The young mother laid the baby in its cradle, and rose to
minister to the wants of the strange guest that fate had
brought into her house. She set food before him, the plain
fare of peasants, but willingly offered, and therefore full of
refreshment for the soul as well as for the body. Artaban
accepted it gratefully; and, as he ate, the child fell into a
happy slumber, and murmured sweetly in its dreams, and a great
peace filled the room.

But suddenly there came the noise of a wild confusion in
the streets of the village, a shrieking and wailing of women's
voices, a clangour of brazen trumpets and a clashing of
swords, and a desperate cry: "The soldiers! the soldiers of
Herod! They are killing our children."
The young mother's face grew white with terror. She
clasped her child to her bosom, and crouched motionless in the
darkest corner of the room, covering him with the folds of her
robe, lest he should wake and cry.

But Artaban went quickly and stood in the doorway of the
house. His broad shoulders filled the portal from side to
side, and the peak of his white cap all but touched the
lintel.

The soldiers came hurrying down the street with bloody
hands and dripping swords. At the sight of the stranger in
his imposing dress they hesitated with surprise. The captain
of the band approached the threshold to thrust him aside. But
Artaban did not stir. His face was as calm as though he were
watching the stars, and in his eyes there burned that steady