"Whence comes it," thought Stephanus, "that the young and strong sleep so
soundly and so much, and the old, who need rest, and even the sick, sleep
so lightly and so little. Is it that wakefulness may prolong the little
term of life, of which they dread the end? How is it that man clings so
fondly to this miserable existence, and would fain slink away, and hide
himself when the angel calls and the golden gates open before him! We
are like Saul, the Hebrew, who hid himself when they came to him with the
crown! My wound burns painfully; if only I had a drink of water. If the
poor child were not so sound asleep I might ask him for the jar."

Stephanus listened to his son and would not wake him, when he heard his
heavy and regular breathing. He curled himself up shivering under the
sheep-skin which covered only half his body, for the icy night wind now
blew through the opening of the cave, which by day was as hot as an oven.

Some long minutes wore away; at last he thought he perceived that Hermas
had raised himself. Yes, the sleeper must have wakened, for he began to
speak, and to call on the name of God.

The old man turned to his son and began softly, "Do you hear me, my boy?"

"I cannot sleep," answered the youth.

"Then give me something to drink," asked Stephanus, "my wound burns
intolerably."

Hermas rose at once, and reached the water-jar to the sufferer.

"Thanks, thanks, my child," said the old man, feeling for the neck of the