Might win thee prompt promotion out of this.' 'I never dream,' said he, 'of anything To lift me from the common soldier's lot.' 'Dreaming is idle, yea,' said I to him, 'But waking thought and action need not be. For instance, now,' I then went on and said"-- The subtle Hebrew, drawing out his tale, Mock-artless long, of gossip with the watch, Had never intermitted an intent, Considerate, sly, solicitous regard Fixed on the chiliarch's face, therein to read The reflex of the phases of his thought; And now he marked with pleasure how their mere Indifferent or incredulous cold scorn Was fading from the haughty Roman's eyes, Merged in a dawn of curious interest. Disguisedly, but confidently, glad-- His course seen smooth before him to his goal-- Shimei thence eased that tension of the will To simulate simplicity of speech, As, more directly, his ambages spared, He almost blithely, in his natural vein Of fondness for the false and the malign, Slid on, in fabrication of report, Or in report of fabrication, thus: "Inside those castle walls there is a man, A Jew, one Paul, I know him very well, Prisoner for crime that richly merits death. The outraged people yesterday were fain To wait no longer, but at once inflict, Themselves, with righteous hands, the penalty. The gentle chiliarch rescued him from them, Not knowing, as of course how could he know? What a base wretch he plucked from doom condign. So here Paul is in Roman custody, Safe for the moment, but full well aware, As he deserves to die, that die he will, Whenever once he shall be justly judged. He therefore schemes it to attempt escape, This very night, from his imprisonment. He has his tool, tool and accomplice both, In that young fellow thou hast seen pass by, Entering and issuing through the castle-gate. 'Aye, I have seen him plying back and forth,' The sentry said, 'a likely Hebrew lad; I challenged him, but he had documents. Wicked, ungrateful!--that good chiliarch Had shown such grace to him for his fair looks.' 'Well, I will stay,' said I, 'and watch with thee, And help thee foil their game, and thy chance mend. But let us have two stout young fellows ready, I can provide them, hidden nigh at hand-- No call for us to spend our breath in running!-- To give the prisoner chase, should need arise. Arise it will not, if my guess is right, And I know Paul so well, I scarce can miss. Paul stakes his hope on craft, and not on speed; Still, it is good to be at all points armed, And should craft fail, there will be test of speed, No doubt of that, since Paul would run for life, And life is prize to make the tortoise fleet. Paul is no stiff decrepit--far from such; Old as his look is, he is light of heel. Running, however, only last resort,