"What?" Marsyas cried, growing black. "A truth, my son!" "But I crowned him!" Marsyas cried, clenching his hands. "I held off the hand of death from him, and despoiled my soul for his sake! I sold myself for him! By the Lord, if he help me not, I shall have back the life that I preserved to him!" The Nazarene crossed himself quickly, and shook his head. "Peace! Peace! young brother. Even the Law, for which thou art zealous, forbids thee to kill! Behold the vanity of laying up confidence in man! If thou hadst so built for the Master's favor, thou hadst not been forsaken, to-day!" "Neither the God of Abraham, nor thy Prophet has shielded thee from the oppressor," he declared passionately. "Remember thy own words. But I will bring him down!" "Build no hope upon Herod," the Nazarene continued, as if eager to stay Marsyas. "Whatever he promised thee, he knows that Saul standeth high among the Pharisees, whom the king would propitiate! He hath difficulty and prejudice to overcome, this grandson of an execrated grandsire--so build nothing upon the Herod!" Was it possible that, after all his months of patient work and long-suffering, he had brought up at the point at which he had left off two years before? Was his punishment of Saul to be done, at his own risk, at last? He would see this altered Agrippa and learn for himself! "I shall see this king and discover!" he declared. "The king is not in Jerusalem," the Nazarene said. "He hath continued unto Antioch to despatch a petition to Caesar!" The young man's rage changed into dismay, but he made a last appeal. "I seek my beloved," he said finally, in a helpless way. "She is a Nazarene and pursued by the powers of Rome! Even besides her peril of Saul, she is sought after by the mighty who would destroy her. If thou knowest of her--even where she might be in hiding, I pray thee, tell me, in the name of thy Prophet!" "Who is she?" the Nazarene asked at once. "She is Lydia Lysimachus, daughter to the alabarch in Alexandria." "I turned such a maiden, and her protectors, away from the gates of Jerusalem, seven days ago. They were bidden to go to Damascus." Marsyas pressed the Nazarene's hand to his lips, because his gratitude would not be expressed otherwise. Safe, then, for the moment, and out of reach of Saul of Tarsus! "Do ye fare thither? even now?" Marsyas asked, eager to attach himself to the body of apostates, if they led him on to Lydia. "Nay, we are certain of the faith on watch, lest any ignorant of the peril besetting the brethren should approach the city." "Ye are close unto the oppressor," Marsyas said seriously. "We abide in the will of the Lord."