part I expect no other Messiah, want no other, will have no other. I hope

they of Jerusalem will away with the impostor.” He spoke with flashing eyes.

“So _I_ think,” said half a dozen voices with emphasis and gesture.

“Possibly the friends of Jesus would say,” returned Simeon coolly, “that great endings sometimes have small beginnings, and that there is time enough yet for the outward splendor. Indeed, I happen to know that this is what some of his friends do say. But others claim, and I must confess that this is what Jesus himself seems to teach, that the prophets have been misunderstood; that the kingdom and the glory and the conquests of which they speak are spiritual and so perfectly consistent with a lowly and even suffering Messiah. And for evidence they appeal to the prophecies of Isaiah, and other Scriptures. Perhaps our friend Philo, who believes so thoroughly in the allegoric and spiritual meanings of our Sacred Books, will not blame this interpretation as severely as some do.”

Philo smiled at this, and said that he never intended to spiritualize _away_ the Scriptures. It would be very hard for him to give up the brilliant hopes that had so long been entertained as to the times of the Messiah and what he would do for his Israel.

“I should not have so much difficulty,” said Alexander, “with the present humble condition of Jesus, and the spiritual character of his claims, as with the apparent fact that he was not born in Bethlehem and is not a son of David—as the Messiah must be.”

“That has been my great difficulty,” said Simeon. “It is everywhere claimed in Judea that Jesus is a Galilean, a Nazarene, and of parentage so humble that he is on that account in disfavor with even the people of Nazareth.”

Aleph ventured to inquire whether some branches of David’s line had not, in the course of centuries, sunk into a humble condition; and whether it was not possible that Jesus belonged to some such decayed branch—also, whether he might not have been born in Bethlehem, though brought up elsewhere?

“I think,” said Simeon, “that we are hardly entitled to say _No_ to either of these questions of the young man. I myself was born in Jerusalem, though brought up in this city. The family of David is now lost among the common people; and, though it can be recovered in our genealogies, I never could learn that the enemies of Jesus have taken the pains to examine them with reference to his claims. Having settled in their minds that such a Messiah as Jesus is neither what they expected nor wanted, they easily accepted without examination such rumors in regard to him as agreed with their wishes and foregone conclusion. So, at least, it seems to me.”

“Can you tell us about what the age of Jesus is?” asked Cimon.

“He appears, I am told, somewhat less than forty; perhaps he is not much more than thirty years. I took special pains to inquire about this; partly because of an experience of my father’s some thirty years ago, and partly because of wide-spread rumors at that time of a remarkable birth which had just taken place in connection with celestial phenomena. However, the matter was kept as close as possible from fear of Herod. My father at that time was living in Jerusalem—a very old man and as saintly as old. For a long while he had expressed to his family an assurance that he should live to see the Christ. One day he came home from the temple with a radiant face, saying that he was now ready to depart, for he had just seen and held in his arms an infant which an inward Divine voice told him was the Messiah. He then lay down, calmly closed his eyes, and departed in a peaceful sleep. This I had from my sister, for I was in Alexandria at the time. All this was widely known at the time, but was spoken of by the people under their breath on account of the jealousy and cruelty of the rulers. Now at that time Jesus must have been an infant.”

“And we happen to know,” said Aleph, looking at Cimon, “that the name of the infant concerning whom such remarkable things were told was Jesus—though we may not at present tell how we came by the knowledge.”

As Aleph said these words he could not well help noticing three things—the cordial look that Simeon gave him, the look of exasperation on the face of Ben Abner, and the start made by Rachel, whose attitude of earnest attention throughout the conversation would have been evident enough even if her veil had not been gradually drawn somewhat aside as she watched the speakers. Alexander also noticed the start. Perhaps he feared a return of yesterday’s faintness. He bent over her, and spoke in a low tone. She shook her head.

“However, we will go home,” said he, “as soon as I have put off these vestments.”

He retired to the vestry, followed by the other elders.

Aleph approached the maiden and said that he had been glad to hear from her father that her nurse continued to mend, and expressed the hope that she herself was none the worse for her indisposition of yesterday.

“Not at all,” said she promptly; “but I was absorbingly interested in the subject of the conversation, and was, I confess, startled by what you said of your knowledge of the infant Jesus. You were not then born.”

“No, lady; my knowledge is altogether second-hand, but is none the less certain for that. My friend here has some original knowledge in the case; but both of us have, in addition to this, sources of information that are beyond all question.”

