spirit as a young eagle that has just left the nest, and spreads its
mighty wings for the first time. He could have shouted in his new and
delicious sense of freedom, and the boy at the stern shook his head in
astonishment when he saw Hermas wield the oars he had entrusted to him,
unskilfully it is true, but with mighty strokes.

"The wind is in our favor," he called out to the anchorite as he hauled
round the sail with the rope in his hand, "we shall get on without your
working so hard. You may save your strength."

"There is plenty of it, and I need not be stingy of it," answered Hermas,
and he bent forward for another powerful stroke.

About half-way he took a rest, and admired the reflection of the moon in
the bright mirror of the water, and he could not but think of Petrus'
court-yard that had shone in the same silvery light when he had climbed
up to Sirona's window. The image of the fair, whitearmed woman recurred
to his mind, and a melancholy longing began to creep over him.

He sighed softly, again and yet again; but as his breast heaved for the
third bitter sigh, he remembered the object of his journey and his broken
fetters, and with eager arrogance he struck the oar flat on to the water
so that it spurted high up, and sprinkled the boat and him with a shower
of wet and twinkling diamond drops. He began to work the oars again,
reflecting as he did so, that he had something better to do than to think
of a woman. Indeed, he found it easy to forget Sirona completely, for in
the next few days he went through every excitement of a warrior's life.

Scarcely two hours after his start from Raithu he was standing on the
soil of another continent, and, after finding a hiding-place for his