Glaucon's welcome was enthusiastic. He embraced his friend, and kissed him upon both cheeks. The Greek did not return the salutation. He seemed dazed, and stared steadily over Glaucon's shoulder. Had he indeed gone daft? After gazing at a sunset one is apt to see golden spots resembling the orb wherever one looks at the sky. Had Deborah wrought a similar illusion on his imagination? He had seen her in his dreams, both waking and sleeping; among the women of the Greek camp at the Wady; and only yesterday in peasant garb amid the dying on Bethhoron--yet she was here in her home! He was beginning to question his own mental condition. His hand came to his head as if to certify that it was still upon his shoulders. Deborah quickly proved that this time at least she was no sprite out of the foam of fancy. With a suppressed cry of surprise and gladness she sprang to meet him. He would have been less than a man if he had not extended both hands to embrace her. To her glorious womanhood was added the frank joyousness of a child. Her face caught the flash of her soul, and was illumined by it. This was, however, but for the instant. The next moment she drew back. Her face flushed, then became of marble pallor. Dignity, hauteur, offence, almost scorn were written upon her brow and lips. It was as if a bursting rose-bush were suddenly encased in wintry ice. Deborah realized that the surprise of Dion's coming had thrown her off her guard. Had she not solemnly determined, that night at the Wady, that henceforth they two could have nothing in common? This had been a conviction of her judgment and of her sense of duty. That hour when she had used a woman's wiles to accomplish a higher purpose she had classed among her other practices of deceit as a spy. She had scorned herself for it. Now that her debt for his risking life in her behalf had been fully paid--paid off by her risking her loyalty to her country to save him--she had accustomed herself to think of him only as an enemy; a Greek, either hating the Jews and therefore persecuting them, or else a mere soldier of fortune, indifferent to all right and truth, as unfeeling as the point of his sword. In the one case he was a man whom she, as a Jewess, must treat as a foe; in the other case, he was a man of such character that she, as a woman, must despise him. She had resolved that if ever they did meet--and she prayed God that they might not--it should be with such frigid courtesy on her part that former relations could not be resumed. She had thought, too, that she could readily play this part. Had she not schooled herself to absolute self-control? Who could see through any mask she pleased to wear? Not the shrewdest of the Greek generals in whose tents she had been; not the suspicious eyes of these women in Jerusalem. She had prided herself that, whatever feeling might linger in her heart, her personality was buried within her patriot purpose.