General Agathocles recognized the magnanimity of Judas in granting him the alternative of remaining in Jerusalem under the honorable guard of Dion, or of joining his own people. He chose the latter course. Yet from day to day he postponed his departure. It was whispered that his fatherly affection and authority would ultimately win back his son from his Jewish allegiance; but a few, among them Jonathan, shook their heads at this. At length the General must take up his journey. "My son, it may be--but the gods forbid it--that we shall not meet again. I would always keep you in my mind as in a mirror. It will not be enough that I learn of your welfare, and your doings; I would make your very thoughts my own, and so live within your life, be it glad or sorrowful. You have revealed to me that much of your thought will be given to this woman you have learned to love. May she prove all that your partiality has dreamed her to be! But beware! We do not love our ideal, so much as we idealize what we love. I would see this woman, so that I may know more of yourself, since it is evident that her image moulds itself in you as a seal in wax. If I can see her, I will more plainly see you." Together they sought the house of Elkiah. The outer door being ajar they entered the court without announcement, and without being observed by the actors in a scene at the moment transpiring. Dion would have advanced, but Agathocles laid his hand upon his arm and detained him. The fountain statue of Aphrodite had been removed. The water shot up as of old in a thin shaft, and fell in spray upon the surface of the broad lower basin, glistening like the dust of gold in the morning sunshine. Beside the fountain in a great chair sat Gideon ben Sirach. Deborah was with him. The old man's eyes seemed enchanted by the play of the sparkling water. He extended his hands and clutched as if to hold the warmth of the sun that fell upon them. His features were drawn out of shape by the palsy. Dion thought of a house from which the occupant is about to remove, its furniture displaced, much of it already gone; for Sirach's face was empty of the old expression of his soul. It was evident that much of the meaning of his life, the furniture of his mind, had been removed even from his memory. Deborah sat upon a little bench, where Sirach's feet also rested. She took his withered hands, and rubbed them as if to impart to them some of her own vitality. "You can hear to-day, Gideon?" His eyes turned toward her, but his features were as immobile as a death-mask.