“And you can lead me to him?”
“Oh, alas! alas!” Sirona cried, striking her hand against her forehead. “I shall never succeed in finding my way back, for I noticed no way-marks! But stay—Before us a penitent from Memphis, who has been dead a few weeks—”
“Old Serapion?” asked Petrus.
“That was his name,” exclaimed Sirona. “Do you know his cave?”
“How should I?” replied Petrus. “But perhaps Agapitus—”
“The spring where I got the water to cool Polykarp’s wound, Paulus calls the partridge’s-spring.”
“The partridge’s-spring,” repeated the senator, “I know that.” With a deep sigh he took his staff, and called to Dorothea, “Do you prepare the draught, the bandages, torches, and your good litter, while I knock at our neighbor Magadon’s door, and ask him to lend us slaves.”
“Let me go with you,” said Marthana. “No, no; you stay here with your mother.”
“And do you think that I can wait here?” asked Dorothea. “I am going with you.”
“There is much here for you to do,” replied Petrus evasively, “and we must climb the hill quickly.”