Forth moved the multitude. The company of priests led, the white linen garments of the old régime marred by garlands worn in imitation of the revellers at the Bacchanalian rites. Men bore an altar of the war god Ares, and a jar of wine, with a great goblet of gold from which the oblation should be poured. Behind these marched the city guards, in glistening helm and breastplates and greaves, the least among whom seemed to emulate the war god himself with his pompous tread. Then came the palanquins of the noble women, each a gorgeous display of silken colors, suitable to set off the glory of the occupants. Behind followed, as they could find way, the multitude, whose gay attire rivalled in its variegation the plumage of an aviary of birds caught among the reeds of the Red Sea shore. The crowd halted when they clearly detected a group of Greek horsemen spurring hard along the road. Why were they riding so hard? As they came near they were seen to be without helmet or spear or heavy sword; dust-covered and bleeding; on jaded beasts whose flecks of sweaty foam interlaced the tatters of their once gorgeous harness. On they sped in blind flight, trampling their way through the crowd. "Back! Back to the city!" shouted the officers. "The Maccabæans are close upon us!" "Stop, my lord! Stop, my lord Seron!" cried Cynthia, as the General was hurrying by. The sight of his wife revived the remnant of this great man's wits, which the panic had sadly dissipated. Making himself the special attendant of her palanquin, he set an example of celerity by heading the scurrying crowd. He commanded Dion with his handful of soldiers to guard the rear. That officer quite leisurely performed his duty, lingering alone far behind the multitude, and anon riding back as if seeking again to join the battle. This was not because he was enamored of the fight; but as he was climbing Bethhoron Dion had caught sight of a woman in peasant garb bending over a wounded Jew. He had nearly ridden them down. The woman, seeing the danger, rose and with uplifted hand warned him away. A woman's hand only, but the steed would have refused to leap against it had the rider plunged the spurs to their depth. There are some gestures and attitudes that belong to the soul, and express its dominance over all things of flesh and blood. Dion could not catch the woman's face, but that very pose with the uplifted hand had awed him before this. He had seen it at the gateway of the house of Elkiah, and again amid the ruins of the house of Ben Isaac. But he had no time to connect his thoughts, for at the moment a sling stone struck his helmet, and drove it down upon his neck. When he had adjusted his headpiece his horse had carried him far beyond the spot. Then he said: "It was only imagination; when one's head rings as mine did with that stone, the thoughts inside are apt to rattle too."