a knife. Some faint image of a hermit's cell, a bare lodging in a
back street of Antioch, a class-room full of earnest students,
remained in Hermas' memory. Some dull echo of the voice of John the
Presbyter, and the murmured sound of chanting, and the murmur of
great congregations, still lingered 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 with
it. 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 magnificent household rejoiced at the young master's
return. His table was spread; the rose-garland of pleasure was woven
for his head, and his cup was already filled 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
mob to the imperial statues in the year 887. The friends of