embroidered her narrative with the most glowing colors. While this was
going on Apollodorus' pretty daughter, Ismene, came in, and after falling
on her father's neck and weeping with agitation the house keeper took her
hand and led her to Verus, saying:

"This noble lord--may the blessing of the Most High be on him--staked his
life to save us. This beautiful robe he let be rent for our sakes, and
every daughter of Israel should fervently kiss this torn chiton, which in
the eyes of God is more precious than the richest robe--as I do."

And the old woman pressed the praetor's dress to her lips, and tried to
make Ismene do the same; but the praetor would not permit this.

"How can I allow my garment," he exclaimed, laughing, "to enjoy a favor
of which I should deem myself worthy--to be touched by such lips."

"Kiss him, kiss him!" cried the old woman, and the praetor took the head
of the blushing girl in his hands, and pressing his lips to her forehead
with a by no means paternal air, he said gaily:

"Now I am richly rewarded for all I have been so happy as to do for you,
Apollodorus."

"And we," exclaimed Gamaliel. "We--myself and my brother's first-born
son-leave it in the hands of God Most High to reward you for what you
have done for us."

"Who are you?" asked Verus, who was filled with admiration for the
prophet-like aspect of the venerable old man and the pale intellectual
head of his nephew.