It chanced that a man passed by, loaded with a heavy burthen, and hanging down his head like one conscious of ignominy. He had been detected in frauds a few days before, and as a punishment his beard had been cut off. The finger of scorn was pointed at him by the whole assemblage, and the unfortunate man slunk hastily away. “How strange,” said Myron, “that you should set so much value on a huge tuft of hair upon your chins, that one who has been deprived of it dares not show himself in your presence; and yet you seldom have taste enough to give it an elegant form! Look for example at Elisama, who thinks so much of his beard; what an unsightly encumbrance it is to him.” Encouraged by the laughter which arose from the younger part of the assembly, he approached Elisama, and plucked him by the beard; little aware that to an Oriental, and especially a Jew, such an action was one of the grossest outrages that could be committed—an attack upon the very sanctuary of his personal dignity. Helon sprung to interpose—but it was too late. Elisama arose, with glowing cheeks, and a look in which the expression of the wildest rage grew every moment stronger. His limbs trembled; his features were distorted, his hair stood on end, and his breast heaved with a feverish gasp. “Accursed heathen!” he exclaimed in fury, “accursed heathen!” he repeated, and drawing his sword, aimed a blow at Myron. The offender, awakened to a consciousness of what he had done, saw the weapon about to fall on him and evaded the stroke; a citizen of Jericho, whom the tumult of the assembly had pushed forward, received it, and fell mortally wounded at Elisama’s feet. In silent horror all stood around, and looked by turns on the murderer, the corpse, and the author of the mischief. The whole city hastened to the spot; Myron escaped; and Selumiel, taking the unconscious Elisama by the hand, led him home. Helon, preceding them, burst with a cry of horror into the house, exclaiming, “Woe, woe—homicide—Elisama!” The women hastened from their apartments, and knew not the cause of the confusion. Selumiel entered with Elisama—one in eager haste, the other bewildered, with fixed eye and open mouth. “Bring horses, bring camels, bring any beast of burden,” exclaimed Selumiel. “Thou hast slain him, Elisama, and must flee before the avenger of blood.” “Whither?” asked Helon. “To a city of refuge—to Hebron in Judah—to Bezer in Reuben—to Ramoth Gilead best of all.” At these words Elisama awoke from his trance. Tears flowed from his aged eyes as he exclaimed, “Merciful God, must I in my old age flee as a murderer, and die by the hands of the avenger?” His voice was choked with sobs.