“Content with my grotto,” said the priest, pointing to a cave in the face of the rock, “and with this altar, I stir not from Carmel,”--Crispus, remembering where he had seen him last, wondered at this speech, but held his peace,--“hence I know nothing of the affairs of men. If thou art some great one of the earth, the gods teach thee to use thy power well.” “To what deity is this altar erected?” asked Vespasian. “To the god Carmelus, the tutelary genius of this mountain.” “Hath he no image nor temple?” “None. This altar--’tis composed of twelve stones--is alone acceptable to him. Such hath been his worship from ancient days.” “Thou art about to offer incense to thy god, I perceive. We will join in thy worship. Offer on our behalf as well as on thine own.” And with that the superstitiously devout Vespasian doffed his helmet, in which act he was imitated by the rest, save Crispus, who drew aside from a ceremony incompatible with his Christian faith. Rufus, observing that the priest apparently lacked the means of kindling a fire, offered him his own flint and steel, but they were waved aside by the priest. “Our rites forbid such method,” said he. “The wood must be kindled not by ordinary means, but by the pure fire of heaven.” So saying, he produced a thick glass lens, with which he proceeded to focus the sun’s rays upon the cedar-wood. Crispus, whose Christian training among the learned brethren of Tarsus and Ephesus had embraced the study of the Greek Septuagint, murmured to himself: “Mount Carmel? an altar of twelve stones? fire from heaven? This deity Carmelus is none other than Elijah in a heathen guise!” It was not long ere the wood began first to smolder and then to break into a flame. The feat was one as common in that age as in this, but being new to Vespasian, he looked on as though it were a miracle. The attendant boy now held forth the acerra, and the priest, taking from it some grains of incense, cast them upon the fire. As the strong fragrance became diffused around the priest began the chanting of an invocation which fell with a somewhat weird effect upon the ears of the Romans, being delivered in the Phœnician, a tongue not understood by them. “Now, how know we that this fellow is not cursing us?” muttered Rufus. From time to time the priest continued to cast fresh incense upon the altar. It seemed that the sacrifice was scarcely acceptable to the god Carmelus, for the fire was dull and smoky, always deemed a bad omen. Then, all in a moment, there was a change. A tongue of flame sprang up, high and brilliant, and lasting for several moments. At the first leap of the fire the priest turned and stared hard at Vespasian, as though that general had become suddenly invested with a new and strange interest.