The Lost Word | Page 9

at the gate.
"Lord, we have been seeking you everywhere. The master is at the
point of death, and has sent for you. Since the sixth hour he calls your
name continually. Come to him quickly, lord, for I fear the time is
short."
Hermas entered the house at once; nothing could amaze him to-day.
His father lay on an ivory couch in the inmost chamber, with shrunken
face and restless eyes, his lean fingers picking incessantly at the silken
coverlet.
"My son!" he murmured; "Hermas, my son! It is good that you have
come back to me. I have missed you. I was wrong to send you away.
You shall never leave me again. You are my son, my heir. I have
changed everything. Hermas, my son, come nearer--close beside me.
Take my hand, my son!"
The young man obeyed, and, kneeling by the couch, gathered his
father's cold, twitching fingers in his firm, warm grasp.
"Hermas, life is passing--long, rich, prosperous; the last sands,
I--cannot stay them. My religion, a good policy--Julian was my friend.

But now he is gone--where? My soul is empty--nothing beyond--very
dark--I am afraid. But you know something better. You found
something that made you willing to give up your life for it--it must
have been almost like dying--yet you were happy. What was it you
found? See, I am giving you everything. I have forgiven you. Now
forgive me. Tell me, what is it? Your secret, your faith--give it to me
before I go."
At the sound of this broken pleading a strange passion of pity and love
took the young man by the throat. His voice shook a little as he
answered eagerly:
"Father, there is nothing to forgive. I am your son; I will gladly tell,
you all that I know. I will give you the secret of faith. Father, you must
believe with all your heart, and soul, and strength in--"
Where was the word--the word that he had been used to utter night and
morning, the word that had meant to him more than he had ever known?
What had become of it?
He groped for it in the dark room of his mind. He had thought he could
lay his hand upon it in a moment, but it was gone. Some one had taken
it away. Everything else was most clear to him: the terror of death; the
lonely soul appealing from his father's eyes; the instant need of comfort
and help. But at the one point where he looked for help he could find
nothing; only an empty space. The word of hope had vanished. He felt
for it blindly and in desperate haste.
"Father, wait! I have forgotten something--it has slipped away from me.
I shall find it in a moment. There is hope--I will tell you presently--oh,
wait!"
The bony hand gripped his like a vice; the glazed eyes opened wider.
"Tell me," whispered the old man; "tell me quickly, for I must go."
The voice sank into a dull rattle. The fingers closed once more, and
relaxed. The light behind the eyes went out.

Hermas, the master of the House of the Golden Pillars, was keeping
watch by the dead.

IV
LOVE IN SEARCH OF A WORD

THE break with the old life was as clean as if it had been cut with a
knife. Some faint image of a hermit's cell, a bare lodging in a back
street of Antioch, a class-room full of earnest students, remained in
Hermas' memory. Some dull echo of the voice of John the Presbyter,
and the murmured sound of chanting, and the murmur of great
congregations, still lingered in his ears; but it was like something that
had happened to another person, something that he had read long ago,
but of which he had lost the meaning.
His new life was full and smooth and rich--too rich for any sense of
loss to make itself felt. There were a hundred affairs to busy him, and
the days ran swiftly by as if they were shod with winged sandals.
Nothing needed to be considered, prepared for, begun. Everything was
ready and waiting for him. All that he had to do was to go on with it.
The estate of Demetrius was even greater than the world had supposed.
There were fertile lands in Syria which the emperor had given him,
marble-quarries in Phrygia, and forests of valuable timber in Cilicia;
the vaults of the villa contained chests of gold and silver; the secret
cabinets in the master's room were full of precious stones. The stewards
were diligent and faithful. The servants of the magnificent household
rejoiced at the young master's return. His table was spread; the
rose-garland of pleasure was woven for his head, and his cup was