ly, "if it be his
apostasy that made him kind. And I--I owe him much, that he repaired
that for which I feel at fault."

He smiled at her and stroked her hand once, soothingly.

"Let us not remember blames or injury. It damages my happiness. But of
this apostasy that the shepherd preached me. I passed the stones of
the Palace of Antipas to-day, a ruin, black and shapeless. Thought I,
where is the majesty of order and the beauty of strength that was this
place? And then," his voice fell to a whisper, "beshrew the boy's
tattle, I said, the footprints of his Prophet before the throne of
Herod are erased."

"Even then," she whispered when he paused, "you do not forget!"

"No! Why, these streets, that should ring for me with the footsteps of
all the great from the days of David, are marked by the passage of
that Prophet. I might forget that Felix and Florus and Gessius were
legates in that Roman residence, but I do not fail to remember that
they took that Prophet before Pilate there. By my soul, the street
that leads north hath become the way of the Cross, and there are three
crosses for me on the Hill of the Skull!"

She looked at him gravely and with alarm. What was it in this history
of the Nazarene which won aristocrats and shepherds alike? She would
see from this man if there were indeed any truth in the story that
Philadelphus had told her.

"I have heard," she began, faltering, "I have heard that--" She
stopped. Her tongue would not shape the story. But after a glance at
her, he understood.

"And thou hast heard it, also?" he whispered. "Thou believest it?"

It seemed that to acknowledge her fear that the King had come and gone
would establish the fact.

"No!" she cried.

"It is enough," he said nervously. "We do not well to talk of it. I
came for another reason. Tell me; hast thou other shelter than this
house?"

"No," she answered.

"Hast thou talked with this Philadelphus, here?" he asked after
silence.

She assented with averted face.

"Is he that one who was with me in the hills?" he persisted.

Again she assented, with surprise.

His hands clenched and for a moment he struggled with his rage.

"This house is no place for you!" he declared at last.

"What manner of house is this?" she asked pathetically. "It is so
strange!"

"Why did you come here?"

"Because there was nowhere else to go."

He was silent.

"Who is this Amaryllis?" she asked.

"John's mistress."

She shrank away