The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, December 21, 1902, Page 4

surely know it, eir duty. It flashed upon me that and he will tell the peo- Caiaphas and his litic father-in-law had a plan in to bfl§ forward, at an opportune moment, a Messiah of their own selec. rgn. possibly one of ' numerous d’ ambitious sons, to lead a revolt of the Jews against the power of Rome. “Besides,” continued the high priest, “I have reason to believe that this mounte- bank, John, knoweth well enough who is to be the Pretended Messiah that he so mysteriously proclaims in byplaces to the vulgar, iguorant, and hence credulous rabble.” “Say’st thou s0?” cried Annas. “I have beard paught of that.”” “It was s ested to me since I last parted from tgze." replied the high priest. “On my way here from the Temple I met a young Galilean who, when of the age to become a son .of the covenant, was brought to me by his father, a worthy man named Zebedee. Since then I have often met the young man, who cometh regularly to the feasts, and bears, like the half-crazed or fanatical baptizer, the name of John. I found him to-day well disposed to talk, and by judicious ques- tioning learned that the ex-Essene and present prophet is his cousin, on his mother’s side. He expressed the utmost confidence in the predictions of his rela- ive.' 4 “And thou did’st not discou him? llluflh ted Annas, smiling and rubbing his jeweled hands approvingly. “] had been most unworthy to be;_l;{ ughter’s husband had I done so. qy‘.mn man noticed my interest and, thinking no doubt to convert me to his cause, suggested that he thought he al- ready knew the coming Messiah, and that he was a relative of his, aiso. “Thou art indeed worthy to be my son- aw,” remarked Annas. “] fear that thou wilt change thy mind when I tell thee that not all my arts of reuasion—and 1 fancy 1 possess some— followed by my most direful threats, could induce or force him to disclose the identity of his relative, whom, strangely enough, another relative is engaged in roclaiming.” p"Il hwkx;‘]flie a family plot.” remarked Annas, scowlingly. ““The vanity of these northern peasants, many of whom are tainted with Gentile blood, passeth all un- derstanding. Thou must place this am- bitious son of Zebedee under arrest. A week in the Tower of Antonia, with none 100 _much food, will loosen his tongue. “He bath by this time departed for Gal- Jlee. Besides, to apprehend him would be to give the matter neeiless publicity.” “Thou art right, Joseph, I have a better Jan myself. We will drop a hint to erod Antipas, the tetrarch of Galilee and Peraca, at Tiberias. His father was a family gquarrel pre- Lim from succeeding to _the throne; hence the appearance of a rival will scarcely please him. A wise man, Joseph, makes mse of others to perform disagrecable dutie: H‘:g Annas stopped abruptly and turned aside. I knew that he did this in obed- jence to a sign from Rabbi Samuel, who evidently thought that I was learning too many siate secrets. Shortly afterward I expressed my thanks and withdrew, well gatisfied that the tall baptizer stood in danger of losing his liberty, if not his life. The official residence of the Roman pro- curator of Judea is in the city of Caesarea, that splendid seaport, built after the #nanner of the Greeks by Herod ihe Great, Pontius Pilate, whose place 1 had so foolishly aspired to secure, spends most of his time in that magnifi- cent city, whose temples, amphitheaters and baths rival those of Antioch. He sel- dom visits Jerusalem, where he is most heartily detested by the people, except when he is compelled to €o 0 in the dis- charge of his official dufles. Calaphas bad stated that he was in the city, as he always is on the occasion of the regular feasts, when a large portion of all the people of Israel visit the Temple, and in- surrections and outbreaks are especially feared. It was with a heavy heart that I ap- roached the Tower of Antonia, where he Roman soldiers are quartered. and where 1 was certain to find representa- tives of the procurator, who occupled. when in the Holy City, the new palace of Herod the Great. I had little hopes of securing any in- formation without - visiting Caesarea, where 1 well knew all the archives were kept, and was not surprised when an offi- cer informed me that he knew nothing of Manasseh, and that further inquiry would be useless. : “I must &o to Galilee,” sald I after thanking e officer for his eivility, “where I have better prospects of hearing from him.” “We have with us,” remarked the offi- cer, “a man who arrived from Rome three days ago, and who departs for Tiberias to-morrow. He rs letters to Herod Antipas, and is to have, I understand, some sort of appointment under him. It might profit thee to bear him company, thus securing a speedy aucience and cour- teous treatment. Thou wilt find him in the last room at the east end of the hall.” This was most opportune, and might prove of great benefit to me. Thanking the officer again, I went in quest of the courler and prospective official. As I opened the massive door, which turned on heavy brazen hinges, and entered a large and sumptuously fur- nished apartment, a rattliug sound, which proceeded from behind a large orna- mental screen, fell upon my hearing. “Now, Barabbas, no trifling with the dice. A shekel of gold is not so great a stake as to take away thy honesty, I gusl? T'll have no trifling with the ce.” These words, spoken in Greek, startled me as I stood hesitating ‘n what manner to announce my presence. The tones in which they were uttered struck me some- how as familiar. While I was considering who the speaker could be another and louder outburst set the matter at rest. “A Venus! By Caesar’s cloven-footed horse, a Venus! Tantalus is surely one of the immortals. Let me see the dice.” V. Seldom have I been so greatly aston- ished, so completely disconcertu Fate, or, rather, Providence, bad brought me into the presence of the man who, of all in the world, not even excepting the cruel and unscrupulous Tiberius Caesar, I most loathed and despised. In what seemed but an instant—so quickly do we remem- ber injuries—all that 1 had suffered at the hands of this wretch—all his treach- ery, intrigue and fraud—passed clearly and connectedly before my mind. That he still, as the representative of the Emperor, possessed the power to in- jure, perhaps ruin me, did not occur to my mind. I saw in him the murderer of Julia, the destroyer of Joseph, the apotheosis of designing baseness, and sterted back from him as I might from & poisonous, fiery serpent ‘I ask thy pardon, Barabbas, the dice are right,” cried Pollio as I turned to leave the apartment. “’Tis naught but the luck Nemesis hath meted out to me since the day when I secured the worth of more than two hundred thousand of thy shekels of gold by outwitting a pair of thy foolish counthymen. I well knew it would prove my ruin, but could not re- sist the sport of plucking them. Thou knowest the feeling thet moved me, friend Jesus. What's that?” : Listening to the words of the gambler while moving at the same time toward the door T had struck and overturned a light chair. Escape being now impossible 1 turned and faced what I regarded as At the same instant Flavius Pollio and a huge, swarthy man with a black beard and distinctive Jewish fea- tures appeared on either side of the screen that had before obscured them from my sight. “Iscariot, as I live!” cried Pollio, drop- fln‘ the dice box to the floor and spring- ng to “I would sooner meet thee than to find a burled pot of goid. What cheer, friend Judas?” “The heaviest,” I answered, es 1 man- sged, though without giving expression to my deep disgust, to free myself from his strong, al 10st fierce embrace. Con- tradictory as i seemed to his past actions, I eould not do..o. that this strange man 3 0 “In troubie?’ he asked. 'm grieved &t that. I would rather thal.!he‘rshlde of that patron of poets and buyer of books, my paternal grandfather, Assinius Pollio, were in pain than thou in trou- ble. The dice box is the deadly foe, the ‘:.muoner of trouble. Join us in a game._ now'st mnot countryman, Jesus PBarsbbas—a man whose good company would cause the blackest melancholy to commit suicide in sheer disgust?” I had heard of Barabbas, a rollick- ing, riotous feliow, who in years past had fomen! discontent among the common B B b e 0 e urrection. Moreover, it had long been hinted, fimug‘}: never, as 1 proven, that he was the secret chief of a band of rob- bers that infested the mntgl#nl near Jerusalem. him in the company lndlmmfly':gefflemlo(Pouhl e to. bellve (hat he had lost his lone: m#mm;nas\mdfl-nfllm O Rave done with Pollio,” I answered, at, the % salut- ing his companion, “and after all that hath passed between us_ I hardly expected to receive a chal- lenge from thee. Our last encounter scarce left me the value of a stake.” “’Tis true. By the divided hoof of Caesar’s stallion, I had forgotten the cir- cumstance; the joy of meeting thee quite drove the matter K‘Om my mind. I swear —and I can speak the truth when the dice box is not in my hand—I swear that I meant thee naught but good. Caesar, whose avarice is greater than his cx-uele:),"i forced me to do it. I had lost my h otherwise.” “But the Emperor ordered us to be re- turned, with all our effects, to our na- tive land.” I objected, disgusted at the cool effrontery of the wretch. “True, and he meant it at the time, but soon repented of his hasty generosity. When I went out to order the body of Barbatus removed from the -audience chamber he sent for me and instructed me to act as I did. More than that, from a secret panel he saw and heard all that followed. He knew that the will of the gods would spane your lives, and beyond that cared nothipg. I am truly sorry for my enforced treatment of thee, and will do aught 1 can to atone for it. To prove my penitence, I will tell thee something that will make thee ilad, which I only do to those I love, Tiberius divided thy fortune with me; indeed, I managed to secure the major portion. But my luck departed with thine. Within a month I lost it all at dice, and before another had elapsed 1 was a beggar with the eyes of ‘l}lll lthe ‘?,Sh in the Tiber staring me in ut surely the Emperor—" ‘Came to my assistance, thou would'st s He saved me from starvation—for all my friends departed with my fortune —and ridded himself of an unpleasant reminiscence by sending me on a journey to Tiberias, with the promise of some petty appointment under Herod Antipas. I have never been a student, as thou hast, Iscariot, but I have learned one mogsel of philosophy—all love begins and ends with self. Old Tantalus lifted his heavy hand the day I met thee in Rome; therefore 1 loved thee. Now that thou hast again crossed my track, I believe that both he and Nemesis will find some occupation other than pursuing me, there- fore 1 am right glad to see thee, a.ng will do aught I can to regain thy favor. Greatly as Flavius Pollio had deceived me in the past, I was satisfied that he spoke truly now. The superstitions pe- culiar to gamblers seemed to be exag- gerated in him, and he doubtless belleved that his own future fortunes depended upon my prosperity. Had I been pos- sessed of a full quota of prudence I would have followed my first impulse and quit- ted his presence and baneful influence. As it was, I decided to use him in locat- ing my friend, my anxiety on his account overbalancing the repugnance I felt for Pollio. John had told me to do my duty as 1 saw it, and I entertained no serious fears as to the result. While 1 was reaching this conclusion Barabbas ex- cused himself on the plea of business and withdrew. “Now for thy heavy cheer,” sald the gambler, as he conducted me to a couch. “It coneerns my friend. Joseph Manas- seh, and his wife,” I replied. “Thoq hast grievously injured them and should'st be willing to do them a kindness.’ “Are they not with thee? What is amiss? I would shed my last drop of blood for them.” 1 explained the circumstances under which we had parted, and the reasons why I had hopes of finding Joseph, at least, in Galilee. “Thou shalt go with me to Tiberias to- morrow,” cried Polllo, with the intense enthusiasm that usually characterized him. *I bear strong letters to Herod and will interest him in thy favor. Concern not thyself about the matter; Manasseh 1s as good as found.” After some further conversation, in which my companion insisted on giving me the details of his most serious losses at dice, we separated, I to visit Joel, my banker, at whose house I lodged, to se- cure needed money, he to seek Barabbas, that he might learn over the gaming board whether my coming had induce Tantalus to lift his heavy hand, and if his ood resolutions had 8o far restorgd the natural equilijrium of affairs as to lead Nemesis tg sheathe er avenging sword and hide her bloody B e EHiE Sther. words, whether his luck had changed. My business with Joel was soon dis- patched, since Jews are the most exact and painstaking bankers in all the world, and 1 went forth into the city to spend the remainder of the day. I called upon some of my friends, but passed most of my time in the poorer portions of the city. As I walked along the streets, many of them so narrow that I could, by stretching my arms to their utmost ex- tent, touck the houses on either side, 1 engaged in conversation with numbers whom § encountered. I had long known that the people were discontented and restless, but, un- il that day, had no just conception of the depth and extent of the feeling against Rome and the eagerness with which they looked for *deliverance. Their hatred for the empire manifested itself chiefly in denunciatios of Pontius Pilate, who collects the royal revenue, and stands to them as the Emperor, and who is even more detested than was Valerius Gratus and his three predecessors in the office of procurator. As I saw the hatred the people mani- fested toward Pilate, I rejoiced that my one-time hopes of succeeding him had come to naught. The wisest man in the world would find the task a thankless and well nigh hopeless one, since the office would .bring odium upon whoever filled it. Pilate is not altogether an un- worthy man, at least among Romans who are placed in authority, but he is weak in beigg over politic. He sprang from the ranks, and fears to fall with the same speed that he rose. Once already he hath nearly lost his governorship by causing the royal ensigns, ornamented with the image of Tiberius, to be car- ried into Jerusalem and within the precincts of the temple, thus raising a Storm that almost took the form of in- surrection, so grat was the popular de- testation of graven images. All men hate those who rule them against their own consent, and this is true no matter how wisely and humane- ly they are governed. But, aside from this reason, the Jews detest the Romans because they are Gentiles. Their hatred for all other peoples almost surpasses be- llef, and_astonishes me, who, though a Jew, have mixed much with Greeks and Romans. Gentiles are not locked upon as neighbors, and it is scarcely re- garded as a crime to put one of them to death. I learned that day that many of the ople had gone forth from Jerusalem to mlen to the preaching of John, and that some of them had been baptized of him. Knowing them as I did I concluded that hatred