Sirona was now sitting at her loom in the front room, whither she had
been tempted by the sound of approaching hoofs. Polykarp had ridden by
on his father's fine horse, had greeted her as he passed, and had dropped
a rose on the roadway. Half an hour later the old black slave came to
Sirona, who was throwing the shuttle through the warp with a skilful
hand.

"Mistress," cried the negress with a hideous grin; the lonely woman
paused in her work, and as she looked up enquiringly the old woman gave
her a rose. Sirona took the flower, blew away the road-side dust that
had clung to it, rearranged the tumbled delicate petals with her finger-
tips, and said, while she seemed to give the best part of her attention
to this occupation, "For the future let roses be when you find them. You
know Phoebicius, and if any one sees it, it will be talked about."

The black woman turned away, shrugging her shoulders; but Sirona thought,
"Polykarp is a handsome and charming man, and has finer and more
expressive eyes than any other here, if he were not always talking of his
plans, and drawings, and figures, and mere stupid grave things that I do
not care for!"




CHAPTER VII.

The next day, after the sun had passed the meridian and it was beginning
to grow cool, Hermas and Paulus yielded to Stephanus' wish, as he began
to feel stronger, and carried him out into the air. The anchorites sat
near each other on a low block of stone, which Hermas had made into a