"But, mother," said the son, "mine uncle Paul, If him thou meanest, is safe in citadel. Those Romans, heathen though they be, and void Of pity as the nether millstone is, Are yet in their hard way, and heathen, just. They have the power, as they have shown the will, To keep thy brother hedged from Hebrew hate." "From Hebrew hate, but not from hellish guile," Rachel replied; "and hellish guile, my son, Thy mother's heart, quickened with sisterhood, And, from some sad experience of the world, Suspicious--nay, perhaps, through deep divine Persuasion by the Holy Spirit wrought, Intuitive of the future, and on things Else hidden, inly privileged to look-- Yea, hellish guile, my heart, somehow advised, Insists and still insists she knows, she feels, This hour at work against my brother Saul. Haste, get thee quickly to Gamaliel-- Brief his sleep is, and he will be awake, For, with his gathering years, now nigh five score, Lighter and lighter grow his slumbers, ever Broken and scattered by the first cockcrow-- Greet him from me with worship as beseems, And, telling him my fears, entreat to know If aught that touches his old pupil Saul, Haply an issue from the brooding brain Of Shimei to Saul's hurt, have reached his ear. Be wise, be wary, Stephen, whet thy sense, Fail not to see or hear whatever sign Glimpses or whispers, smallest hint that may Concern the safety of thine uncle Saul. How knowest thou but thy scouting walk this morn Shall rescue to the world, in need so deep, Yet many a year of that apostleship? Besides, with such a sun quenched from our sky, What then were day prolonged but night to us? Go, and thy mother here meanwhile will pray: 'Lord, speed my son, make him discreet and brave!'"