ay in the darkness. Fearful
possibilities had begun to suggest themselves to the new convert. Now
had he the flinty heart and the cunning mind of his fathers. The
darkness had begun to smother and sicken him.

"Hear me now, good friends," said a low, calm, but unfamiliar voice,
"and let my words enter your hearts and be there cherished in secret,
for I shall tell you a name, and for its safe-keeping you shall answer
to the Most High. Know you, then, that the new king is no other than
the son of Herod and his name is Antipater--a man of great valor,
learned in all wisdom and all mystery, who loves the people of God.
His heart has suffered, feeling the wrongs of Israel. He has the voice
of wrath, the hand of power, and the claim of a just and natural
inheritor. I have his word that we who are bound in this council of
the covenant shall share in the glory of his reign."

Vergilius, hot with anger, rose to his feet.

"Good sirs," said he, in a piping voice very unlike his own, "let us
not approve without full understanding. There may be some here who in
their zeal have been deceived. Let us be fair, and warn them that all
who approve this plan are traitors. I came here to study the mysteries
of the one God, and I am learning the mysteries of an evil plot. 'Tis
a great surprise to me. I like it not, and shall have no part in it.
I know not your names or your faces, but I know your plan is murder,
and if the one God favor it, I can no longer honor Him."

He paused, but there came no answer. Again he heard a rustle of
garments in the dark chamber, and, also, a stealthy and suggestive
grating of steel upon scabbard. He perceived now the imminence of his
peril. He could hear no sound in the darkness.

He stepped quickly aside, hearing not the feet which followed, nor
feeling him who clung to the skirt of his toga. He stood silent, with
dagger drawn. As he felt about him, he touched a pair of great,
trembling hands. He stood motionless, expecting every breath to feel a
point plunging into his flesh. Suddenly some one blew a sharp whistle
close beside him. Then, for a little, it seemed as if the doors were
being rent by thunderbolts. Crowding forms and cries of terror filled
the darkness. The young Vergilius kept his place after the first
outbreak. Men, rushing past him, had torn the toga from his back. The
hands which had clung upon him now held his wrist with a grip
immovable. Doors fell and lights w