“I very much fear,” said she with a sigh, “when I hear Ben Abner and others, that our people will be found treating a new prophet as they have ever treated prophets. What do you think?”

“I also have my fears.”

“But you also have knowledge; and if at any time it becomes consistent for you to share your knowledge with others none will welcome it more gladly than I. Till then I believe in it and—in you”—and her eyes, which till then had been unconsciously and half-wonderingly perusing his face as she spoke, sank before his, and the lovely color deepened on the loveliest features that the Chaldean, or even the more experienced Greek, had ever seen.

What was that? A confused sound as of struggle and disputing voices came from the direction of the great door on the street of Canopus. This was soon followed by the noisy tramp on the marble pavement of what seemed in the distance a body of soldiers. As they came nearer they were seen to be indeed some twelve Roman soldiers in full armor, carrying at their head a standard—the legionary standard, consisting of a pike surmounted by a silver eagle, on whose spread wings stood an effigy of the emperor, with this superscription in large capitals—DEUS TIBERIUS CÆSAR.

The soldiers were followed at a short distance by a weeping, groaning, threatening crowd of Jews who had tried, it would seem, to prevent the entrance of the party with their desecrating symbol, and were now following them with lamentations and execrations.

As the band came near, Aleph easily recognized in the leader of it the drunken officer whom he had disarmed on the Nile. Almost as soon the two friends were recognized by the Roman; and, with an oath, he at once led the way to where they stood (they had planted themselves in front of Rachel), although at that moment Alexander and his elders were hastily coming forward from the vestry.

“I have found you at last,” the man cried, as he disposed his soldiers in a semicircle, “and you will not easily escape me.”

Alexander had now come up.

“As the head of the community worshipping here, I demand to know for what purpose you have come into their sanctuary with standard and arms?”

“To give you and your friends,” the officer replied with mock solemnity, “an opportunity, which no doubt you will gratefully accept, to pay an act of religious worship to the great god Tiberius Cæsar—after this manner,” and he kneeled before the standard, and, with both hands lifted, cried, _Great God, I worship thee_.

Rising, he exclaimed, “Now I have set you an example—copy it, every one of you!”

The crowd behind groaned and hissed.

The officer shook his fist at them and shouted, “Be still, you snakes and swine; your turn will come shortly. Let your betters lead off. It is their privilege. Come, begin, Pontifex Maximus!”—turning to Alexander.

“I demand of you by what authority you make this demand on us,” demanded the Alabarch.

The Roman pointed to the image of the emperor.

“Do you mean to say that an order has come from Rome for violating the sanctuaries of the Jews, and revoking the edicts which from the founding of the city have guaranteed to us our own religious views and usages?”

“The Roman senate has decreed Divine honors to the emperor; and his image has been received and worshipped in every place of worship in the city, saving the synagogues of the Jews. Now you shall have your turn.”

“That is no answer to my question. The Jews have always had special privileges in this city, and one of them is to refuse worship to every god but their own. Again I ask, has this privilege been recalled by the emperor since yesterday: for yesterday I received a personal letter from him in which he promised to abate nothing from our privileges.”

The Roman made no answer, but conferred with one of his men in a low voice. After a moment’s delay, Alexander continued:

“It is plain that you have no authority from the emperor for this outrage. Have you for it the authority of the governor, or of the prefect of the city? I await your careful reply.”

“We are carrying out the wishes of the representatives of Rome in Alexandria,” said the fellow sullenly.

“And _that_ is no answer to my question. Are we to understand that Avilleus Flaccus, or Urbanus Civicus, undertakes on his own responsibility to set aside the decrees of kings and emperors for four hundred years, those of the reigning emperor included, and has expressly sent you here to-day for this purpose?”

“We did not come here,” said the officer with a face that was fast becoming purple, “to be catechised.”

“You came here,” said Alexander sternly, “to commit an outrage—came as a private venture of yourself and a few mischievous companions, and without authority from your superiors. You deserve heavy punishment, and I hope will get it. Now _begone_ from the sanctuary which you have profaned.”

“_Begone!_” echoed the elders. “BEGONE!” shouted and screamed the mob from behind.

“Whatever privileges you cursed Jews may have, they certainly do not belong to these men”—pointing at Cimon and Aleph. “These are no more Jews than I am. And for aught I know the same is true of this woman. We will see”—and he stepped toward Rachel to lift her veil.

“Stand back,” said Aleph sternly, as he placed his hand on the breast of the man and sent him staggering back on his men.

