"My father, I have never forgotten the words you spoke to me when a child--though your face and form had faded from my memory. You taught me always to hate a tyrant. Then Rome was the taskmaster of Macedonia. In hatred of Rome I gave my sword to Antiochus just as you did. In my ignorance I imagined that he might some day come to be the avenger of our country's disgrace. But Antiochus is himself a monster, such as even Italy cannot breed. In his army here I found myself a tool of an atrocious despot. Father, it was because I am son of an Agathocles that I gave myself to these poor people who are defending their land, their homes, their altars, from this ravening beast." "Had you no other thought, my son?" "Not at first," said Dion, "but I have since learned to believe in the religion of these people. They worship with sincerity. We are hypocrites. What Greek would shed a tear if his carved god were taken away? But these Jews bleed at the heart for the sacrilege Antiochus offers in Jerusalem. I have seen old men drop dead beside their desecrated altars--dead from the shock of their grief at the dishonoring of their God. I have seen others die with such tranquillity of mind amid outward torture that I could not but believe that their souls were drawn from their bodies by the kiss of the divinity they prayed to. Father, I have seen peasants who had never practised foil or been in a battle, suddenly gifted with skill to overthrow the armies of Apollonius and Seron and Gorgias and Lycias. What is the meaning of such things as you and I saw at Bethzur, but that this Judas hurls the very bolts of Jove or of his Jehovah of Hosts, as the people call their God? I have seen a woman of the Jews, a mere girl in years, do deeds such as are scarcely invented in our stories. She is possessed of more wisdom in council than a tentful of our Generals. She believes that her God helps her--and so do I." "Is she a beautiful woman?" queried Agathocles, with a knowing glance at his companion. "Aye, the fairest of women, father. Pygmalion would have thrown away his chisel if he had seen the daughter of Elkiah." "I do not doubt it, since my Dion has evidently thrown away his Greek sword for her sake." "Not for her sake, father; but for the sake of a cause which produces such a woman and such men, such faith and such heroism." "And such beauty. Eh, my boy? Have I not been young? Dion, you are in love with this woman, up to your eyebrows, and therefore can see nothing except through her shape. The mists on the shore make pebbles look like castles, so the witchery of this beauty magnifies everything Jewish. Hush, boy! I know it. I have been as young as you." Both lapsed into silence, except for an occasional ejaculation from Agathocles: "A Jewess! Well, why not? One must love something." Was the old soldier merely tantalizing the young man, or was he voyaging over the seas of memory? At length he put his hand upon Dion's shoulder.