of the Romans and a desire to see their rule brought to an end had moved them to this course far more than love of God, whose prophet John pro- fessed to be. More than once I thought of the suggestion made by the deposed chief priest, that the ambition and hatred of Herod be played upon to silence the Baptizer, and wished that [ could in- form him of the danger in which he stood, though I doubted if the knowi- edge would swerve him one iota from what he believed to be his divinely ap- pointed path of duty. 3 ‘We started quite early the following morning. Pollio demurred a little to this arrangement, which was made at my suggestion. This was chargeable to his natural indolence and love of ease. I was eager to hear tidings of Joseph, and, to confess the truth in all frankness, almost as anxious to see Joseph's sister, from whom 1 had so recently parted. The journey was a long one, and we would be quite fortunate if we completed it in two days. Besides, I had no great liking to be seen leaving the city with one whose dress and features proclaimed a Roman. Long sojourn in far countries had deprived me of the greater part of the prejudice that possessed my country- men, but I wished to avoid as far as pos- sible the taunts and insults that I well knew I must expect to recelve. Early as was the hour—and we were al. ready mounted whep the. sounding of trumpets aroused the people—many were astir, every one of whom paused to gape at us as we hurried thrcugh the narrow streets. The Jews have "ren.t respect for the Jaw—particularly ere a hea: penalty is provided for its violation. '0 have struck us or impeded our progress would have rendered thosé we encountered lia- hle to punishment, and we had nothing to fear on that score. But our laws pro- vide no penalty for abuse, and, so as sharp tongues could inflict wounds, we were guite at the mercy of the rab- ?tl;' ;Mch never mneglects an opportun- insult a Gentile, ¢r one who bears him cotfllprl-fll i a ' “Hurry out of our gates, dog o Gentile, and a good ridda: a nce to theel” peed thee, Godless, pork-eating idol- R ots s, frienas ih mefid added ““Not s frien le_ren: 2 a third, pointing the finger ota'lwrn at me. ‘‘Hast secured a position as one of Pilate’s tax-robbers?” thy face and become a Roman, pig of a Samaritan!” screamed a fourth, as he ran after us in the street. ‘“Would that thy false mother could see her fine son now.” This last was the acme of vituj Possessed of a ready tongue an cellent vocabulary, no Jew can heap greater odium upon another than to call him a Samaritan; beyond that none of the dialects we speak can be made to go. The Samaritan, who worships thc same God, and reads and reveres the same Scriptures as the Jew, I8 detested ration. an ex- by the latter beyond the power of expression; Indeed it is seldom that e will pronounce the name, Samaritan, Not only have -‘they no dealings together, but when pass- ing through ,their country, as he needs must Who journeys directly be- tween Judea and Galilee, hunger will Scaice compel a Jew to buy food of his hated enemies, even if they are dis- posed to sell it. It was amid such in- sults, and some even more vile, that we hurried on toward the nearest gate. Greatly as I was incensed and humil- iated at the unmanly conduct of my coun- trymen, I could searcely forbear to laugh at my companion. Pollio, who understood l'lgbrew very imperfectly, and knew noth- ink of Chaldee or Aramaic, the language of the common people, was first anuoy- ed, then enraged and finally alarmed at the hostile demonstrations. At first he shook his fists and called down upon their devoted heads the curses of all the heathen divinities whose names he could remember. As this produced no effect, except to increase the torrent of abuse, he drew his sword and made®ready to dismount. I pacified him somewhat by explaining that we were in no danger of violence, but he ceased not to answer Chaldean taunts with terrible Latin caths, from which the famous horse of Julius Caesar was by no means omit- ted, until we had left the city behind us. Galilee is a less mountainous country than Judea and Samaria, and we made such good progress that before night- fall the second day we had reached the southern end of the Sea of Galilee, near the point where the Jordan_issues from its placid, grayish-blue bosom, . and twisting and hissing like a serpent through overhanging rocks, finds its grave near the place where Sodom and Gomorrah, those twin sisters of ancient iniquity, sleep beneath a pall of salt and ashes. Proud of their ancient lineage, their knowledge and observance of the law, their purer speech and more refined man- ners, the Judeans entertain, and often express, a feeling of contempt for the Galileans, which is returned by the lat- ter with ample usury. Of this strained feeling, not to say positive enmity, I received a strong suggestion the day I first entered the country. It was when we reached the southern extremity of the Sea of Galilee, or Ti- berius, as the Romans and others who seek 1o gain the favor of the Emperor call the noble lake, that the incident occur- red. We were still some distance from our destination, the city of Herod An- tipas, and had halted our weary _ani- mals upon the bright sand that bordered the lake, to view the moving scene. Fish form a large portion of the food of the people, and quite an active market is maintained there. It is the nearest lakc point to Jerusalem, with which quite an extensive trade is carried on, and many buyers from that city were on the_ spot. Dismounting, we advanced to a large, vpen tent, beneath which great quanti- ties of various sorts of fish were dis- Dlu{ed. 1 £ 1 would gladly buy them;. what is the price?” asked a white-haired man, potnt- 1n§ to a basket of fine fish. ‘Will I bargain with my brother? Am I to exact money from a father in Israel for food to sustain his life?’ responded the proprietor, raising his hands in seem- :x;,ily”lndignant protest, “I give them to e. The appearance of the fisherman was so striking, that I observed him_ quite nar- rowly. e was above the medium height and stoutly built. His high forehead was much wrinkled and his thick hair and beard touched with gray, although his age could not have been beyon two score. His eyes were bright and very prominent, indicating, accorSmg to my ob- servation, a bountiful supply of words and a tongue full apt in empioying them, Honesty was stamped upon his rugged but not unpleasant face, while an abrupt- ness and nervousness of manner bespoke a Tt.llloctl.