It was evening again, as when she went there before with her husband. The temple shone golden in the evening glow, and the cross was reddened with the rays of the dying sun. Ethne was half hoping to see the hermit again once more, when to her delight she perceived the kneeling form in the dark robe with the sheepskin capote, the arms clasped around the cross. She went forward and knelt beside him, whilst Fedelm and Dewi stood at some distance behind. After a time the hermit rose. His face lit up as he recognized Ethne. “But where is thy husband, my daughter?” he asked. “In Rome, father!” she said. “But they say those savages, the Arian Vandals, are plundering and sacking Rome, my child, and that the city lies a defenceless prey in their hands.” “He stays because Rome _is_ defenceless. Pray for him!” she implored. “I will pray for him night and day,” was the reply. “You are a priest?” she said. “A deacon and servant of Christ and His Christians, as far as may be,” he replied. “Bishop Leo wrote to the Bishops of Campagna, that the priesthood should not be degraded by the ordination of slaves, and I, as thou knowest, was a slave and a fugitive.” “Bishop Leo has once more saved Rome,” Ethne said, “as far as Rome can be saved.” “I know,” the hermit said; “I pray for the Bishop constantly, often in his own words. It is not because he despises the slave, but because he honours the ministry of the Lord, that he refuses a slave the priesthood. For, alas! often slavery does degrade the slave unutterably; and also,” he added, in a low, deep voice, “the master.” “Our Master took the form of a slave,” she said, “and He knows the heart of a slave. I also, father, was once a captive and in bondage. I think nothing teaches like suffering; and that kind of suffering I suppose Leo does not know.” The hermit was silent a few moments, and then once more, as on that other evening, looking up at the rude weather-beaten cross, he said, with tears in his eyes— “_Lady, thou hast understood._” Then, seeing her worn, wearied look, he added, “Wilt thou come with thy people into my cave? I have bread and raisins, if thou wilt deign to partake of them; the peasants around are good to me and bring me food; and close beside is a spring of pure water.” She went with him. An abundant fountain gushed out of the rock just outside the cave, afterwards plashing in a waterfall over the rocks. “It is one of the springs which feed the Aqua Claudia,” he said. She smiled. “Then it has baptized my little Paul,” she said. “Thou hast sent forth thy contribution to the sacred font of the Lateran.” “Thou hast a little Paul?” he asked. “Yes,” she said, “a little Paul, who is, I trust, to tread in the steps of the great Paul, who wrote the letter about the fugitive slave, ‘his own son in the faith, his brother beloved.’” His voice quivered as he replied— “I shall pray every evening and morning for that little Paul.”