The Lost Word | Page 8

thinking that I am a fool. My life is
swept as bare as a hermit's cell. There is nothing in it but a dream, a
thought of God, which does not satisfy me."
The singular smile deepened on his companion's face. "You are ready,
then," he suggested, "to renounce your new religion and go back to that
of your father?"
"No; I renounce nothing, I accept nothing. I do not wish to think about
it. I only wish to live."
"A very reasonable wish, and I think you are about to see its
accomplishment. Indeed, I may even say that I can put you in the way
of securing it. Do you believe in magic?"
"I have told you already that I do not know whether I believe in
anything. This is not a day on which I care to make professions of faith.
I believe in what I see. I want what will give me pleasure."
"Well," said the old man, soothingly, as he plucked a leaf from the
laurel-tree above them and dipped it in the spring, "let us dismiss the
riddles of belief. I like them as little as you do. You know this is a
Castalian fountain. The Emperor Hadrian once read his fortune here
from a leaf dipped in the water. Let us see what this leaf tells us. It is
already turning yellow. How do you read that?"
"Wealth," said Hermas, laughing, as he looked at his mean garments.
"And here is a bud on the stem that seems to be swelling. What is
that?"
"Pleasure," answered Hermas, bitterly.
"And here is a tracing of wreaths upon the surface. What do you make
of that?"
"What you will," said Hermas, not even taking the trouble to look.
"Suppose we say success and fame?"

"Yes," said the stranger; "it is all written here. I promise that you shall
enjoy it all. But you do not need to believe in my promise. I am not in
the habit of requiring faith of those whom I would serve. No such hard
conditions for me! There is only one thing that I ask. This is the season
that you Christians call the Christmas, and you have taken up the pagan
custom of exchanging gifts. Well, if I give to you, you must give to me.
It is a small thing, and really the thing you can best afford to part with:
a single word--the name of Him you profess to worship. Let me take
that word and all that belongs to it entirely out of your life, so that you
shall never need to hear it or speak it again. You will be richer without
it. I promise you everything, and this is all I ask in return. Do you
consent?"
"Yes, I consent," said Hermas, mocking. "If you can take your price, a
word, you can keep your promise, a dream."
The stranger laid the long, cool, wet leaf softly across the young man's
eyes. An icicle of pain darted through them; every nerve in his body
was drawn together there in a knot of agony.
Then all the tangle of pain seemed to be lifted out of him. A cool
languor of delight flowed back through every vein, and he sank into a
profound sleep.

III
PARTING, BUT NO FAREWELL

THERE is a slumber so deep that it annihilates time. It is like a
fragment of eternity. Beneath its enchantment of vacancy, a day seems
like a thousand years, and a thousand years might well pass as one day.
It was such a sleep that fell upon Hermas in the Grove of Daphne. An
immeasurable period, an interval of life so blank and empty that he
could not tell whether it was long or short, had passed over him when

his senses began to stir again. The setting sun was shooting arrows of
gold under the glossy laurel-leaves. He rose and stretched his arms,
grasping a smooth branch above him and shaking it, to make sure that
he was alive. Then he hurried back toward Antioch, treading lightly as
if on air.
The ground seemed to spring beneath his feet. Already his life had
changed, he knew not how. Something that did not belong to him had
dropped away; he had returned to a former state of being. He felt as if
anything might happen to him, and he was ready for anything. He was
a new man, yet curiously familiar to himself--as if he had done with
playing a tiresome part and returned to his natural state. He was
buoyant and free, without a care, a doubt, a fear.
As he drew near to his father's house he saw a confusion of servants in
the porch, and the old steward ran down to meet him