( temper and a headstrong dis- “‘But I cannot deprive thee of the fruits of thy labor, my son,” responded the old g;:tn as if actually reluctant to accept a ““They are mine to dispose of as seems meet to me,” réturned the fisherman. “A basket of fish worth a paltry shekel of xl'lgle\ff"r. what Is that betwixt thee and ““More,” cried the old man; “five drach- mae, at least.” “Not so,” returned the fisherman, in well-feigned indignation; ‘“‘three at the ‘ut- most. It is nothing betwixt two brothers. Take them; they are yours.” The old man complied with the request, but not until he had counted three drachmae into the other’s calloused hand. This peculiar method of bargaining pre- vails very generally among the lower and middle classes of the Jews, who adopt this fictitious system out of excessive po- liteness. The fisherman, under the guise of belittling a proffered gift, really set his price, while the old man, in saying that it was worth more, meant that he would not give so much; whereupon the other named a lower price, which was accepted. Not since my departure from Judea with Manasseh had T heard a bar- gain made in this peculiar manner, and it interested and «amused me. As the old man counted out the three small coins, I burst into a low laugh. “Laugh; it attests thy birth and breed- ing,” shouted the fisherman, his eyes flashing with anger, while his hands as- sumed the form of two huge fists. “Art bette: and more liberal in Judea I sup- pose? 1 doubt not thy mother haggled for an hour over the span of cloth that made thy first rather short garment, how- ever rich thy present dress.” “I meant not to offend, amused.” “At the ignorance and il manners of the northern barbarians? Knowest not, thou that apest the dress and bearing of a conceited scribe, anything of the law? Hast never read in the Torah how Father Abraham, who_lived before thy city was built, bargained with Ephron for the cave of Machpelah wherein to bury his wife Sarah? Hast a newer and better fashlon in Judea, I suppose? The words and do- ings of the great father of our nation still pass current with us ignorant Galileans, though those who travel with unclean Gentiles reject them.” I had made a serious mistake, hampered as T was with the company of Pollio, and well knew It, yet my anger was provoked at the taunts of the rude fisherman, and I hededed not the consequences of my words. “What was modest in Abraham s hypocrisy and deceit in thee”” 1 shouted. “Call not him father, thou who art doubt- less descended from some slave of a Gen- tile. 1 will complain to thy Sanhedrim and have the Chazzan of thy synagogue chastise thee.”” Cruel and insolent as were my words, I had not the slightest fear of violence, for Jews of his class seldom put themselves within the grasp ‘of the law, but I had made a most serious mistake in my an- tagonist, whose offensive weapons were by no means confined to a sharp tongue and sneering face. The words had barely left my lips when I received a blow that sent me staggering back. “Repeat that, dog of a Jew, and I'll send thee to fatten fish for thy base fel- low’s catching. The fisherman understood no word of Pollio’s furlous Latin warning, but he caught in his gleaming eyes the light re- flected from the gambler's flashing sword, and fully comprehended their meaning. He stepped hurriedly backward while a younger mafl, who bore a strong family Tresemblance to my assallant, placed him- Belf by hig side. “Hast thy cruel and idolatrous master sent thee to murder us?” shouted the fish- erman, who was trembling, but with rage, not fear. ‘‘Before thou dost it, remember that the blood of the Maccabees still floweth in Galilee.” Although quickly angered, I bear mnot malice long, and am ever willing to admit my error when I find myself in the wrong. fhe fault was mine, brother, ‘sald I, advancing as I .spoke. *“Thou art a strue man, such as I also profess myself to be. I repent my hasty words and crave thy forgiveness.” “Which I innt and ask thine also.” As he spoke the flerce anger dled, as &x:ckly as a lurid flash of lightning, from eyes of my late ersary, good na- ture, absolute affection, instantly suc- ceeding it, and he advanced with out- stretched hand. “ 'Twas all the fault of the Roma said he as my palm closed on hi presence of one ever angereth me. Noting that Pollio understood the situa- tion and was sheathing his sword, I led the way to the spot where we had left our asses, the two fishermen following us. “Peace be with thee, brethren,” sald I I was only THE SUNDAY CALL. as we rode slowly away. “And with !hea,ybrothyn." responded the two Jews. Then the elder added: ‘“‘Come to my house at Capernaum, near the upper end of the sea, and 1 will glve thee—not after that the manner that Ephron gave the cave to Abraham, but freely and gladly—a, mess of fish that will be to thy liking, 1 am Simon Barjona, and this is Andrew my brother. Vi The setting sun was flashing its almost level rays 'ver the bosom of this most beautiful of inland seas, as I waved & farewell to the two sons of Jona—for sui the surname Barjona proclaimed them s be—and rode onward beside Pollio towa.rt Tiberias, some of the fine I>uudlngz:i ‘n which were already visible in the a& tance. The gambler had stood my me‘:l and I accepted it as an earnest of his conduct toward me in the future. In t}‘né-\ I gave him undeserved credit, not conlh,- ering that he was the creature of tda passing hour, a vane turning in the wind, and more susceptible to blasts of evd than to airs freighted with virtue ?r;l compelling real generosity and good faith. The occurrence raised the Roman in my estimation and I conversed with him more freely than at any time since outr e~ parture, explaining the nature of my qualfrel wll’th Sil{]lOl’;; “Peace be with thee.” At this salutation 1 raised mine GYE?; which were fixed upon the ground, witl a start of surprise. 1 had heard the same words a hundred times that day; it was the tone that affected me, We had come to a sharp turn in the road and before us stood two figures; one, that of Simeon, Manasseh’s uncle, while in the othe;‘. though closely veiled, 1 recognized hhs flflerd“!‘)flai:im {‘n an instant I was on the ound beside them. g‘KL‘VV had no_thought of seeing thee so soon,’ sald Simeon, “though thou art none the less welcome.” 5 “Speak for thyself, uncle,” said Mxrlanll. raising her veil and disclosing 2 beauti- ful face in.which marks of sorrow I glven temporary place to lines of iovs “1 felt that he would come to-day, as did the night that he unexpectedly re- turned to his father's house at Kerioth. Thou art indeed most welcome, Judas. & As she lowered her veil I cast a quic glance at Pojlio, who still retained his seat. His mouth was fairly agape, his eyes glowing with wonder and admiration. Had the meeting occurred in Rome, my heart would have sunk within me. As it was, I experienced no fear, but rather a feeling of pride and exultation, We were in Galilee and the fair maiden was surely secure from annoyance on the part of the conscienceless gambler. 1 hastily explained how I had come with one who possessed some influence with Herod, through whose offices 1 could the more readily prosecute my inquiries after Joseph, which had profited nothing in Jerusalem. “Thou must come with us; my house and piece of ground are near at hand. We have been to the sea for fish, at Miriam’s suggestion,” and Simeon in- dicated a basket on his arm. 3 “I heard thee praise the fish at Joel's table,” added Miriam, in low, almost !rembllns tones. I was deeply touched at this announce- ment; it showed her strong faith in my coming, and also a desire to Dlease me. Coupled = with the expression 1 had noted on_her face, it moved me to be- lieve, to hope, at least, that she felt an interest in me other than that naturally chargeable to the fact that 1 was the friend of her lost brother. “Come with us,” repeated Simeon. “Thou canst see thy companion to-mor- row in Tiberias.” 1 explained the situation to Pollio, tell- ing th that my friends were the uncle and sister of Joseph. I arranged to seek him the next day at the palace of Herod Antipas, and we parted company, he going onward toward the city, I lead- ing my ass and walking between Simeon and Miriam in the direction of their home. The modest house of Simeon was sit- uated in the midst of a small but ex- ceedingly fertile parcel of land, which, carefully cultivated as it was, yielded an_ample support for the proprietor, his wife and niece—for - his house had ever been a childless one. “Surely,” said I, I seated myself with Srmeon beneatW the vine-entwined fig tree that stood in front of his lime- stone dweiling, while Miriam was pre- paring the evening meal, “God hath been good to Galilee, and its people shou}d be content.” 