“He needs no mercy from man, my child,” said Micah, solemnly. “In the battle I did not meet him. That was well. I should have been loath to cross swords with him; and yet I could hardly have failed to do so. But in the evening, when Lysias had fled eastward with the remnants of his host, and the victory was won, I saw him on the field of battle. The captain himself was with me, as we went among the wounded and the dead, looking for any to whom we could give such help as they needed. He had been pierced with a ghastly wound through the breast. And when Judas saw him, he said to me, ‘Ah! that is a brave soldier, and as good a swordsman as ever I met. I had a hard bout with him this morning, and had he not slipped in making a blow, it might have gone ill with me. Do you know him?’ ‘Yes;’ I said, ‘in the old time, when I mingled with the heathen and walked in their ways.’ ‘See, then, whether you can help him in any way; I love a brave man, be he heathen or no.’ I was willing enough to do anything that I could for him, you may be sure; one glance at that pale face was enough to chase away all the anger with which we had parted. ‘Cleon!’ I said. And he knew me and smiled—a very wan and feeble smile, but still a smile. Then I tried to stanch the blood that was flowing from his wound. ‘Nay,’ said he, ‘’tis idle; I am past all help; let it flow, and I shall be sooner out of my pain. But, dear Menander—nay, pardon me, I should call you Micah—give me some water to drink, for I have a raging thirst.’ I had a leathern bottle of water, and gave him a draught. Then I rested his head upon my shoulder, and bathed his forehead with the water. Judas meanwhile had gone further, and I saw a party of the Chasidim ranging the field, and I thought that they could scarcely pass us by without seeing us, so I said to Cleon, ‘Let me lay you down till these are past; for if they know you as a friend of Jason they will not spare your life. ’Tis better to feign death than to meet it at their hands.’ Then he smiled and said, ‘No need, Micah, to feign death. Your Hammer has smitten me down, and I shall not need another stroke.’ And almost as he spoke the words, he died. And just then the captain came back, and we buried him where he had fallen. The Lord have mercy on him!” “But will He have mercy on the heathen?” said Miriam, who had begun to think. “Nay, child—who knows?” answered Micah. “Surely some of us need His pardon more than they, who have not known Him, nor have been called by His name.” [Illustration: _Farewell to the Mountains._]