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; for I think I
see the beginning of a way that may lead us out of this dreadful
darkness."

In the central hall the two men were standing; Marcion, with
disdainful eyes and sneering lips, taunting the unbidden guest to
depart; 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. "A
word, a name!" he sneered. "What is that, O most wise and holy
Presbyter? A thing of air, an unreal thing that men make to describe
their own dreams and fancies. Who would go about to rob any one of
such a thing as that? It is a prize that only a fool would think of