4 “Those unto whom the hand of the Lord hath been most bountifully opened are often the least satisfied,” replied my host. “Like the two daughters of the horse-leech they still cry, ‘Give, give, although they already jpossess more than they require for their sustenance and comfort. Yet the Galileans are as well content as any people who possess not all their imagination compasseth. But food and raiment are not the only, nor vet the chief ends of life. We no longer enjoy the liberties of our fathers. I1%ur- eign potentates exact tribute from us, interfere with the admiristration of our ancient laws, ‘erect idolatrous images within our cities, ridicule and suppress our time-honored customs. Instead of being willing subjects of the beneficent rule of the Most High, we are fast be- coming the slaves of ambition, greed and lust as personified in our Gentils op- ressors. But God hath not abandoned is chosen peopie; even now he is mak- ing bare his sirong right arm, girding up his loins, unsheathing the terrible sword with which he has so often smit- ten the foes and opgn'essors of Israel.” Even in the fast-failing. light I saw the fire of patriotism and religious fervor glowing, like an indignant protest, in the usually miid blue eyes of Simeon. The national feeling was surely stronger in Galilee than in Judea. “The coming of the Messiah is, then, ip thy judgment, near at hand?’ said I \“Thou, who hast studied the prophets, should’st not ask that question. Are not allythe divinely appointed conditions for his' appearance present? Thou knowes for Miriam tells me that thou hast both seen and talked with him—that his fore- runner, as predicted by Isaiah, hath al- ready appeared in the wilderness to make straight his path to the throne of Israel and the hearts of the people. Through him, as through David, God will rule his people, will rebuild his rulned sanc- tuaries, rekindle the sacred fires of his worship.. Little is said, nothing above a whisper, vet the people of Galilee have become 'a people of scribes, so searching- 1y, do they scan the propiets, and a peo- ple of priests, so fervently do they pray for deliverance. I also have seen this John; have been baptized of him.” “And thou believest in him?"” “I do more; I accept his teachings as the ‘very truth. But seek not to exalt my faith. I have reasons for be- Jieving that thou wist rot of. In my youth I lived in Judea, and there knew a venerable priest who had spent a long life in prayer and the hely offices of his sacred calling in the temple. He resided not in Jerusalem, but in the hill country beyond the city, near where [ was born. His wife, like himself, well stricken with ears, had ever been barren, and his ouse, like mine, destitute of children. “‘Something more than thirty years back, while Zacharias—such was the good priest’s name—was officiating in the tem- ple, an angel appeared unto him as he stood beside the altar of incense, and told him that his wife, Elizabeth, was to g bear a son destined to fulfill the prom- ises of the Scripture and make ready the people to receive the Messiah. In the fullness of time this thing came to pass. ‘When I had married a wife and was de- parting for Galilee the good priest told me the secret of what had been a great wonder in Judea, charging me to ever bear it in my memory.” “And this John, who announceth the speedy coming of the Messiah, is the nngelg}romlsed son of pious Zacharias?’ 1 cried, moved to an ecstasy I had never felt before. “Of a certainty. Thou indeed hast faith, *having believed without knowing these things that I have ever treasured in my heart. Canst thou wonder, re- flecting upon thine own faith, that all Galilee is aroused and awaiteth the cer- tain coming of the deliverer?” Such fervor I had never encountered, save in John the Baptizer and my father, and it moved my heart to its very depths. Long intercourse with Gentiles hath made the Galileans more liberal in mat- ters of religion than their brethren of Judea. . Insensibly, almost, the philoso- hy of the Greeks and Romans hath roadened their views, without destroy- ing or grea.ly weakening their anclent fai From what I have set down, and a further conversation which I held that with Simeon and his fair niece, cotciuded not only that the times were ripe for the expected feligious and polit- fcal revolution, but that Galilee was the place where it might be expected to first manifest itself. The following day I repaired ta Ti- berias, the newest city in all the world; indeed it was not yet entirely builded, many workmen being engaged in hewing stones and raising them into their proper places in what were to become massive "’ll-'“hc‘u;:.l.' f Herod Anti e ace o er pas far ex- ceeded in splendor my utmost expecta- I .one I was pursuin, tions, and I attested the heavy burden that his rule had laid upon the people of Galilee. I found Pollio in the general office, and was received with every man- ifestation of the most extravagant joy. ““’Tis but a dull place,” said he in swer to my question as to how he liked Tiberias, ‘‘though I ought not to com- slnln, since I doubled my capital with the lice last night. My meeling with thee hath surely changed my fortune again, Iscariot. I must give friend Herod a hint, as soon as I know him well enough. The idea of building an immense syna- gogue to offset the statues to the divine Caesars, and not providing a theater; why, even thy priest-ridden city of Jeru- salem hath that, one worthy of Rome, in fact. But we have a race course, I am told. If Tantalus holds off his hand for one more night I will buy me a chariot and horses and compete in the races. Gaming alone will never sustain my character as a Roman nobleman.” “What news of Joseph?” I asked. ‘“Nothing good,” he replied, a serious, almost sorrowful look settling upon hig face. “His state seems not improved since he parted from thee.” “Then thou knowest something; hast heard of him?” I cried. unable in my excitement to retain my seat. “‘Oh, Pollio, restore him to me and I will forgive all thy harsh treatment—will hail thee as a brother. “I will try to earn t}y pardon dnd that title, which you Jews bestow not upon every Roman you chance to meet. A month ago he was at Caesarea Phillppl.” ‘Art sure? Do not awaken within me false hopes.” ‘‘The report seems clear. A demented man, or one possessed of devils, as you say here, was arrested there a month ago. He was in rags, and answered to the name of Manasseh. So violent was he that they put him in chains lest he destroy himself. He had come to the city through a mistaice of his distorted mind, it seems, thinking it to be Caesarea upon the ccast, and was constantly call- ing for his sister.” “He may still be there, and I will g0 in instant search of him. Heardst aught of Ruth, his wife?" ‘Naught. I fear me that she is lost Indeed, sure her beauty would attract attention anywhere,” and Pollio sighed and looked thoughtfully from the window. (_"an I count upon thine assistance, Pol- lio?” I asked. *“I depart at once in quest of him.” A ‘“To the last drop of my blood,” replied the gambler, in tones more fervent than pleased me, for I had come to understand his real nature. | “If I find him, or learn aught of him, Pollio, I will write thee, sending the let- ter under cover by one of the Govern- ment couriers that must go back and forth between the two cities. Wilt see that it comes to the hands of Mirlam, the sister of my friend and niece of Simeon, whom "all men know in these parts?” $ “‘Even so, and at the earliest moment. By that time T hope to have my new mas- ter, Herod Antipas, well under control, !:fi that I can be of decided service to ee. The heart of Miriam was deeply stirred at the news I brought; it fluttered