Yes, that was her belief, and she had no other reason for it than a supposed prophetical passage in a book she called the Evangel! This was not the first time (for she had often talked to him about her religion) that Vashti had sought to connect her Divine Teacher with the course of contemporary events. In her view He was the central figure of the world’s history; old times pointed to His coming; new times were to flow from it. Present events were taking place for no other reason than to advance the interests of the new religion. The general Cestius was merely a passive instrument in the hands of the deified Galilæan; his march to Jerusalem was not to vindicate the majesty of Rome, but to serve as a Divine sign to the Christians, and, having played the part allotted to him, he was to march back again without taking the city! Crispus could scarcely listen with patience to a theory so fantastical. A Cestius to retreat? Go to! However, as Vashti quietly remarked in answer to his arguments, the event would decide. “Is your father a cruel man?” continued she. “Quite the contrary; for a soldier he is said to be too merciful.” “Yet he has vowed to slay every man in the city, and to sell the women and children into slavery.” “How know you that?” “It is shouted at us by the enemy whenever they draw near the wall, and not by the common soldiers only: the centurions mock us with the same doom.” “He thinks me dead, and hence his wrath. ’Tis a pity he should be in error. How it would gladden him to know that I am alive! Is there no way of communicating with him?” Vashti reflected. “I think,” said she, “I can contrive to let him know that you are living.” “How?” asked Crispus, eagerly. “If you will write a letter I will try to have it conveyed to him. I know a Christian youth, Heber by name, whom I have but to command, and he will perform this service for me. His house is upon the city wall. To get to the Roman camp he has but to lower himself by a rope. He can carry your message, but whether he can bring one back----” “No. ’Twill be a dangerous business to be seen returning. Let him remain in the Roman camp. And tell him that whatever reward he likes to ask for--in reason--my delighted father will give. And now for stylus and papyrus.” Vashti flew to procure writing materials, and Crispus, sitting up, proceeded to indite the following epistle: “To the most excellent of fathers, greeting. “Cast off your black pallium, and make a sacrifice to Jupiter the Saviour, for I, your son Crispus, am not, as you suppose, in Hades, but am lodged with the widow Miriam, whose house is in the street of Millo, abiding secretly for fear of the Zealots. That I have not sought to escape to the Roman camp is due to my enfeebled frame, which would not be living at all, but for the care and attention of a sweet maiden named Vashti.” “You must delete the word _dulcis_,” said Vashti. But this Crispus declined to do.