“The voice of some god, it may be,” muttered Crispus, upon whose mind the incident had left a singular impression. “Doomed Troy had its Cassandra, whom none would believe until too late. So, too, Jerusalem seems to have its prophet, to whom this foolish people, that dream of war, would do well to give heed.” Resuming their walk, the two friends ascended the slope of Mount Zion, and came to the old Asamonean Palace, the residence of King Agrippa. “Aren’t you coming in with me?” asked Rufus, as Crispus hesitated. “We may encounter the Princess Berenice.” Crispus turned away, saying he would await his friend’s return in the Xystus close by. Rufus looked after him in some wonderment. “For the future,” he muttered, “I had better refrain from mentioning Berenice’s name; it seems to trouble him.” Rufus, on being admitted to the presence of Agrippa, found him seated at a table. In person he was tall and slender. Delicate and refined in features, and dressed in the height of Jewish fashion, he presented, at any rate in the eyes of the sturdy Roman, a somewhat effeminate appearance. On one side of him was his sister Berenice, who had arrived at Jerusalem the preceding night; on the other was an elderly man with a hooked nose, thin lips, and a yellow polished forehead, who looked like a typical rabbi, as indeed he was, being none other than Simeon, the son of the celebrated Gamaliel. Before him lay an ink-horn and a parchment-scroll; between his fingers was a calamus or reed pen. Evidently he had been composing some document with the aid of his royal friends, and all three were looking as if very well pleased with their work. Rufus wondered whether they would look so well pleased after reading the document that _he_ was bringing for them. “This prayer,” said Simeon, laying his hand upon the parchment-scroll before him, “this prayer will serve as a fan to winnow the chaff from the wheat.” The three looked up as Rufus entered. He, being the commandant of Antonia, was a great man in Jerusalem, and they therefore received him affably. “And what would the excellent Rufus with us?” asked Agrippa. The excellent Rufus handed the letter to the king, who took it between his delicate jeweled fingers and broke the seal. While he was doing this Berenice rose from the table, and drawing near to Rufus addressed him in a low tone. “Did you leave Crispus at Cæsarea?” Her tone and look, betraying more than ordinary interest in the absent Roman, came as a revelation to Rufus. “As I live,” he thought, “this woman loves Crispus.” Aloud he answered, “Nay, princess, he hath accompanied me to Jerusalem.” “Where is he now?” she asked eagerly. And Rufus, knowing that it would bring trouble into those beautiful eyes were she to learn that the phlegmatic Crispus preferred the miscellaneous crowd in the Xystus to the attractions of the Asamonean Palace, replied, “I left him in Antonia.”