“Ah, it’s thy remembering and my forgetting that keeps us crossing each other! But no matter; am I looking at an angel or not?” “That’s the priest’s only daughter; his idol, ay, the idol of every youth in all these parts of Israel. No nation can be dead while it produces such flowers.” Suddenly the camp blazed with re-illumination, and then began a carnival. Games and dancers were everywhere. Some, evidently men, were dressed as women, and others, evidently women, were garbed as men. For one season, Purim, the command against the interchange of garments between the sexes, was suspended. Each reveler carried a little box. If he asked a favor or a question, the reply was a challenge to try lots. Partners were so chosen, tasks given and predictions made. Laughter was everywhere, and wine was flowing. “Ichabod, I haven’t tasted wine since Acre! Why dost thou not introduce me yonder?” “Wait; they will all be mellow, soon. They may be, too, for it’s a law that a Jew is not deemed drunk at ‘_Purim_’ so long as he can discern between a blessing for Mordecai and a curse for Haman.” “Heavens! how they do imbibe.” “It’s natural for doves to twitter after a thunder storm. They remember the past troubles.” “Ay; but I fear they will consume all the beverage before we are with them. We have had plenty of trouble; now take me in to twitter with those doves.” Ichabod started, as if to lead the way, and then drew back and moaned, “no, no; it cannot be. I’m forever anathema here, to them! I could bear their hate, not their contempt. They may call me renegade, but never spaniel nor hypocrite! If I appeared among them they would soon know, if they do not already, that Ichabod is changed. Then they’d sneer and tell me that I tried to play double, or thinking my people’s faith not good enough for me, I yet hungered for their feasts. No, no; it must not be! To-morrow, I hope to pray at my mother’s grave. I’d choke then if I had to remember I’d done aught that she, living, would have thought mean.” “Now, I’ll not persuade thee, Jew, but go alone.” “That’s reckless! thou mayst regret it. They may become riotous, being half drunk, and beat thee as a Haman. No, stay away.” “No dissuasion, Jew, but just change garments. It’s the fashion to-night.” The Jew complied, remarking as he did: “Will the knight wear this leather thong?” “Heavens! no, nor the brand on thy neck.” “Christian knights commanded me to wear one, and burned into my flesh the other years ago; they deemed it necessary to mark all Jews for hatred.” “Dear Ichabod, I never counseled branding any man!” “I believe it. I have forgotten all bitterness about these marks and have borne them as my cross. “But, Sir Charleroy, don’t wear thy cross in their sight!” “For once, I’ll cover it.” So saying he hid the emblem.