Before the man could recover himself, Alexander interfered: “This lady is my daughter; and as for these men, they are of our faith, and as co-religionists are entitled to our immunities.”

“And if it were not so,” said Aleph, “it may be well for this man to know that under no conceivable circumstances would we pay religious worship to the emperor, though quite ready to pay the magistrates all due observance.”

“We will see,” cried the Roman in a transport of fury, as he rushed on the young man with his drawn sword. “Down on your knees to the standard this instant, you renegade, or by Jupiter, I will put you on your knees for the rest of your life,” and he struck at his knees.

Aleph caught the blow with his cane. Whereupon the officer lost all self-restraint and made a rapid succession of strokes and thrusts that sought life. But Aleph had evidently learned the art of fence: his cane was as good as a shield and met the sword at every point. At last, after a desperate lunge, the sword went flying aloft; and both Cimon and Aleph had seized its master.

“EXPEL THEM!” shouted Alexander to the crowd of Jews that was now surging and roaring like a maddened sea, “Expel them with your canes and your hands! They have forced an entrance into our sanctuary, they have profaned it with an idol, and now they have sought to stain it with the blood of unarmed men. EXPEL THEM, I say!”

The mob needed no spur. They threw themselves on the soldiers, already cowed by what had passed, and in a moment were dragging them, disarmed and unresisting, behind Cimon and Aleph with their prisoner. Had it not been for the example of coolness and forbearance set by our friends and an occasional moderating word from them, the people might have torn their prisoners limb from limb. As it was, the soldiers had no gentle handling. They had little armor left on them when they reached the great doors. They had gotten many an accidental elbowing and tripping. Somehow people had stumbled heavily and found it hard to recover themselves. There were few parts of those Roman bodies which had not become intimately acquainted with both the point and broadside of a cane. Their captain suffered least—in fact, suffered nothing beyond the shame and uneasiness of being held fast in iron hands.

When those hands were taken off, just outside the great door, he suddenly drew a knife from a fold in his sash and made a pass at Aleph. But both friends were vigilant; and Cimon, while beating off the knife with one hand, with the other dealt the rascal such a blow on the head that his helmet flew off and went clattering down the steps into the street. He followed staggering. The people behind, seeing only the cuff and the result, cheered, and very cheerfully followed the example supposed to be set them. Each soldier received such a hearty cuff and push as he went down the steps as made his descent little less than a fall.

Once down, they were not allowed to linger. The blood of the people was up; and they followed the soldiers in their precipitate flight a long distance with menacing cries and gestures, and with such missiles as they happened to find in the street.

Meanwhile the friends had been called within the synagogue by Alexander, and the great doors fastened. What consultations took place it is not necessary to record. There _were_ consultations; and that too of a very political and secular sort. The situation of the Jews was always delicate. There was much reason to fear that the morning’s disturbance would seriously embroil them with the authorities at both Alexandria and Rome. What should be done? If any one has light let him speak out at once—_though it be Sabbath_.

But none had scruples. The ideas of the Alexandrian Jews of the first century were not exactly like those of some of their ancestors in the time of the Maccabees who refused to defend themselves against their enemies on the Sabbath because self-defense was work, and that too of the severest sort. The children had become wiser if not better. They had come to believe that self-preservation is a work of necessity, not to say of mercy; and were ready to fight the idolaters seven days in the week if necessary for even a less matter than self-preservation—as we have seen. They would not consent to be martyrs till they had tried hard to be victors. They would not be idolaters, and they did not want to be rebels. They wanted to preserve their religion, and also wanted to preserve themselves. Was it possible? _Let us see_, said the Seventy, as they resumed their gilded chairs. So the men who did not hesitate to fight a battle on the Sabbath did not scruple to consult on that day how to prevent the battle from souring into a defeat. Were they wrong in this?

Cimon and Aleph answered in the negative. I am not sure but that I agree with them. Doubtless a council of war _may_ be as holy as a prayer-meeting. I once knew of one that was holier, but that began with a prayer.

But a narrative is like a star—it perishes if it stops moving. So let us proceed.

V.

THE UNIVERSITY.

Ο δὲ παῖς, πάντων θηριων, ὲστὶ δυσμεταχειριστότατον.

—PLATO, _Leg._ vii. 14.

_Of all wild beasts, a boy is the hardest to manage._

1. Breakers ahead. 2. Behold, the Serapeum! 3. Another school quite as good. 4. A Messianic partnership.

V.

THE UNIVERSITY.

