and that this is not the Advent, but doom!"

"It is the Nazarene apostasy," he exclaimed in alarm, "alive though
the power of Rome and the diligence of the Sanhedrim have striven to
destroy it these forty years! Now the poison hath entered mine own
house!"

A servant bowed within earshot. Costobarus turned to him hastily.

"Philip of Tyre," the attendant announced.

"Let him enter," Costobarus said. "Go, Hannah; make Laodice
ready--preparations are almost complete; be not her obstacle."

"But--but," she insisted with whitening lips, "I have not said that I
believe all this. I only urge that, in view of this time of war, of
contending prophecies and of all known peril, that we should keep her,
who is our one ewe lamb, our tender flower, our Rose of Sharon, yet
within shelter until the signs are manifest and the purpose of the
Lord God is made clear."

He turned to her slowly. There was pain on his face, suffering that
she knew her words had evoked and, more than that, a yearning to
relent. She was ashamed and not hopeful, but her mother-love was
stronger than her wifely pity.

"Must I command you, Hannah?" he asked.

Her figure, drawn up with the intensity of her wishfulness, relaxed.
Her head drooped and slowly she turned away. Costobarus looked after
her and struggled with rising emotion. But the curtain dropped behind
her and left him alone.

A moment later the curtains over the arch parted and a middle-aged
Jew, richly habited, stood there. He raised his hand for the blessing
of the threshold, then embraced Costobarus with more warmth than
ceremony.

"What is this I hear?" he demanded with affectionate concern. "Thou
leavest Ascalon for the peril of Jerusalem?"

"Can Jerusalem be more perilous than Ascalon this hour?" Costobarus
asked.

"Yes, by our fathers!" Philip declared. "Nothing can be so bad as the
condition of the Holy City. But what has happened? Three days ago thou
wast as securely settled here as a barnacle on a shore-rock! To-day
thou sendest me word: 'Lo! the time long expected hath come; I go
hence to Jerusalem.' What is it, my brother?"

"Sit and listen."

Philip looked about him. The divan was there, stripped of its covering
of fine rugs, but the room otherwise was without furniture. Prepared
for surprise, the Tyrian let no sign of his curiosity escape him, and,
sitting, leaned on his knees and waited.

"Philadelphus Maccabaeus hath sent to me, bidding me send Laodice to
him--in