The rose-tinted misty mountains were wrapping them in shadow mantles of purpling folds. A cold wind blew up from the waters, still and glassy as a painted sea. The young presbyter stood silent. Bernice shivered. “How can you believe in your Unseen Kingdom, when your King was crucified, and his followers are now scattered from Judea to these caves?” she urged. “Death is but a boat across another sullen Jordan to the Gardens of God,” he said, “and His Followers are scattered that they may scatter the seed for the Garden to spread here on earth. Already the scattered seed reaches from Rome to Ganges.” “Where does Apollos go now?” she asked. “To become preacher in Crete.” “And you?” “To join John, beloved of Christ, at Ephesus.” “And you leave?” “In an hour to travel in the cool of the night.” Far north, they could see to the snowy peaks of Hermon, where the sheet lightning played. The clanking of forges plied in the valley below on engines of war for the siege of Jerusalem, echoed like silver bells from cavern and grotto. The pungent flower-drugged air had odor of temple incense, and the breeze was as a cool hand laid on a fevered brow. The shadows etched themselves clearer in the translucent depths of the emerald Sea. The young presbyter’s lips were moving as in prayer. Princess Bernice roused herself as if to throw off dreams. “’Tis not I who tempt you, Onesimus, with flesh, or daring, or power. ’Tis you, who tempt me to abandon the last of the Herod line for a shadow Kingdom. My brother, King Agrippa, the last of the Herods, is with Titus besieging the rebellious Zealots of Jerusalem. I’ll get my bodyguard, Julius, and join your caravan, and go with you.” The young man’s face lighted up as a brow in sunrise. * * * * * Out under the arched gate they rode in the moon’s silvered dark, Apollos in a litter on a camel, leading down the narrow precipitous causeway. The Princess Bernice, too, rode a camel, but her form was swathed in cloak; and the old Idumean rode before her on Arab horse, while the young presbyter walked by her side. He carried his sword in his hand. Down the narrow bridle path from the causeway led the road to the Jordan and Jericho and Jerusalem, scarce broad enough for the beasts, steep and winding as a circular stair. Once where the way narrowed so that those on stirrups had to dismount and only the camels kept sure footing, the Idumean dismounted and held back to give right of way to the Princess’ beast, before he turned his own horse and the young presbyter’s free to let themselves down on their haunches. “Well rid of her! Well rid of her!” grumbled the old man. “If she had not been going off with you, I would not have let her go. Have you no other Nazarene teachers can rid me of the other two? Had she attempted to escape to Titus, the General’s son, I would have cut her throat.”