half-conscious gaze rested.

He was an old man, clad in a short tunic, ragged of hem and girt about
him with a rope. Barefoot, bareheaded and provided only with a staff
and a small wallet, he was to outward appearances little more than one
of the legion of mendicants that infested the poverty-stricken land of
Judea. But his large eyes, under the tangle of wind-blown white hair
and white shelving brows, were infinitely intelligent and refined.
Now, they beamed with pity and concern on the bereaved girl.

But she forgot him the next instant, for returning consciousness
brought back like a blow the memory of the death of her father.

From time to time she caught snatches of conversation between the old
wayfarer and Aquila. They were spoken in low tones and only from time
to time did they reach her.

"He was Costobarus, principal merchant of this coast," she heard
Aquila explain shortly.

"I shall go on to Ascalon; I do not fear," the old man said next. "I
shall bring his people to fetch his body. I marked the spot. Comfort
her with that, when she can bear to talk of it."

"We go to Jerusalem," Aquila went on, some time later, "else we should
turn back with him ourselves. But we dare not risk the pestilence on
her account, for it seems that she is very necessary to the Jews at
this hour--very necessary."

"I follow to the Holy City," the old wayfarer added at last. "The