The old capital was now like a dim, mysterious, golden isle in a vast, azure sea.

Vergilius thought, as he went on, of those camel-riders.

He seemed to hear in the lift and fall of hoofs, in the rattle of scabbards, that strange cry: "Where is he that is born king of the Jews ?" Darkness fell upon those riding in silence on the lonely road.
Suddenly they drew rein, listening.
Said Vergilius, whispering: "I thought I heard voices." "And I," said David, his words touched with awe.

"'Twas like tens of thousands singing in some distant place." Again they listened, but the song, if song it was, had ceased.
Then, boldly, as one who would put down his fear, the color-bearer spoke up; "'Tis a band of shepherd folk on some far hill.

Never saw I so dark a night.