Early the next morning Cimon and Aleph transferred themselves and their effects to a small khan in the Egyptian quarter of the city. This was done for the following reasons.

The events of the Sabbath seemed to make it prudent to withdraw from public notice as much as possible. Of course, the son of Flaccus was a source of danger: and then the seeming look of recognition on the face of Malus, which both of them had noticed, was not a pleasant feature of the situation. It was the silent lightning on the horizon. They felt it even more important, just then, to keep out of the sight of the Jew than it was to keep out of the sight of the Roman. Especially after an incident that occurred on their way back from the synagogue.

As they came down the steps of the Diapleuston, they noticed a Jew across the street, watching them. Before they had gone far, Aleph, happening to look behind, saw the man following, and spoke of it to Cimon. They walked slower—at length very slowly. The man slackened his pace to suit. They walked faster—at length very fast. The man quickened his pace correspondingly. It was annoying.

“Let us go to meet him,” said Cimon, “and see if he will retreat.”

Accordingly they turned and, for a moment, it seemed as if their shadow would turn too. But he thought better of it; and only stood still, in some confusion, till they came up.

“Can we do anything for you?” inquired the Greek. “If so we are at your service.”

“I certainly owe you an apology,” stammered the Jew. “The fact is, I was in the synagogue at the time of the disturbance, and was so struck with the very great likeness of this young man to one whom I saw many years ago that I determined to wait for his coming out and to follow him—in hope of finding where he was staying, or at least of getting a better view. And I have gotten it,” he added laughingly, “in a way I did not expect, but certainly deserved. However, I will not complain; as I now have an opportunity to thank you both for standing up so boldly and effectually for us to-day.”

“Well,” said Cimon, good-humoredly, “since we have now gratified your curiosity, perhaps you will not refuse to gratify ours by telling us who you are, and whom you suppose this young man to resemble.”

“That is but fair,” returned the Jew. “I keep a khan at the east end of this street, near the gate of Canopus, as did my father before me. When I was a youth, there came to our place from Judea a caravan of eastern people, evidently of great distinction, on their way homeward by the Red Sea route. It was in this company that I saw a man whose appearance made such an impression on me that if I were a painter I could put him on canvas to-day: and this young man is his double—perhaps somewhat brightened by youth.”

“I have to confess,” said Aleph with a smile, “that I am a Chaldean; and also that all Chaldeans have a certain likeness to one another. But you must not forget that the imagination is a powerful faculty, especially among us orientals, and has sometimes been known to see things that did not exist. But you can see for yourself, without any help from your imagination, that the peculiar way in which this conference has come about has attracted the notice of the street, and that the curious are beginning to thicken about us. So now let us separate: but, as soon as our affairs permit, we will seek you out and hear further about the pilgrims of whom you speak.”

So they parted. But the incident, especially after reflection and conference early the next morning, determined the friends to withdraw as fully as possible from the Jewish and Roman quarters of the city, and to hasten certain inquiries as to Malus.

There are two kinds of prophecy—the natural and the supernatural. The latter is a spark from the Divine foreknowledge, granted occasionally to certain privileged persons. That our friends had anything of this I am not prepared to say; but they were reasonably well furnished with such foresight as reason and experience can give; and what they foresaw was very considerable annoyance and even danger if they should remain at their present quarters. So they determined to remove. This was not valor, certainly. As certainly it was not cowardice. But it was that good thing which we call prudence, and which sensible people think to be almost or quite as good as heroism itself. It was a wise precaution—the tacking of the ship when breakers are seen ahead, the putting on of armor when the arrows begin to fly, the striking tent and removing to higher ground when the morning sky is red and lowering, and there is a sound of abundance of rain.

Have I said that the strangers were in the habit of asking each morning for Divine guidance during the day? If not, I ought to have said it. And the habit was no empty form. When they had risen from their knees they seemed free from anxiety as to what might happen, though not free from forethought and a disposition to be very active in pursuit of their objects. Queer people, were they not? Some would say they were very absurd as well as queer. However this may be, it is certain that Aleph and his friend did not stir a step that morning even in the matter of planning, till they had sought leading from a wisdom above their own. And what they did that morning they may be counted on to do every morning while we follow their fortunes. Will it be of any service to them? Perhaps they have found in their Septuagint several passages like this, “Commit thy way unto the Lord and he shall direct thy paths.”

Perhaps Cimon found more difficulty than his young companion in keeping free from anxiety on account of what had occurred. He felt a responsibility for both.

