.

He did not sleep all night, and before dawn he had a vision. Thais
appeared to him again. There was no expression of guilty pleasure on her
face, nor was she dressed according to custom in transparent drapery.
She was enveloped in a shroud, which hid even a part of her face, so
that the Abbot co