"None, but there is a great mist rolling up from the Great Sea over Sharon, and up the mountains toward our city. Now a wind from the east rushes against the mist. I think it is a wind. Can you see a wind, sister?" "One can see the dust it drives." "That's it; a little cloud of dusty wind. And it drives away the mist. The mist rolls down the long hills and away--away. Now it is lost in the Sea. The dusty wind is Judas, I know." A servant brought to Deborah a basket of fruit. Ripened pomegranates glowed ruddy beside tawny oranges in a bed of white blossoms which loaded the air with delicious spicery. Cakes of figs compressed with almonds were scattered through the tempting heap. Caleb caught the odor; his face became a resistless appeal, which his sister answered by putting into his hand the largest of the luscious fruits. Deborah recalled the servant to ask the donor of the fruit. Ephraim could not say, as it was brought to him by one of the Greek guards in the court who had taken it in at the gate. Deborah examined the basket, and recognized the pattern of its inwoven withes as one that the Princess had taught Lydia, the wife of Menelaos, and herself to make. She quickly turned to Caleb. "Do not eat, my child." But the child had eaten. Almost immediately he fell sick. His face became ashen pale. Deborah carried the lad to his bed, and laid him there. The physician Samuel was sent for in eager haste; but that worthy man was beyond the city, in the labor which absorbed him day and night, as the case of no single patient could have done--the critical condition of his nation. To whom could she turn? "Call Captain Dion," she bade Huldah. A long time Dion watched the face and felt the hands of the child. "I know well these signs," he said. "And good reason have I to remember them. When a lad I fell sick very much as Caleb has done. The physician of King Philip of Macedonia, at whose court I served as page, declared my illness to be due to a peculiar poison concocted by Alexandrian alchemists. For weeks I lay, while the Fates' scissors fretted my life thread. Again, when I was just a man, a similar disorder came upon me. This time I was a soldier in King Perseus' guard. But for the skill of a certain physician, Theron, an adept in the arts of the poisoner, and on that account retained in the King's household, I had certainly perished. This second secret attempt upon my life led Theron to counsel me to forsake Macedonia. This I could not do. I loved my King Perseus, and stood with him, until some four years ago he was overthrown by the Romans in that terrible fight at Pydna. But even in this remote region I seem to be pursued by the poisoner, for I doubt not that this which Caleb has taken was intended for myself, since it is known that I am here." "But," said Deborah, "this basket is like the handiwork of the Princess."