In front of them all was Miriam, who looked all round the wide space-expectant; seeking something, and disappointed.  He was not there, and yet she had heard him come in; and the gate had not opened and closed a second time, of that she was perfectly certain.  Some of the slaves went to the stables, others went outside the gate into the street to enjoy the coolness of the evening; they sat in groups on the ground, looking up at the stars, chattering or singing.  Only the shepherdess remained in the court-yard seeking him on all sides, as if she were hunting for some lost trinket.  She searched even behind the millstones, and in the dark sheds in which the stone-workers’ tools were kept.

Then she stood still a moment and clenched her hands; with a few light bounds she sprang into the shadow of the Gaul’s house.  Just in front of Sirona’s window lay the steinbock; she hastily touched it with her slender naked toes, but quickly withdrew her foot with a shudder, for it had touched the beast’s fresh wound, wet with its blood.  She rapidly drew the conclusion that:  he had killed it, and had thrown it down here, and that he could not be far off.  Now she knew where he was in hiding-and she tried to laugh, for the pain she felt seemed too acute and burning for tears to allay or cool it.  But she did not wholly lose her power of reflection.  “They are in the dark,” thought she, “and they would see me, if I crept under the window to listen; and yet I must know what they are doing there together.”

She hastily turned her back on Sirona’s house, slipped into the clear moonlight, and after standing there for a few minutes, went into the slaves’ quarters.  An instant after, she slipped out behind the millstones, and crept as cleverly and as silently as a snake along the ground under the darkened base of the centurion’s house, and lay close under Sirona’s window.

Her loudly beating heart made it difficult for even her sharp ears to hear, but though she could not gather all that he said, she distinguished the sound of his voice; he was no longer in Sirona’s room, but in the room that looked out on the street.

Now she could venture to raise herself, and to look in at the open window; the door of communication between the two rooms was closed, but a streak of light showed her that in the farther room, which was the sitting-room, a lamp was burning.

She had already put up her hand in order to hoist herself up into the dark room, when a gay laugh from Sirona fell upon her ear.  The image of her enemy rose up before her mind, brilliant and flooded with light as on that morning, when Hermas had stood just opposite, bewildered by her fascination.  And now—­now—­he was actually lying at her feet, and saying sweet flattering words to her, and he would speak to her of love, and stretch out his arm to clasp her—­but she had laughed.

Now she laughed again.  Why was all so still again?

Had she offered her rosy lips for a kiss?  No doubt, no doubt.  And Hermas did not wrench himself from her white arms, as he had torn himself from hers that noon by the spring-torn himself away never to return.