Under the haunting spell of a new and splendid ambition, he became moody, restless, uneasy. Shunning the daily exercises of the army he took long walks, communing with himself in lonely woods. Deep in thought, he would stare vacantly when addressed; one had to speak twice or thrice ere he understood. At times he was heard to murmur, “I will not do this thing,” and his officers would look at each other, well knowing what thing was meant. One morning, as if wishful to escape from his vexing thoughts, he mounted a horse and rode mile after mile along the shore towards the point where the long ridge of Carmel, intercepting the maritime road, thrusts a rocky bluff into the sea. In this wild gallop he was attended by his staff-officers, Crispus and Rufus being of the number. Arrived at the foot of the mount, Vespasian, either as wishing to take a survey of the country around, or moved perhaps by a desire to show what the agility of a man of sixty could accomplish, resolved to make the ascent; and soon he and his staff were toiling on foot up the craggy path that wound through forests of pine, oak, and olive to the point “_Where Carmel’s flowery top perfumes the skies._” The glorious panorama presented by the mountainous landscape and the dark-blue sea well rewarded them for their climb. The officers were particularly interested in pointing out to Crispus the various hill-fortresses of Galilee--Giscala, Tabor, Jotapata--subdued by their arms in the campaign of the previous year. As the staff moved first this way and then that, following the steps of Vespasian, they turned the corner of a crag, and came suddenly upon a stately figure in a flowing white robe, who with folded arms was gazing silently and pensively seaward. Obviously, he was a priest, since there was in attendance upon him a young boy holding in his hands what seemed an acerra, or box containing incense. Near by, formed from a number of rough unhewn stones, was an altar, upon which lay a few dried shavings of cedar-wood. The man was not quite a stranger to Crispus; he had seen him, or rather had caught a fleeting glimpse of him, on the previous evening, holding converse with Titus in a lonely spot at some distance from the camp. Crispus had come upon the pair unawares, and it seemed to him that Titus was not altogether pleased at being detected in company with this priest, though what there was to be vexed at it would be hard to say. On hearing footsteps the priest turned, and caught sight of the armed men. “Who art thou?” he asked of Vespasian, as being evidently the chief of the band. “I am Flavius Vespasian.” “I know not the name.” “And this is fame?” smiled Vespasian. “To be unknown after so many victories in this Galilæan province!” “Hast thou dropped from the moon,” asked Rufus, “not to have heard the name of the great Vespasian?”