to thee. Only let thy coming be to honour and adore, with
trembling joy, the Son of God, to whose name be glory, on this
His birthday, and forever and forever."

The soul of Hermas did not answer to the musician's touch.
The strings of his heart were slack and soundless; there was
no response within him. He was neither shepherd, nor king,
nor wise man; only an unhappy, dissatisfied, questioning
youth. He was out of sympathy with the eager preacher,
the joyous hearers. In their harmony he had no part. Was it
for this that he had forsaken his inheritance and narrowed his
life to poverty and hardship? What was it all worth?

The gracious prayers with which the young converts were
blessed and dismissed before the sacrament sounded hollow in
his ears. Never had he felt so utterly lonely as in that
praying throng. He went out with his companions like a man
departing from a banquet where all but he had been fed.

"Farewell, Hermas," they cried, as he turned from them at
the door. But he did not look back, nor wave his hand. He
was already alone in his heart.


When he entered the broad Avenue of the Colonnades, the
sun had already topped the eastern hills, and the ruddy light
was streaming through the long double row of archways and over
the pavements of crimson marble. But Hermas turned his back
to the morning, and walked with his shadow before him.