He slipped his hand under a strand of her rich hair that had fallen and drew it out, slowly, at full length.
Slowly his eyes followed it as inch by inch it slipped through his fingers.

Old memories seemed to struggle to the surface; old tendernesses; recollection of pure hours and holy things; paganism dropped from him like a husk and the spiritual hauteur of a Jew brought the expression of the unhumbled house of Judah into his face.
Through a notch in the hills a golden beam shot from the sun and penetrating this inwalled valley lay like an illuminating fire on the man's face and glorified it.

Laodice's breath stopped.
Slowly his fingers slipped along the fine silken length of that shining strand until his arm extended to the full; and the end of the lock yet rested on her breast.

Thus might have been the hair of that Rahab, who was no less a patriot because she was frail; thus, the hair of Bathsheba, who was the mother of the wisest Israelite though she sinned; thus the hair of that mother of Samson, who slew armies single-handed! Badge of Judah, mark of the haughty strength of the oldest enlightenment in the world! He would not initiate his succor of Israel with violence against its purest type.
He smiled slowly; slowly let the strand fall through his fingers.

He looked into her eyes and she saw a sudden light immeasurably compassionate and tender grow there.