Adonijah listened to her recital in gloomy silence; nothing but his intention of learning, through her, the secret places of meeting in which the Christians celebrated their Sabbath made him hear her story to the end. More than once he rent his clothes, and struck his forehead or smote upon his breast, while his countenance expressed grief, indignation, and mortification; but when she announced to him that she was a candidate for baptism, he fixed his eyes upon her face, and with a start of horror turned away; then looked at her again, at the same time uttering a cry that thrilled to the soul of Lucia Claudia. She stood trembling before him, not daring to contend with the emotion that shook the frame of her lover. “The glory, the glory has departed from my head,” cried Adonijah; “the daughter of the stranger who came to put her trust in the covenant, she who put her trust in Jehovah, has revolted from Him. Ruth the Moabitess clave to Him in spirit, but Lucia Claudia has apostatized from her God.” Then Adonijah threw dust upon his head, and rent his garments in the vehemence of his sorrow. “Hear me, Adonijah—dear Adonijah,” continued Lucia Claudia, “for to thee also is this great salvation sent. Jesus Christ is the Messiah of thy people, the promised seed of the woman ‘who should bruise the serpent’s head.’ He is the everlasting Son of the Father, the Redeemer and Saviour of the world.” “Blasphemy, blasphemy!” exclaimed Adonijah, and then—but who shall dare to utter the despiteful words that the blind Pharisee spake against the Hope of his fathers, the blessed Lamb of God? He seemed touched by the terror of Lucia, for, suddenly softening his voice from the tones of rage to those of deep tenderness, he threw himself at her feet, and taking her hand bathed it with his tears. “Wilt thou,” said he, “wilt thou, my beloved, place an eternal bar between us? Wilt thou forsake me? I had lost all, but the Lord, in giving me thee, restored parents, brethren, and country. Oh, my dear proselyte, my own familiar friend, thou with whom I have taken sweet counsel, forsake me not. I love thee as no Hebrew ought to love the daughter of the stranger; and thou, thou lovest me, Lucia, and yet thou breakest my heart.” He wrapt his face in the folds of Lucia’s mantle and wept. She, moved to the soul by his passionate eloquence, and still more passionate grief, leant fondly over him, “Be calm, be calm, my Adonijah,” she whispered; “I cannot endure this warfare, it rends my soul.” “Defile not thyself with this baptism, bid me look up and live. The Nazarene is my abhorrence, and must I hate thee? Rather let me die. Lucia Claudia, raise me up with words of peace and comfort, or bid me depart from thee for ever.” “For ever?” murmured Claudia. “Yes, for ever,” was his reply. “To me the Christian, Lucia, must become a stranger, an accursed thing.” Again he lifted up his voice and wept, for the anguish of his benighted soul was great.