“Dagan,” warned Isaiah, sternly, “speak not of this again, if you would be my friend. Sooner shall the king slay me with tortures than I wilfully break the ordinance of my God.” Dagan said no more. Nevertheless, he went himself privately to the witch, paid her half a shekel, and stated the facts of the case, concealing only the Jewess’s name. Kwabta left him in an outer room, bidding him cover his head and mutter certain powerful spells, while in an inner chamber she conferred with her demon. She came back, reporting that the question was a difficult one, but that in ten days Dagan should have a dream, which she could interpret for a second half-shekel, and this dream would reveal all he desired to know. The schoolmaster accordingly had few hopes to bring back to Isaiah, whose mood grew blacker than ever. Another day passed, and Dagan saw that the young Hebrew was unwontedly preoccupied. “I have been to Borsippa,” he explained at length, “and talked with Imbi-Ilu. Daniel’s life is in grievous danger. Avil-Marduk is preparing to demand his execution on the day of the feast of Bel, and the king will only rejoice to comply. Nevertheless, Daniel shall be saved.” “From the power of the king himself?” quoth Dagan, pricking up his ears. “From Belshazzar’s own power,” assented the Jew, “but the manner is hid. I have another task, however, to-night. I must see Daniel himself. He has asked to see me.” “Daniel himself? Daniel in prison? Are you mad?” almost shrieked the schoolmaster. “I was never in sounder mind. Zerubbabel, my friend who brought the message, keeps the prison watch to-night. The eyes of the other warders can be closed with a little silver.” Dagan argued and besought in vain. Away went Isaiah soon after nightfall, and Jehovah, or some other power who loves the bold, protected him. He had his hour alone with Daniel. The dungeon of the palace prison was fetid, the straw damp, the only light that of a single shivering candle. At sight of his friend and all but father in chains and amid these squalid surroundings, the younger Jew burst into tears. “Alas! my father,” was his cry, while he knelt for Daniel’s blessing, “what is this I see? What does the Lord God suffer? He who has served Him beyond all others, whose life has been naught but holiness, in the state of the vilest felon!” “Peace!” commanded the old man, never more calm and majestic than now; “what is there to fear? Did God simply go with me when I was ‘civil-minister’ of Babylon, and cannot His goodness follow within this prison?” “Ah! father,” protested Isaiah, “I do not doubt God’s power, yet how can I trust His mercy? First you, then Ruth, the guileless of the guileless, have been brought to bitter grief,—and lo! the wicked wax fat and prosper!”