sitants
vanished--and I awoke."

"Would that your dream had been sent to Abishai!" exclaimed Zarah;
"then might he not through life have borne the brand-mark of Cain!"

"Hark!" cried Hadassah, suddenly; "was that a groan that I heard?"

Zarah had heard the sound also, and was on her feet and at the door
before Hadassah had ended the sentence.

"Oh, mother--it is he--the stranger--he is dying!" exclaimed Zarah,
trembling as she bent over the form of Lycidas, which lay stretched on
the ground, close to the threshold.

The injuries which the young Greek had received from the dagger and the
fall, though severe and dangerous, had not proved fatal. The fresh
morning air had restored him to consciousness; unable to rise, Lycidas
had yet managed to drag himself feebly along for some distance, till,
as he reached the nearest dwelling, the strength of the Athenian had
utterly failed him, and he had swooned at the door of Hadassah.

"Bear him in--he bleeds!" said Hadassah; and after calling the
strong-armed Anna to aid them, the Hebrew ladies themselves carried the
senseless form of the stranger into the house, and beyond the
curtain-partition into that back portion of the dwelling described in
the beginning of this chapter. For some time undivided attention was
given to efforts to restore consciousness to the wounded man.
Hadassah, like many of her countrywomen, had knowledge of the healing
art. Zarah brought of the balm of Gilead and reviving wine; Anna
dragged into the inner room mats and skins, that the sufferer might
have something softer to rest upon than the hard floor. Zarah and the
servant then retired, by the order of Hadassah, leaving her to examine
and bind up the wounds of Lycidas, which she did with tenderness and
skill When all had been done which could be done, Hadassah drew aside
the curtain-screen, and rejoined Zarah and Anna in the front apartment,
where the latter was engaged in removing the crimson stains left by the
wounded Greek on the floor and threshold.

"Go on the road, Anna," said the widow; "carefully efface any marks by
which a wounded man could be tracked to my dwelling. No one must know
that the stranger is here."

"If Abishai heard of it, even your roof would not protect the youth,"
said Zarah, turning pale at the thought of a repetition, in the sacred
precincts of home, of the horrible scene of the previous night. "Oh,
mother, think you that the stranger will live?"

"He may; you