But where had the workman gone who once had shaped that token of
immortality? Whither had vanished his carver's skill? Where had
disappeared his projects and his dreams? Quintus is not thinking
of any proconsulship he may win, or even of the love light in the
eyes of Lucretia, as he climbs again the heights of Scopus. Rather
he is meditating on the departed maker of scarabs--and on the
destiny of the soul. For ages the philosophers have been
speculating about the future life. Familiar is Quintus with the
views of Laelius and Seneca, among the Roman inquirers, and with
the teachings of the great Grecians who have spoken in classic
Athens. But now the question leaps to the front. Quintus is in
the city where Ayran travelers and Persian magi and Egyptian
priests are busy telling their theories of immortality. He is in
the very streets, besides, where a sandaled Teacher from Nazareth
is declaring that the dead shall live again. If but half is true
that this strange Man is reputed to have said, no priest of Jupiter
has ever uttered at Rome so luminous a word. Can it be that
Quintus himself shall see this Christus and hear his message? If
so, his will be in very truth a momentous quest.




II

IN SOLOMON'S PORCH

"Give me new consolation, great and strong, of which I nave never