“It seems unfortunate,” said he, after their devotions, “not only that we should have been brought again into collision with the Romans, who can do so much to hinder at least one of our objects, but that it has come about in such a way as to attract to us the notice of the whole Jewish community. For, of course, yesterday’s events will be public talk to-day, and everybody will be inquiring and surmising about the strangers. And I am very much afraid that Malus has already caught a spark that in such a gale will set all his suspicions and craft on fire. But as these seemingly untoward things could not well have been avoided by us, I cannot but hope that the untowardness is only in seeming. I have lived long enough to know that a Divine leading can brighten seeming perils and disasters into blessings. But it seems a reasonable condition of Divine guidance that we try to act as prudently as we can, from the human stand-point. And prudence seems to require that we at once remove to the Egyptian quarter; that you matriculate in the University, and thus secure its immunities for yourself, as well as meet the wishes of your father that you hear for yourself the scholars of the west; and that I proceed without delay to make the inquiries we need to make in regard to Malus. These inquiries will have to be made as quietly and rapidly as possible; for if he should take the alarm his craft and influence are evidently such that he might seriously embarrass our movements—if not baffle them.”

And so it came to pass that the early morning found them established in a quiet khan almost under the shadow of the Serapeum.

This does not localize them very definitely; for the Serapeum cast a very great shadow. The temple, or rather collection of temples, was, by all odds, the most imposing structure in Alexandria. It was built on an elevation, partly artificial, the ascent to which on three sides was by broad flights of steps and successive platforms; while on the north side the ascent began at the harbor and advanced by a grade easy for vehicles to the great Propylon. This was purely Egyptian. To the right and left of it rose walls of red syenite, high and massive enough to be the walls of a city, decorated with many towers, and inclosing the whole levelled summit of the hill with their somewhat irregular lines. Within these, at a little distance, and built of the same, though much finer and carefully wrought, stone, rose the complicate structures of the temple proper. It was a little city by itself. And, towering above all other structures, it seemed to protect Alexandria and defy the seas beyond.

Like most Egyptian structures it was most successful in giving to beholders the ideas of massiveness and vastness. Yet the airiness of the situation, combined with a mingling of the various Hellenic architectures with the Egyptian, seemed to relieve the ponderous pile of any air of heaviness. For Pharaohs and Ptolemies, Mother Isis and her vagrant daughters Doris and Ione and Cora, were all represented in the confused mass of templed structures designed to welcome all the classical creeds.

The most striking features of the temple, to one looking up to it from the street, were, perhaps, an enormous canopy that seemed to overhang the whole pile of buildings and a tower by its side that rose still higher. This tower was the famous observatory where Eratosthenes and Hipparchus had made their observations; and in the spacious halls at its base was deposited the greater part of the then existing Alexandrian library—consisting of some 200,000 works collected by the Ptolemies, together with 300,000 parchments brought from Pergamos by Mark Antony for Cleopatra.

The Serapeum was under Egyptian control, but was greatly revered by devout Greeks and Romans as well as by Egyptians. Each nation regarded the god to whom the temple was dedicated and whose statue of mingled marble and silver and gold was there enshrined, as being the chief of all its gods—the Egyptians calling it Osiris, the Greeks Zeus, and the Romans Jupiter. For some reason, of late years, this statue had been kept in a dark room, and was seldom, if ever, shown to the people at large. They worshipped without the presence of any visible symbol of deity. The priests were numerous and of the highest rank. The chief of all was primate of all Egypt.

To its religious character the Serapeum added that of an institution of learning. Its priests had among their own people the reputation for wisdom which belonged to the ancient Egyptian priesthood among all nations—and not without reason. Their priestly duties being light, they spent much time in studying the sciences and philosophies as then known, and in training young priests to the same. In addition, the more eminent among them taught on certain topics in the Alexandrian School. They were recognized by the Ptolemies, and afterward by the emperors, as in all respects peers of the teachers located at the Museum.

Indeed, among people religiously inclined their standing was altogether superior to that of the secular professors. They were far more sober and practical in their teachings. They more boldly recognized religion and taught on lines parallel with it. They had stricter notions of what could properly be called science and philosophy. A few facts blown up into prettily colored bubbles, and then tossed into the air on exhibition, and then collapsing, and then succeeded by another output of pretty emptinesses, and this by another, and so on—such were the substance and history of the better part of the ever-changing teaching of the Museum. The worse part had no foundation in facts at all. In fact, facts were scorned. They were vulgar. The lofty name of wisdom should be given only to great general intuitions and the logical deductions from them. And as the teachers were by no means careful in either their premises or their processes, their conclusions were apt to be worthless when they were not pernicious. In short, the Museum was the child of Athens and the mother of Germany.