with alternative joy and sorrow, as she saw prospects of holding her beloved brother in her arms, or remembered the sad plight to which he had been reduced. I explained my plans, particularly that I would send her tidings through Pollio, and why I proposed to do so. Barly the following morning I rode away to the northward, hoping to reach Caesarea Philippi before nightfall. The ride along the Western shore of the Sea of Galilee, or Gennesareth, as it is called by many, was exceedingly pleas- ant, the coast being almost lined with populous cities and smiling villages. At Magdala, which I reached just as the sun was rising and before many were astir, an incident occurred that all.day long depressed my heart. By the roadside stood a young woman of rare beauty and striking figure, though she was poorly clad and her long hair in the most extreme disorder. Her face in- dicated great intelligence, although some needed element seemed lacking. “‘Whither away so early, fair and brave sir?” she half caroled, in a low and most melodious voice. ‘The dew hath not left the grass and the air is chill. Wilt have time anon for thy journey. No hand- some youth passeth Mary without putting silver in her band. Be not churlish, fair 1 gazed upon the beautiful woman In sorrow, for I saw, that, like the friend I was_ seeking, demons had taken posses- sion of her. As I looked, she spoke agali this time In plercing, startled tones, unlike as possible to those she had for- merly employed. .. “Pass on! pass on! it was the devils, "not Mary of Magdala, that beguiled thee, Heed them not! heed them not! they will destroy thee as they have me. I am going to take them back to their own home in Sodom. But 1 cannot, I cannot, they are stronger that I. Speed thee! speed thee!” Then, in the former sweet enticing voice, accombpanied with a most graceful aban- don, she continued: “Suffer not beauty to frighten thee, my adored one, for I have peace offerings with me; this day have I paid my vows. Therefore I came forgh to meet thee, diligently to seek thy face, and I have found thee.” As she repeated these words, which King Solomon put into the mouth of the strange woman of ancient days, I halted my beast to observe the poor creature more narrowly. At that instant she be- gan throwing her white arms about as though engaged in g life-and-death strug* gle with some unseen power. “They have me! they have me!” she shrieked, clutching wildly her own throat. “Back Beelzebub. back Asmodeus! Bide your time, devils! Is there no forgiveness io* sin?” and with a look of intense agony she fell to the ground as if in a fit. I was making ready to dismount that I might go to her assistance, when the door of a low dwelling opened, from whence two women emerged and carried the miserable creature inside. I was in no mood for making observa- tions, so intensely had my sympathies been aroused, and I passed through the populous and thriving cities of Bethsaida and Capernaum, almost without noticing them. 1 soon entered a much rougher country, where progress was slower, and it was past nightfall when I reached the city of Caesarea Philippi, so called in honor of Caesar and Herod Philip, the son of Herod the Great, and half brother of Herod Antipas, who rules that country as tetrarch, under an appointment from Augustus Caesar. The city is largely peo- pled by Gentiles and, some sixty years back, was owned and ruled, together with the country surrounding, by that beauti- ful, but most infamous one-time Queen of Egypt, Cleopatra, who received it at :he hands of the infatuated Marle An- ony. I lodged that night at an inn, and in the morning went to the palace of Herod Philip where, in the office, I made In- quiries about Joseph Manasseh. I did this with many misgivings, for, upon reflec- tion, I saw that Flavius Pollio was quite capable of again deceiving me, such being his idea of pleasantry, and 1 was over- Joyed to find that my fears were without foundation. ‘‘The man thou seekest was seized here some time ago,” sald the officer in charge, in reply to my anxlous inquiry, “‘and, be- ing exceedingly violent, was™ placed in irons and thrown into prison, while in- quiries were sent abroad concerning him. Two nights ago he broke his irons (the demons that possessed him giving him great strength) and escaped from prison. It was learned that he went eastward, on the road leading to Damascus, and soldiers were sent in pursuit of him, but they returned without having overtaken or learned aught coneerning him.” Disappointed as I was at the \escape of Joseph, I was still greatly encouraged, since T did not doubt my ability to trace and locate him, and resolved to depart at once. Within an hour I was on my way, having written a letter to Pollio, ex- plaining my discovery and plans, which the officer informed me would be sent to Tiberias in a day or two with dispatches. The great road to Damascus, a portion of the system that connected it with Eg‘;’pt, dates from the days of Abraham, and is an easy one to travel. But as I was obliged to make frequent inquiries and was aften diverted from my course by reports that proved misleading, it was more than a week before I reached the most anclent city of the world, founded, it is said, by Uz, the grandson of Noah. After first leaving Caesarea Philippi, I encountered many evidences that Joseph had passed that way, but as I advanced these grew more vague. Possessed men are common in that country, and I eould not make certain of the identity of the R it e s il great city, days of alternate hope and despair, as promising clews presented themselves and proved .n turn baseless. Finally I was able to send a letter to Pollio by a cara- van that was, departing for Egypt. I in- formed him of my failure and my de- termination to search most thoroughly that country before returning to Galilee, By the same means I dispatched a letter to my father. a "Tw. "~ useless to deseribe my der- ings, -adventures and disappointments, Suffice it to say that, after two months search, during which time I e e Pollio, 1 sorrowfully set out %g:\;‘s:;‘ still pursuing my inquiries by the way. At length, quite late one even- ing, 1 redched the house of Simeon. < “Where is Miriam?’ I asked as the ol man met and embraced me at the door. “*Miriam?’ he repelflt;.‘edt.h:ew‘knt mean 2 he not wi ? thlo‘éoul{i‘s;fl; answer him with a stare of blank astonishment. "Tw: weeks ago,” explained Simeoui “she received thy letter, at the hu):?sd’o( thy friend Pollio,ssaying that thou had's found her brother and wished her to come at once to Damascus, where her pres- ence might aid in recalling him toi s self. Accordingly she set out immediately, ihy (ridend kjindly oflerlggtotoa:ccol‘l'lpany er a day’s journey, an e 2% “My friend!” I interrupted bitterly. .: thousand curses light on him, and all suc friends!” of fruitless had twice or VIL Not since the awful day at Capreae, when the dissevered head of Barbal rolled against my foot, nad I been s di: mayed, so utterly overwhe.med. The blow was thé harder to bear because so utter- ly unexpected. 