"I rejoice to hear thy hope," replied Pathema with brightening eyes.

"I have hope, but the physicians have little or none."

After a little further conversation during which the visitor's whole heart was drawn out to the n.o.ble character before her, Coryna craved liberty for a moment to bid her friend in the _peristylium_ farewell.

As she went out, a female slave entered to wait upon Pathema and show her every necessary attention. The slave was not long in her presence when she bewailed the calamity that had come upon her beloved master.

Then she mentioned that the young lady in the _peristylium_ was much distressed.

"Emerentia," she continued, "loves him exceedingly, and he liked her in return. Her father and mother leave to-day for a distant city of the empire, and she goes with them."

Pathema was grieved, and she expressed the fervent hope that the n.o.bleman would recover, for the distressed lady's sake, as well as his own.

"Emerentia," added the slave, "is generous and accomplished--that is why the master liked her--but her goodness is not so strong as her pride and jealousy. The lady is fierce in her feelings. She hates the Christians, and more so now than ever."

After a few minutes Coryna returned, restrained and quiet, but with the trace of a tear that had stolen down her fair face.

"My brother," said she with hesitation, "earnestly desired that thou shouldst come and stay with me for a time. Is this possible? May I hope it is."

Pathema was taken by surprise. Her home and beloved parents and the poor of Patara had been much in her heart. Her father had been more than once in Rome, trying to obtain her liberty, and he had provided long ago the temporary abode she had been carried to by Christian friends. This now swept across her vision. But it was quickly followed by another picture--the self-sacrificing act of the n.o.bleman in whose mansion she was now a guest. And he was dying--so the physicians feared. Duty--grat.i.tude--consolation--everything demanded her presence. Her answer was unhesitating and prompt--

"I will stay with thee."

And Coryna bent down and kissed her, with a feeling that was warmly returned.

Tharsos was beyond the stage of knowing anyone. In spite of the best medical skill, fever had quickly set in, and the battle began in earnest between life and death.

Now was the opportunity for a woman's soldiership--soldiership of the highest kind--where woman only can excel. The weapons are experience, presence of mind, patience, endurance and compa.s.sion. With all these Pathema was perfectly armed, her value was speedily recognised, and she became an una.s.suming soldier in the strife. There were days and nights of anxious care and watching, the utmost was performed, and nothing left undone. Yet Tharsos seemed to be marching straight without resource to the grim enemy's gloomy gate. The thought was painful beyond measure, but it seemed to Pathema that the n.o.ble-minded man must die!

While the fever lay upon him he spoke in bits of sentences about the Nazarene, mysterious, divine! and the devoted disciple Pathema. His language was now subdued and reverential, tender and touching, as if he stood in the presence of unearthly beings; then indignant, emphatic, even wild, as if he were again surrounded by the cruel and inquisitive mult.i.tude--a wildness wholly unlike that of the quiet reserved man in health. Sitting up and pointing to the walls he would cry--

"Great G.o.d! the fiends, mad, malignant, blood-thirsty, the fiends of Tartarus have entered thy fair world in the bodies of men."

CHAPTER XIV.

DAY.

Tharsos did not die. Had the lion's claws twisted, or torn a little deeper, or had there been incapable nursing, there would have been no hope. But the animal missed the vitals, and the faithful nurse made the most of what remained--she would have readily yielded life at her loving though painful duty.

When the consuming fever was completely turned and past, and a little strength gained through death-like sleep and judicious nourishment, it dawned upon the sick man's mind that someone strange but fascinating was constantly by his side. And when he learned that his attendant was Pathema, there came a peace over his soul that could not be expressed.

After a long time Tharsos recovered strength, but he was never again the same. He was subject to spells of weakness that kept him to his couch for days, and he had to resign his position in the army. Yet he lived for many years afterwards, and did a n.o.ble work, impossible to be done in the service of the emperor, a work that could not be hid, as a good soldier of Jesus Christ.

Pathema, relieved in due time, went back to her home in Asia Minor.

She carried many costly gifts, showered upon her and refused in vain.

But, better still, she carried away the undying devotion of Tharsos, the close sisterly affection of Coryna, and the goodwill of all that really knew her worth.

Her parents in Patara were overjoyed at her return, and so were many others in the city and wide surroundings--many, who waited for tender attention and waited not in vain.

Tharsos sold his mansion in Rome, and followed Pathema to Patara. He bought a beautiful residence in that city, and built another farther up the river Xanthus among the hills. And Pathema became his wife.

Staying in these two houses alternately, at different seasons of the year, they pa.s.sed the rest of their lives. No two beings loved ouch other better, or did a more useful and beneficent work. Their city home was a centre of Christian light and hospitality, while their rural retreat was the scene of many joyous and instructive gatherings of the country people. In these abodes the friendless wanderer, of whatever race or tribe, could lay down his weary head and there find solace and rest.

CHAPTER XV.

SAINT NICHOLAS.

"The house among the olive trees at the base of yonder hill--whose is it, friend?" enquired a traveller of a pagan whom he met.

"The hospitable home of Tharsos and Pathema," was the reply.

"Thanks be to G.o.d!" said the traveller, pa.s.sing on.

"Who are these two men that sit together in the portico?" asked he of a Christian as he came up in front of the house.

"Tharsos, the owner of the mansion, and Orestes, a shepherd from the valley beyond."

"They speak as brothers," said the traveller, raising his eyebrows and pa.s.sing by.

Going to a side door, he was about to knock when a woman approached from behind luxuriant vines, with a twig of olive blossoms in her hand.

She walked towards him with quiet grace, her countenance inspiring all respect and trust.

Bowing low, the traveller said--"My name is Timon. I have travelled far, and am footsore and in want."

"Enter in," said Pathema kindly, "sit at yonder table with the rest, and thou shalt have water to wash thy feet."

Going in, the ex-detective was met by a pretty boy with golden hair and deep blue eyes, the first-born son of Tharsos and Pathema. The child took a gentle hold of his sun-brown hand to lead him to food and rest.

The weary stranger clasped the tender fingers, and looking down into the trusting, thoughtful face, he said---

"Child of a n.o.ble mother, thou hast made me glad."

"Come," said the little one lovingly, "come."

"Tell me thy name, darling."

"My name is Nicholas," replied the boy.

"Thou art a little saint," rejoined the stranger hopefully, "and thou shalt gladden many."

Wonderful boy of long ago!

Come now and tell-- As aged man, with beard of snow And hair all white, what gave thy name, Adown the years, the glow of fame?

Explain thy spell

O'er countless children waiting thee In varied home,-- Afar inland, beside the sea, In lonely cot, and crowded town,-- Awatching oft in midnight gown, For thee to come.