Classicus, who had been a quiet observer of the few words spoken between the Essene and the alabarch's daughter, drew himself up from his lounging attitude. "To En-Gadi?" he repeated, attracting the attention of the others, who had not failed to note his sudden interest in Marsyas. "Why?" "I am an Essene fallen into misfortune; but once an Essene, an Essene always," Marsyas answered. "An Essene?" the philosopher observed. Then after a little silence he began again. "In Alexandria, we live less rigorously than in Judea, even too little so, we discover at times. Wherefore it is needful that we watch that no further lapse is made, which will carry us into lawlessness." "Ye are lax, yet wary that ye be not more lax?" Marsyas commented perfunctorily. "Even so. From Agrippa's lips, we learn that thou hast led a precarious life of late; an eventful, even adventurous life: that thou hast been accused and hast escaped arrest. Thou wilt pardon my familiarity with thine own affairs." "Go on," said Marsyas. "In Alexandria--even in Alexandria, of late, the Jews have resolved not to entertain heretics--" "In Alexandria, the extreme ye will risk in hospitality is one simply accused." "I commend thy discernment. But we separate ourselves from the convicted." "So it is done in Judea. But continue." Classicus waited for an expectant silence. "Thou carryest about thee," he said, "an emblem which none but a Nazarene owns." Marsyas contemplated Classicus very calmly. He had been accused of apostasy before, but by one whose every impulse had root in irrational fanaticism. He had not expected this Romanized Jew to become zealous for the faith; instead, he knew that Classicus would have pursued none other for suspicion, but himself. Why? He glanced at Lydia. Alarm and protest were written on every feature. Classicus saw that she was prepared to defend Marsyas and his face hardened. Then the Essene understood! A flush of warm color swept over his face. Without a word he put his hand into his robes and drew forth and laid upon his palm the little cedar crucifix. Cypros uttered a little sound of fright; Agrippa whirled upon Marsyas with frank amazement on his face. After a moment's intent contemplation of the Essene's face, Junia settled back into her easy attitude and smiled. Lydia sprang up; yet before the rush of precipitate speech reached her lips, there came, imperative and distinct, Marsyas' telepathic demand on her attention. Tender but commanding, his dark eyes rested upon her. "Thou shall not betray thyself for me!" they said. "Thou shalt not bring sorrow to thy father's heart and disaster upon thy head! Thou shalt keep silence, and permit me to defend thee! I command thee; thou canst do naught else but obey!" She wavered, her cheeks suffused, and her eyes fell. When she lifted them again, they were flashing with tears. A moment, and she slipped past her guests into the house.