be dear to.  But ere long she lost the power even to speak caressing words or to stir a hand to stroke the dog.  It slipped off her lap and limped away, while she sat staring blankly before her, and at last forgot her sufferings in an uneasy slumber, till she was roused by Iambe’s barking and the Alexandrian’s footstep.  Almost half-dead, her mouth parched and brain on fire, while her thoughts whirled in confusion, she believed that Phoebicius had found her track, and was come to seize her.  She had already noted the deep precipice to the edge of which she now fled, fully resolved to fling herself over into the depths below, rather than to surrender herself prisoner.

Paulus had rescued her from the fall, but now—­as he came up to her with two pieces of stone which were slightly hollowed, so that he had been able to bring some fresh water in them, and which he held level with great difficulty, walking with the greatest care—­he thought that inexorable death had only too soon returned to claim the victim he had snatched from him, for Sirona’s head hung down upon her breast, her face was sunk towards her lap, and at the back of her head, where her abundant hair parted into two flowing tresses, Paulus observed on the snowy neck of the insensible woman a red spot which the sun must have burnt there.

His whole soul was full of compassion for the young, fair, and unhappy creature, and, while he took hold of her chin, which had sunk on her bosom, lifted her white face, and moistened her forehead and lips with water, he softly prayed for her salvation.

The shallow cavity of the stones only offered room for a very small quantity of the refreshing moisture, and so he was obliged to return several times to the spring.  While he was away the dog remained by his mistress, and would now lick her hand, now put his sharp little nose close up to her mouth, and examine her with an anxious expression, as if to ascertain her state of health.

When Paulus had gone the first time to fetch some water for Sirona he had found the dog by the side of the spring, and he could not help thinking, “The unreasoning brute has found the water without a guide while his mistress is dying of thirst.  Which is the wiser—­the man or the brute?” The little dog on his part strove to merit the anchorite’s good feelings towards him, for, though at first he had barked at him, he now was very friendly to him, and looked him in the face from time to time as though to ask, “Do you think she will recover?”

Paulus was fond of animals, and understood the little dog’s language.  When Sirona’s lips began to move and to recover their rosy color, he stroked Iambe’s smooth sharp head, and said, as he held a leaf that he had curled up to hold some water to Sirona’s lips, “Look, little fellow, how she begins to enjoy it!  A little more of this, and again a little more.  She smacks her lips as if I were giving her sweet Falernian.  I will go and fill the stone again; you stop here with her,