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 noble 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 passed 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 God!" said the traveller, passing 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 passing 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."