He could not see into the cave, for the space in which the bed stood was closed at the end by the narrow passage which formed the entrance, and which joined it at an angle as the handle of a scythe joins the blade.
She remained a long time, and he could hear now and then a tender word with which she tried to comfort the suffering creature.

Suddenly he was startled by a loud and bitter cry from Sirona; no doubt, the poor woman's affectionate little companion was dead, and in the dim twilight of the cave she had seen its dulled eye, and felt the stiffness of death overspreading and paralyzing its slender limbs.

He dared not go into the cavern, but he felt his eyes fill with tears, and he would willingly have spoken some word of consolation to her.
At last she came out, her eyes red with weeping.

Paulus had guessed rightly for she held the body of little Iambe in her arms.
"How sorry I am," said Paulus, "the poor little creature was so pretty." Sirona nodded, sat down, and unfastened the prettily embroidered band from the dog's neck, saying half to herself, and half to Paulus, "My little Agnes worked this collar.

I myself had taught her to sew, and this was the first piece of work that was all her own." She held the collar up to the anchorite.