s, how quickly its white walls, its white houses and its
sparkling Temple became haunted, dead crypts and sepulchers.

But presently there came across the considerable distance that lay
between him and Jerusalem, a sound remarkably distinct because of the
utter stillness that prevailed. It was the jingle of harness and the
ring of hoof-beats upon stones embedded in the gray earth.

A Roman in armor polished like gold, with a floating mantle
significantly bordered in purple, rode slowly into the open space,
drew up his horse and stopped. The Maccabee looked at him sharply,
then quitted his shelter and walked down toward the rider. At sight of
him, the horseman clapped his hand to his short sword, but the
Maccabee put up his empty hands and smiled at the man of all superior
advantage. Then the light of recognition broke over the Roman's face.

"You!" he cried.

"I, Caesar," the Maccabee responded. For a moment there was silence in
which the Jew watched the flickering of amazement and perplexity on
Titus' face.

"What do you here, away from Ephesus, and worse, attempting to run my
lines?" he demanded finally.

The Maccabee signed toward the walls.

"My wife is there," he said briefly.

The Roman made an exclamation which showed the sudden change to
enlightenment.

"Solicitous after these many years?" he demanded.

"She has two hundred talents," the Maccabee replied.

Titus smiled and shook his head.

"I ought to keep her there. Rome must get treasure enough out of that
rebellious city to repay her for her pains in subjugating it."

"Pay yourself out of another pocket than mine. It will take two
hundred talents to repay me for all that I have suffered to get it. I
want the countersign, Titus. You owe me it."

"Will you come out of there, at once?" the Roman demanded. "Not that I
suspect you will make the city harder to take, but I should dislike to
make war on an old comrade in my Ephesian revels."

The Maccabee looked doubtful.

"I can not promise," he said. "At least do not hold off the siege
until you see me again without the walls. It might lose you prestige
in Rome."

Titus swung his bridle while he gazed at the Maccabee.

"I wish Nicanor were here," he said finally. "He might be able to see
harm in you; but I never could. You will have to promise me
something--anything so it is a promise--before I can let you in.
Something to appease Nicanor, else I shall never hear the last of
this."

The Ma