These especially for this earth, and then looking beyond to the results in heaven—“Almighty and merciful God, of whose only gift it cometh that Thy faithful people do unto Thee true and laudable service, grant, we beseech Thee, that we may so faithfully serve Thee in this life, that we fail not finally to attain Thy heavenly promises, through the merits of Jesus Christ our Lord.” And perhaps oftenest of all they offered up that prayer of Leo’s which, intertwining commands and promises, unfolds the depths of both command and promise for earth and heaven—“Almighty and everlasting God, give unto us the increase of faith, hope, and charity; and that we may obtain that which Thou dost promise, make us to love that which Thou dost command.” Thus, often resting their hearts on the staff of Leo’s faithful words, the two women lived through those days of terrible suspense. And on the fourth came the good tidings, that once more, as far as possible, Leo had saved Rome. The messenger told how the peaceful procession of the clergy, the great Bishop leading them, had gone forth from the gates of the defenceless city, along the Ostian Way, and had met the Vandal king. Less merciful than the Huns, Genseric had yet been moved as never before by that stately, saintly presence, and although he would not relinquish the plunder of the city, he gave orders to his soldiers that there should be no torture of the captives, no slaughter of the unresisting, nor any setting of the buildings on fire. Marius and Fabricius were still determined that they must not leave as long as they had any chance of helping the miserable, plundered citizens, or were able in any way to mediate, counsel, or sustain. Ethne could scarcely wish them to do otherwise, and the anguish of suspense had to be borne. It was reported that the nobles were to be taken captive, and sold into slavery in Africa; and who could say that Marius and Fabricius would escape? A necessity for fresh air and movement came over Ethne; child of the hills and woods, for her the companionship of the mountains and the streams was as that of familiar friends. At first she hesitated to leave Damaris alone, until persuaded by her entreaties. “Go forth, my daughter,” she said, “among the hills and brooks; thine eyes are always opened to see the well-springs, as thou liftest up the thirsting.” And Ethne went, usually accompanied by the two people of her own race in the household, Nurse Fedelm and Dewi, and by the great deer-hound. The first day she sought and found no companionship save the streams and the rivers rushing down the crags; the very sound of the water seemed to refresh her like a draught from the cup of life. But the next day she ventured to the ruins of Nero’s villa, to the place whence they had seen the pagan temple crowning the heights and the rude cross of torture planted on the little hill.