They had little conversation, yet the Sheik’s looks plainly said: “When thou art subdued, sue for favors; they’ll be granted.” De Griffin nursed his pride and firmness and prevented all familiarity on Azrael’s part. The latter was puzzled sometimes, sometimes angered; but he was too polite to show his feelings. For months the only conversation between the two alert, strong men might be summed up in these words on the Sheik’s part: “Slave, freedom and heaven are sweet.” “Knight, Allah knows only the followers of the Prophet as friends.” On the knight’s part a look of scorn or an expression of disgust was the sole reply. In the Sheik’s retinue was another captive, a Jew. He was constantly near the knight; for being more fully trusted than the latter, the Sheik had made the Israelite in part the custodian of the Christian. The knight discerned the relationship very quickly; though both Jew and chief endeavored to conceal it. Sir Charleroy, at the first, treated his companion captive with loathing and resentment, as a spy. After a time, the “sphinx, eyes open, mouth shut,” as Azrael described Sir Charleroy, deemed it wise and politic to make the Jew his ally. The resolution once formed, he found many circumstances to aid in bridging the gulf that separated the captive and his guard; the cultured Teutonic leader and the wandering Israelite. They both hated the same man, their captor; both loathed the religion he was covertly aiming to lure them to; both were anxious for freedom. They gave voice to these feelings when together, alone, and ere long sympathy made them friends. The next step was natural and easy; the stronger mind took the leadership of the two, and Sir Charleroy became teacher; his keeper became his pupil and _protégé_. The twain one day, after this change of relation, walked together conversing, on a hill overlooking Jericho, by which place the Sheik’s caravan was encamped. “Ichabod, thou wearest a fitting name.” “I suppose so, since my mother gave it. But why say so now?” “Ichabod, ‘glory departed,’ thou art like thy people—despoiled.” “Oh, Lord! how long?” piously exclaimed the Jew. “Till Shiloh comes!” “Verily it is so written,” was the Jew’s reply. “But He has come, Israelite!” “Where?” the startled Jew questioned, drawing back as if he expected his, to him mysterious, companion to throw back his tunic and declare: “_I am he!_” “In the world and in my heart.” “Ah, Sir Knight, Israel’s desolation refutes all that.” “Jew, thine eyes are veiled. I’ll teach thee to see Him yet.” The Jew was puzzled. The twain fell into prolonged converse, and then in that lone place the Crusader waxed eloquent, preaching Christ and Him crucified to one of Abraham’s seed.