"Alas, Mattathias is old, or our cause would not lack a leader. But these events are too much for him. His life burns rapidly with the excitement, and the news of good Elkiah's death will make it burn the faster; for Mattathias is as old as Elkiah was, though less broken. Yet I well know that his life is only a breath of the Lord. Our father has five sons. Simon is the eldest and wisest; but there is that about our Judas which marks him for the leader. To his care is due the fact that these hills are so guarded that not even a little waif of Judaism like that blind child can lose his way. But Judas does not yet believe in himself. The Lord open his eyes, or send us another leader, else the people will perish. But you should rest." Jonathan sought for his charge a little nook in the side of a ravine. Even the hard ground was inviting, for Deborah's limbs ached sorely from the unaccustomed strain of the past few hours. The quiet of the dell, and the knowledge that eyes as friendly as they were sharp watched over her, came as a sweet relief from the incessant fright of their journey. Long time she lay endeavoring to catch some of the calm out of the white clouds that floated above her; or listening to the hum of insects and the calls of birds, while she thanked God that there were creatures less savage than man. At length nature asserted its claim, and, with Caleb in her arms, she fell asleep. Jonathan came and threw over them a coarse outer garment such as the better class of peasants wore; but the fugitives were as unaware of their friend's deeds as of the thoughts which passed through his mind when from time to time he came and stood awhile beside them. Darkness fell. Their guardian let them sleep. It was past midnight when he roused them, and the journey was resumed. Over hills and across ravines, avoiding the usual footpath, they toiled on, Jonathan carrying Caleb on his shoulder, and Deborah borrowing strength of limb from her indomitable spirit, until the stars faded in the dawning light. XI THE PRIEST'S KNIFE Toward noon of the next day the party came near to the little city of Modin. They paused to take in the view from an adjacent hilltop. Far to the west glistened the waters of the Great Sea, bordered by the blazing yellow of the sand-dunes that divide that vast blue waste from the rich plains of Sharon. The brief chill of winter had not despoiled this fertile tract of the beauty in which the other seasons had arrayed it. Yonder glowed the white walls of Lydda, like a pearl in a setting of emerald. Many quiet villages looked out from beneath their brows of dusky olive-trees, and gardens sent their challenge of life to the gray limestone rocks which seemed to bind the hills in sterility.