"But let me see no more, else I meet this good and burdened Momus with the flat of my hand when he comes! What is he to you ?" "My servant--now almost my father!" she insisted, trying to cover the tacit accusation that she had made in admitting by a glance that she was weary.

"He orders all things for my good.

Do you think that each of the stones over which I stumbled to-day did not hurt him worse because they hurt me?
Do you think he would have me go on, unless the stake were worth the pain I had to endure?
Say no more against him!" The Maccabee shrugged his shoulders; then noting that she still stood, he smoothed down a spot of the sand with his foot, tossed upon it one of the sheepskins that Momus had unrolled, and extending his hand politely pressed her down on the place he had made.

Then he dropped down beside her, lounging on his elbow.
"What is the stake ?" he asked after he had composed himself.
She hesitated, regretting that her defense of Momus had led her to hint her mission and touch upon her husband's ambition.
"The welfare of hosts!" she replied finally.
"Heavens! What a menace I was!" the Maccabee smiled.
She colored quickly and he resented the veil that was shutting away so much that was fine and fleeting by way of expression under its folds.
"But you are just as dangerous," he declared.

"Now, we should be in Jerusalem this hour.