1 knew Pollio to be ues- Htute of honor and quite capabie of any infamy, but the possibility of his mo- lesting Miriam had never crossed my mind during all the disappointments, doubts and perplexities to which it had recently been subjected. We suffer often from the deceptions of others, but more frequently from those of our own imposing, and the perfidy of Pollio removed a _ self-bound bandage from miine eyes, quite erlighiened me as to the nature of the feelings I entertained toward the maiden that mine own rash folly had delivered into the power of the mest unscrupulous wretch I had ever en- C tered. COlfe st clear idea that presented itselt to miy confused mind—so complete.y are we tne suocjects of selfishness—was a Sonse of mine own personal loss, which led me to know that Miriam had become to me something more than the sister of my well-beloved friend, dearer than that friend himself—the most desirable thing in all the world. S “When came Po.lio first? I uskffl. seating myself on that indispensable ar- ticle of household furniture, the bushel, which stood in the center of the rvom. “A week after thy departure,” replied Simeon, in whose grief-stricken face read pity rather than censure. Twas when he brought thy first letter from Damascus, announcing the escape of Jo- seph.” = “Acted he in any manner strangely? “In no manner. He was astomshed to find that Miriam could read Latin, and was stricken with her beauty, I thought; had he not been jt would' have ueen strange indeed, since, though she be my sister's daughter, the maid is passing fair. But he conducted himself m a most seemly manner—that is for a Gen- tile.” ““And he came not again until he re- ceived my second letter?’ o5 “Not so; we saw him two days later. “Upon what occasion or prelext came he ¥ “He had talked—so ne said—with an old Jewish woman where he lodged—the Jews of the city mix much with the Gentiles and are not overstrict in other matiers— xflnldhwlshed to question me touching our aith.’” “Felt the need of religion?’ I suggest- ed, with a bitter laugh “He did not avow it, yet his earnest- ness led me to conclude that such was the case.” i “And thou turnedst teacher, thinking to ‘make a proselyte, with Miriam as thine assistant? Pollio is cleverer than I thought. But I interrupt thy story.’ “He seemed to realize, indeed freely confessed that he had been a great sin- ner. Our faith impressei him most fa- vorably, and he began to talk of adopt- ing it as his own, discarding the false gods of Rome. In. time he brought two more letters, wherein thou recounted the constant ill-success of thy mission. One day, now two weeks agone, he came in great haste and brought the letter that led to Miriam’s almost instant departure for Damascus. I have it here.” The false writing was rather a clever imitation of my hand, and made the an- nouncement that I had at last found Joseph and succeeded in conveying him to Damascus, and that he was exceed- ingly violent, knowing no one. It con- cluled with an earnest appeal to Pollio to see that Mirlam came at once to Damascus. as the only hope for his restoration lay In her presence and in- fluence. Simeon was almost distracted with griet and dismay when he came fully to com- prehend the awful gravity of the situa- tion. He could offer no suggestions, but readily 'agreed to accompany me the next morning to Tiberias, in which un- clean city he had never yet set foot. I passed a night of sleeplessness and anxiety, amounting to positive torture, and about the third hour next day, ac- companied by my equally sorrowful friend, entered the pubiic office in the palace of Herod Antipas. I was prepared to learn that the gam- bler had resigned his office, that he had left the city, that nothing was known of his present whereabouts; quite prepared for any and all revelations—except the one I received. Seated before a broad ebony table, reclining lazily against a tall piilar of fluted marble, was the sub- _liiect of my proposed inquiry, Flavius Pol- 0. “Iscariot, as I live!” shouted he, as he flung the silver box and ivory dice, with which he had been practicing to be- guile the time, noisily upon the table and sprang to his feet. “By Caesar’'s cloven- fuoted horse, my mother were not more ‘welcome.” Whether Polllo was acting a part, or had for the moment forgotten his late ‘nfamous perfidy I knew not. In either event, my steady and indignant stare soon brought him to realize the situation, and the expression of pleasure upon his face gave place to one of sullen anger. “And is an appreciation of beauty and worth such a heinous offense as to be unpardonable under thy system of re- ligion?” said he after a momentary si- lence. ‘“May not the sclen of an illustri- ous Roman family look so high as a country Jewish maiden without incur- ring the displeasure of an upstart whom she hath jilted?” ““Thou canst not ?revent an inquiry by provoking a quarrel,” I answered, firmly, yet calmly. ““Where is Miriam?"” “Thou art not, I take it, her guardian?” “But I am,” cried Simeon, his face white with rage. ‘“Whers is my niece?” “I must even deny thy right in the premises, my late kind mentor,” sneered the Roman, as he lazily gathered up the gcattered dice and dropped them one byl" one in the box. “She is now my wife."” ““Thou liest!” shouted Simeon, clench- ing his hands and springing toward the younger and far stronger man. “Keep off thy hands,” returned Pollio, throwing down the dice-box and draw- ing his sword. ‘“Art aware that it is treason to assauit an officer of the Gov- ernment? Herod shall hear of this.” “That he shall,” responded the ' old man, “and not from thy lips only.” “I know not why we should trouble royalty with a trifling love affair,” said Pollio, lowering his sword and leaning defiantly against the fluted column. “I will make all plain, though of mine own moticn, not as the result of thy threats— mind that. Accustomed only to the so- ciety of country boors, the maiden loved me. 'Twas at ‘her request that I con- sented to adopt thy heathenish faith.” “Garnish thy tale with as few false- hoods as thy imagination will permit,” interrupted I. “Where is Miriam?"* “As | was saying,” resumed the Impu- dent rogue, “the maiden loved me from the first. 'Twas at her suggestion that I wrote the letter bidding her come to Damascus. That same day we were married Inktl;e cli;y-l;’ This wicked, slanderous lie so enr: me that, quite careless of conseflue:g:: I drew my sword and rushed upon the calumniator. Though lost to all sense of decency and shame, Flavius I-olllo was no coward, and our weapons were soon crossed in desperate conflict. “Hold! "What means this? Fighting witkin the confines of my palace? Ho, gun{dl!" These words caused us both to lower back. That the our Swords and step speaker was Herod Antj evident to me, though nl g:; n':v.erq“l.::-‘ fore seen him. He was a tall and vig- orous man, though his gray hair and beard indicated that he had somewhat passed the middle of life. His dress. :gxsct:_‘mln:f;e;i thge fashion of the Jews, = m:jextl& s bearing dignified. al- at means thi: lig?” he uxedhmrolsy.dmmhm"' i “This man—the same of who thee as seeking the place of Plul!al - tered here but now and sought to take s wheithests demanded - th tetrarch. e . maiden mear (e i mhoty BATY. 8 "R e 1a plalaty o Jooymselt.” “No-more txu is g “What! Hast tho Roman, pra- snat! . e s daughter of Taracl; and without my consent, being attached 1o my person?” %he face of Herod Antipas glowed witp mingléed indignation and disgust as pa asked this question. Though net scrict. 1y a Jew by birth, the tetrarch is an ardent adherent of our faith, and his an- ger was most natural, mince Jews are not permitted to marry .Gentiles. [ng family was of Idumaea, a region to south and east of Judea, whose pe k supposed to be descendants Of Esau, Were conquered and converted to our faith by John Hyrcanus, something more than a century and 2 half age. Antipas is the son of Herod the Great and Mathace, a Samaritan woman, and for more than thirty years hath ruled mildly stly. l.!’:‘!rgu co¥|fess the truth.” faltered Pelllo, who saw the trap within which his words had placed him, “it hath not yet come to that, but she hath promised me and I meant this day to ask thy con- !e‘"&fhere is the malden?’ demanded Herod. “At the house of Tamar, where I lodge,” replied the gambler, who evi- dently, saw that trifling would avall him othing. X n"Brigg her hither at once, Nital,” ordered the tetrarch, addressing one of four soldiers who had entered the room onse to his call. “The rest of l}!‘ouuss&y with Pollio. I will look into {his matter to the bottom. Come ye zith me.” L Y his last order was directed to Simeon if, and my and we followed him from the apartment. advanced I no- ticed the cos ne furniture and splendid frescoes, which conveyed a good notion of the wonderful richness of the cou the ability of the peo= ple to pay taxes. P Now for thy story,” sald the tetrarch, when we had entered a small but most elegant apartment, evidently his private chamker. ‘“Fear not to speak. That edst at Pontius Pilate's place prejudices me not agairst thee, for I profess no love for him.” ‘These words, but more the manner in which they were speken, set me quite at ease, and I proceeded, as briefly as pos- sible, to recount the points in my life that had led to the altercation Herod had interrupted. “'Tis as I thought,” he commented, half to himself. “This Pollio is 2 knave, whom the Emperor sent to me for a rid- dance only. Indeed, I half read that in his lettér. I will send him adrift at once; 'twill not displease Tiberius, and such men are dangerous servants. The maiden shall be restored to Simeon, her uncle—but on one condition,” he added after a pause. “I am prepared to do aught that is de- manded,” suggested the old mln,“t_l_muEh it cost me my last piece of silver.’ “*Twill cost thee thy nlece,” said Herod, smiling. ‘“Thou must marry her to Iscariot. is Pollio is a reckiess man, and, as I shall this day dismiss him, see fit to annoy her unless she have ore powerful protecter than thou. Be- sides, I read the young man's heart, and would make him hacpy. Thou must marry them at onee.” . ~I assent, and that most gladly,” sald Simeon. “I could wish her mo greater Soyor ings, 4 But I have never spoken to her touch- ing the matter,” I sugzested In my em- barrassment, “and I know not the state of her feelings. e “I will become surety on that point, responded Simeon, smilingly. “I know her heart as I do my vines and olive trees.” “She should soon be here, and you can arrange the matter betwixt you. I will return anon,” and Herod Antipas quit- ted the apartment. A few minutes later Miriam appeared, uskered in by Nitai. There wag a startled, almost haggard look upon her face, which disappeared as she recognized us and ran to her uncle's outsiretched arms. After embracing him she timidly offered me her hand. Her story was quickly told Under the retext of obtalning certain papers, Pol- fo had conveyed her to the house of the ald Jewish woman where he lodged, and afterward presented some plausible ex- cuse for delaying her departure for Damascus. Then he offered her marriage, and showed her another forged lecter, proving that I had not found her brother, but sought only to entrap her. Later he claimed that he himself had discovered Joseph, and would restore him to her as soon as she bécame his wife. Bu* Miriam had the utmost faith in me, and, be- sides, was not witiess enough to be de- ceived by such transparent arts, and re- fused to even listen to his proposals. She had been kept a close prisoner by Tamar, but otherwise had been well treated. Her story ended, Simeon arose, and, ap~ parently forgetting that worl of art find not favor in Jewish eyes, began curi- ously examining a marble statue of Tiberius Caesar at the further end of the room. Left alone with Miriam, I told her what Herod bad said. first assuring her of the deep and pure love that she had inspired within me. I was soon as- sured of what I had long entertained se- cret hopes—for love, as Ruth expressed it in Rome, hath a sense peculiar to itself—and Miriam had given me her promise. Our talk, in which plans for Joseph's discovery, rather than our own future, formed the topic, was interrupted by the return of Herod, who smiled with pieas- ure as he saw how well his propesal had succeeded. He told us.that he had dis- missed Pollio from his service, and warn- ed him to depart at once from his do- minions under penalty of arrest and pun- ishment, and concluded by promising to use every means in his power to find Manasseh and restore him to us. We departed together for the house of Simeon. I felt most grateful to the tetrarch, who had acted with such jus- tice and kindness. Though a popular ruler, Herod Antipas had lost favor with the stricter class of Jews through his marriage with the wife of his hailf- brother, Philip. Our customs _touching marriage, founded uporn the Scripture, seem peculiar—almost contradictory—to a Gentile. It is a man’s bhounden duty to marry his brother’s widow, in case there are no children. but if there are any sur- viving his brother he commits a ecrime in marrying her. Again, while it is proper emough for a man to divorce his wife, as provided In the law, it is a most outrageous thing for a woman to divorce her husband, though she may do_ so. Herodias had divorced Phillp, her hus- band, and, in marrying her, Antipas had committed a grave offense in the eyes of the people. the'more so because she had a beautiful daughter, who had ac- companied her to her husband's palace. I had shared somewhat in this popular feeling, though the law covering the mat- ter had always appeared somewhat Strained to me; but I left the palace with a_much better opmnion of the tet- rarch than I had before entertained. My mind was so greatly relleved touch- Ing John, the son of Zacharias. no longer feared that Antipas would become the tool of Annas in doing violence to the tall baptizer. Though less strict than the bulk of those professing the Jewish faith, he still impressed me as a most honorable—doubtiess plous—man, whom religious prejudices would not drive to injustice and crime. A great surprise was In store for me. As we drew near the dwelling of Stracon I saw the familiar and loved figure of my father rapidly lp{mch!n us. As on the morning when I returned from my ifing wandering I ran forward to meet m. ‘‘Bless thee, my daughter,” safd he embraced Miriam 'ln a most mna.: 1y manner. “I see that it will soon come to that, for, though I am no longer young, I have not forgotten the light that shone in Cyborea’s eyes the Y i R e letter I had written father had reached him only after mn‘gg delay, and, S0 intense was his anxiety for Joseph and myself, he had at once set out for Gal- flee, thinking that he might be of some service to me In my extremity. Our various stories told and the midday meal dispatched. my father, Simeon and my- self withdrew to the open air, where we held a most Important consultaton. As a result of this our betrothal was at once celebrated. Strictly, under the law, a year must elapse befors tI marriage, where a maiden the bride. But as the reasons trivial and necessities seemed to urge— fear of Polio and my _ desirs to prosecute my search for Joseph— the custom was disregarded and our mar- riage followed hard upon our betrothal. To atone somewhat for our deviatiom from immemorial usage. a special mar- riage feast was provided, which lasted seven days and had the effect of sug— pressing all adverse criticism. Upon the conclusion of the festivities, my father departed for Kerioth. = m, 1 had As I waved a farewell to my parent, my mind reverted to the nearly four vears before, when parted with him to invade and subdue the wide world, the Kingdom of Power. Was I now, as then, doomed to disappoint- ment, failure and sorrow? As T watched his form diminishing in the distance, my Reart was strangely possessed, almost