While Tiberius Alexander followed close upon the heels of the soldiers, Crispus lingered in the vicinity of the walls, his mind tortured almost to madness at the thought of what might be happening to Vashti in this long and cruel process of starving the obstinate city into submission. For all he knew to the contrary, she might be lying at that very moment among the festering horrors of the glen of Cedron, her body torn by the beak and claw of obscene birds of prey, to be seen no more by him till the resurrection morning, when these “dry bones” would live again, to shame the doctrine of the mocking Alexander. The air grew darker, so dark that a circle of a few yards only was the limit of Crispus’ vision; all beyond was blackness. An ideal night for the enemy if they were minded to attack the Roman entrenchments! Scarcely had this thought occurred to Crispus when he heard, or fancied he heard, a sound proceeding from a point not many yards distant. He listened intently. Footsteps, not loud, but quiet footsteps; not of one man but, so it seemed to Crispus, of three or four men, all walking in a stealthy sort of way, as if wishing to keep their movements a secret. They were coming slowly through the darkness right towards the place where he stood. In another moment they would be upon him. Romans on some errand of espial? or a party of Jewish deserters? Bracing his buckler upon his arm and drawing his sword Crispus awaited their approach. As the men--they were three in number--came into view he bade them halt, which they did with surprising promptitude. Questioning on the part of Crispus elicited the fact that they were Jews, passover pilgrims from Asia, detained by the war: appointed to guard a portion of the wall in Ophel they had, through despair of the city’s salvation, resolved to desert; and so, tying a rope to a battlement, they had let themselves down. The madness of these men! Though the crucifixions of Jewish fugitives amounted to five hundred a day, the stream of defection from the city never ceased, the deserters hoping, in spite of failure on the part of their predecessors, to steal secretly through the Roman lines, or, if need be, force a way at the sword’s point. “How long is it since ye fled?” “Less than the fourth part of an hour,” replied one whose name was Asaph. “Is the rope still hanging there?” “Surely. How could we, when on the ground, detach it from the battlement?” “Think you that your flight is known?” “We purposely waited till the night-watch had gone by, and left the moment afterwards; therefore our flight will not be discovered for some time yet.” “Is it yours to watch the same part of the wall every night?” “Till the next Sabbath.” These questions of Crispus were inspired by a daring idea that had suddenly darted into his mind. A rope hanging from the city wall at a part deserted by its watchers!