The lamplight played on a golden ring on Sirona’s finger, and shone brightly on an onyx on which was engraved an image of Tyche, the tutelary goddess of Antioch, with a sphere upon her head, and bearing Amalthea’s horn in her hand.
A new and strange emotion took possession of the anchorite at the sight of this stone. With trembling hands he felt in the breast of his torn garment, and presently drew forth a small iron crucifix and the ring that he had taken from the cold hand of Hermas’ mother. In the golden circlet was set an onyx, on which precisely the same device was visible as that on Sirona’s hand. The string with its precious jewel fell from his grasp, he clutched his matted hair with both hands, groaned deeply, and repeated again and again, as though to crave forgiveness, the name of “Magdalen.”
Then he called Sirona in a loud voice, and as she awoke excessively startled, he asked her in urgent tones: “Who gave you that ring?”
“It was a present from Phoebicius,” replied she. “He said he had had it given to him many years since in Antioch, and that it had been engraved by a great artist. But I do not want it any more, and if you like to have it you may.”
“Throw it away!” exclaimed Paulus, “it will bring you nothing but misfortune.” Then he collected himself, went out into the air with his head sunk on his breast, and there, throwing himself down on the wet stones by the hearth, he cried out:
“Magdalen! dearest and purest! You, when you ceased to be Glycera, became a saintly martyr, and found the road to heaven; I too had my day of Damascus—of revelation and conversion—and I dared to call myself by the name of Paulus—and now—now?”
Plunged in despair he beat his forehead, groaning out, “All, all in vain!”
CHAPTER XVIII.
Common natures can only be lightly touched by the immeasurable depth of anguish that is experienced by a soul that despairs of itself; but the more heavily the blow of such suffering falls, the more surely does it work with purifying power on him who has to taste of that cup.