“Father, I might have known thou wouldst guess,” he said. “No, I have not told Aristarchus. I have told no one: not even her.”
“And it is about her thou wishest to speak with me?”
“Yes, Father, it is,” answered Lycastus.
But again he sat silent, not being able to speak one single word; and presently Aristarchus came over to them, his bronzed face wet, his neck and arms bare.
“Jason will be expecting thee,” he said to Paul.
“Yes,” assented Paul. “And thou, Aristarchus? Whither art thou going?”
“I am going home to my wife and little son to talk of Jesus Christ. But I will walk some way with thee, Master,” he said. “Come, Jason will have his food spread for thee, and, I doubt not, some wine for thy tired body.”
“Aristarchus, thou knowest I am not tired,” said Paul, reproachfully, “it is only here that I am weary,” he added, placing his hand against his heart. “Come, Lycastus and Aristarchus, we will walk together.”
But though Paul had protested that he was not weary, he walked half a pace behind the young men and placed a heavy hand on the shoulder of Aristarchus. They walked in a westerly direction, towards the marshy mouth of the great river, and when they were clear of the city walls, they slackened their pace. Already the air was cooler, for the evening was coming and the sun was now sliced across by the horizon. Olympus, in a delicate mist, burned milkily like an opal.
“Aristarchus,” said Paul a little absently, “Lycastus has something to tell thee.”