“Ask no more questions,” said the man; “but take my word—and I would not lie to you for all the kingdom of Antiochus—that I mean no harm to you or yours.” A thought flashed across Seraiah’s mind. “It is you, then, who have been bringing us, week after week, these supplies of food?” Benjamin said nothing. “I adjure you by God that you answer me,” said Seraiah. “Well, if you will know it, it is I who have done it. Why should not God use a man’s hands to feed His servants, as well as a raven’s beak?” “Tell me—how did you come by these things?” “In various ways.” “Lawfully?” “Well, I can hardly say; you and I might not agree about the matter.” “Tell me—did you buy them with your money?” “Nay; that is not my way. I do not buy or sell.” “Then you stole them.” “I told you that we should not agree. But this I know, that they to whom they belonged could do without them better than you and your children.” “Benjamin,” said Seraiah, “you mean well, and I thank you. But after this bring no more of these gifts, for I cannot receive them. I would not have my Judge say to me, ‘When thou sawest a thief, thou consentedst unto him.’ I had sooner die of hunger—aye, and what is far worse, see my children die—than take that which has not been lawfully acquired.” “As you will have it,” said Benjamin; “if there were more like you, mayhap I should have been a better man. But meanwhile, the world being what it is, you and yours will have a hard time of it;” and he turned to go away. “And the captain,” he went on—“how does he fare? I hear that things are not going well with him. ’Tis a thousand pities, for a braver man never handled sword.” Seraiah told him briefly the story of recent events, and described the present condition of affairs, the other listening with an eager attention, and breaking in now and then with an exclamation of wonder and admiration. “Come, Benjamin,” he said, when he had finished, “why will you not throw in your lot with us? Things look dark just now; but they will brighten. He who has helped us so far will not desert us now.” “Sir,” said the man, “I would gladly follow the captain, whether he led me to life or to death. No man could ask a better lot than to be his soldier. But I like not all that are with him. They are over-strict, and make no allowance for such as have not their zeal. Once they beat me; another time they had stoned me to death but that I slipped out of their hands; and both for some miserable trifles which no man of sense would care about. No, sir; Judas I honour and love, but these bigots who give a man no peace I cannot away with. And now the day is beginning to break, and I must go. I am sorry that you will not take my poor gifts.” The next moment he had disappeared.