Accordingly, many of the noblest families in the neighboring countries turned their faces toward the Serapeum. They were disgusted at the laborious trifling. They were alarmed at the decay of faith. If their sons could not have something that deserved to be called knowledge, and knowledge without impiety and all the terrors, they did not want them to have it at all. But if they could have it thoroughly leavened with religious ideas—why, they would welcome it, be very glad of it, pour out for it their shekels or sestertii or staters freely. Such people found what they wanted in the priest-teachers of the Serapeum; and said to themselves that if religion is the supreme wisdom then are the ministers of religion the supreme professors.

All this Cimon recalled and spoke of when he found himself in the neighborhood of the temple. And he proposed that Aleph should matriculate there instead of at the Museum—as being the nearer and more conservative branch of the University, as well as more remote from the Roman headquarters.

“I do not think,” said he, “that you will need to confine yourself very closely to the routine of lectures. Many of the more advanced students do not. You are already familiar through me with the main subjects discussed in both the Athenian and Alexandrian Schools: and I do not imagine that you will hear much that is new; only you will hear the old said in a new way, with new illustrations and personal modifications, which is not without its advantage to a young man. And you will have what, perhaps, is a still greater advantage, that of mingling with and studying the leading young men of the West. As to the present preliminaries for admission to the School, you had better apply to Seti for information.”

“And why not ask his advice, also,” said Aleph, “as to how you had better proceed in the affair of Malus? It would be a safe thing to do. The priest is not in love with the trader.”

“Perhaps,” returned the Greek, “this is the best thing to be done. Still I feel reluctant to do it—at least till I have proved it necessary. It is a good rule not to call on others to help you till you have tried to help yourself. We must spare our friends as much as possible. And I do not see that any harm can be done by my going directly to the custom house and inquiring on what terms abstracts from the records can be made, or by my going to leading dealers and asking how the prices of certain goods have ruled in Alexandria for a term of years. Let me cautiously feel my way about to-day by myself: by the evening I shall be better able to see whether we need to call in help from outside.”

As soon as Cimon had gone, Aleph inquired of the landlord at what part of the temple he should present himself. Climbing successive flights of steps that began almost at the khan, he came to the broad carriage-way of which we have spoken. As yet very few people could be seen upon it—none who seemed moving to the temple. This led him to think that very likely he was yet too early for the temple habits, and had better linger a little before seeking admittance. So he sat down on one of the stone seats, placed at intervals by the wayside for the convenience of the weary and the idle, and proceeded to study at his leisure the stately façade of the temple. While thus engaged he heard voices just back of the wall against which he was leaning.

A voice laughed heartily.

“Have you been at your cups so early” said another voice testily. “I should have thought that these leeks and onions would set you to crying. That is what they do to me.”

“I couldn’t cry if I were up to my eyes in the onions of Nauticratis,” said the other. “Oh, it was such a capital thing! Why, the very gods themselves must be shaking with laughter—at least our Egyptian gods.”

“Who ever heard of an Egyptian god laughing? Our deities never did that in the best days of the country. They who were as grim as fate when Thebes was in its glory are not likely to smile now when Thebes is dead, and a Roman garrison is in Alexandria, and a Roman Governor in the palace of Seti.”

“That is just it—now you are coming to the point!” cried the other; “it is just _because_ there is a Roman garrison in Alexandria and a Roman Proprætor in the ancestral palace of Seti that our gods, calm and grave as they generally are, must have had a merry time of it yesterday.”

“There, take that, you provoking Sphinx!” (and Aleph heard something strike against the wall). “If you do not expound your riddle right away it will be, not two onions that your empty head will get, but a whole basket of them.”

“Do you pretend to say that you have not heard what took place yesterday at the Diapleuston? Why, the whole city is ringing with it—at least the Jewish Quarter. The Roman Quarter will be silent enough, I warrant.”

“Have heard nothing. Was in Canopus yesterday—came back before people were stirring this morning. What is it? Out with it, man!”

“An you be a true son of Egypt, now open your ears and mouth! Yesterday the Governor took a hundred soldiers and tried to make the Jews at the Diapleuston worship an image of the emperor. A magnificent young man in shining armor suddenly appeared on the scene, disarmed Flaccus, and encouraged the Jews to give the whole party a good drubbing. Which they