arisen, but he had been denied and cast out. He was about to perish.
Perhaps he was already dying. Could it be the same who had been born in
Bethlehem, thirty-three years ago, at whose birth the star had appeared
in heaven, and of whose coming the prophets had spoken?

Artaban's heart beat unsteadily with that troubled, doubtful
apprehension which is the excitement of old age. But he said within
himself, "The ways of God are stranger than the thoughts of men, and it
may be that I shall find the King, at last, in the hands of His enemies,
and shall come in time to offer my pearl for His ransom before He dies."

So the old man followed the multitude with slow and painful steps
towards the Damascus gate of the city. Just beyond the entrance of the
guard-house a troop of Macedonian soldiers came down the street,
dragging a young girl with torn dress and dishevelled hair. As the
Magian paused to look at her with compassion, she broke suddenly from
the hands of her tormentors, and threw herself at his feet, clasping him
around the knees. She had seen his white cap and the winged circle on
his breast.

[Illustration: "THE OLD MAN FOLLOWED THE MULTITUDE"]

"Have pity on me," she cried, "and save me, for the sake of the God of
Purity! I also am a daughter of the true religion which is taught by the
Magi. My father was a merchant of Parthia, but he is dead, and I am
seized for his debts to be sold as a slave. Save me from worse than death!"

Artaban trembled.

It was the old conflict in his soul, which had come to him in the