The mantle of snow-white linen, held to his head by cords of yellow silk, flows free over his shoulders; his robe is richly embroidered, a red sash with fringes of gold wraps his waist several times.

His demeanor is calm; he even smiles upon those who, with such rude haste, make room for him.

A leper?
No, he is only a Samaritan.

The shrinking crowd, if asked, would say he is a mongrel--an Assyrian--whose touch of the robe is pollution; from whom, consequently, an Israelite, though dying, might not accept life.

In fact, the feud is not of blood.