“Then give me something to drink,” asked Stephanus, “my wound burns intolerably.”
Hermas rose at once, and reached the water-jar to the sufferer.
“Thanks, thanks, my child,” said the old man, feeling for the neck of the jar. But he could not find it, and exclaimed with surprise: “How damp and cold it is—this is clay, and our jar was a gourd.”
“I have broken it,” interrupted Hermas, “and Paulus lent me his.”
“Well, well,” said Stephanus anxious for drink; he gave the jar back to his son, and waited till he had stretched himself again on his couch. Then he asked anxiously: “You were out a long time this evening, the gourd is broken, and you groaned in your sleep. Whom did you meet?”
“A demon of hell,” answered Hermas. “And now the fiend pursues me into our cave, and torments me in a variety of shapes.”
“Drive it out then and pray,” said the old man gravely. “Unclean spirits flee at the name of God.”
“I have called upon Him,” sighed Hermas, “but in vain; I see women with ruddy lips and flowing Hair, and white marble figures with rounded limbs and flashing eyes beckon to me again and again.”
“Then take the scourge,” ordered the father, “and so win peace.”
Hermas once more obediently rose, and went out into the air with the scourge; the narrow limits of the cave did not admit of his swinging it with all the strength of his arms.