Hermas found the Grove of Daphne quite deserted. There was no sound in the enchanted vale but the rustling of the light winds chasing each other through the laurel thickets, and the babble of innumerable streams. Memories of the days and nights of delicate pleasure that the grove had often seen still haunted the bewildered paths and broken fountains. At the foot of a rocky eminence, crowned with the ruins of Apollo’s temple, which had been mysteriously destroyed by fire just after Julian had restored and reconsecrated it, Hermas sat down beside a gushing spring, and gave himself up to sadness. “How beautiful the world would be, how joyful, how easy to live in, without religion! These questions about unseen things, perhaps about unreal things, these restraints and duties and sacrifices-if I were only free from them all, and could only forget them all, then I could live my life as I pleased, and be happy.” “Why not?” said a quiet voice at his back. He turned, and saw an old man with a long beard and a threadbare cloak (the garb affected by the pagan philosophers) standing behind him and smiling curiously. “How is it that you answer that which has not been spoken?” said Hermas; “and who are you that honour me with your company?” “Forgive the intrusion,” answered the stranger; “it is not ill meant. A friendly interest is as good as an introduction.” “But to what singular circumstance do I owe this interest?” “To your face,” said the old man, with a courteous inclination. “Perhaps also a little to the fact that I am the oldest inhabitant here, and feel as if all visitors were my guests, in a way.” “Are you, then, one of the keepers of the grove? And have you given up your work with the trees to take a holiday as a philosopher? “Not at all. The robe of philosophy is a mere affectation, I must confess. I think little of it. My profession is the care of altars. In fact, I am the solitary priest of Apollo whom the Emperor Julian found here when he came to revive the worship of the grove, some twenty years ago. You have heard of the incident?” “Yes,” said Hermas, beginning to be interested; “the whole city must have heard of it, for it is still talked of. But surely it was a strange sacrifice that you brought to celebrate the restoration of Apollo’s temple?” “You mean the ancient goose?” said the old man laughing. “Well, perhaps it was not precisely what the emperor expected. But it was all that I had, and it seemed to me not inappropriate. You will agree to that if you are a Christian, as I guess from your dress.” “You speak lightly for a priest of Apollo.” “Oh, as for that, I am no bigot. The priesthood is a professional matter, and the name of Apollo is as good as any other. How many altars do you think there have been in this grove?” “I do not know.”