The City of Delight

"My necessity is stern--it is Judea's necessity," she answered.

"More similarity!" he exclaimed. "That is why I go! Certainly Judea's

fortunes have bettered with you and me both hastening to her rescue.

Come, let us compare further. I am going to crown a king over Judea!"

She raised her veil to look at him with startled eyes. The glimpse of

her face, for ever a delight and an astonishment to him because of its

extraordinary loveliness, swept him out of the half-serious air into

which he had fallen. He stopped and looked at her with pleased,

boyish, happy eyes.

"Aurora!" he said softly. "I see now why day comes gradually. Mankind

would die of excitement if the dawn were unveiled to them like this

suddenly every morning!"

She released the veil hurriedly, but before it fell he put out a hand,

caught it and tossed it back over her head.

"Be consistent with your part," he said, still smiling. "No man ever

saw day cancel her dawn and live."

It was pleasant, this sweet possession and command. How much like an

overgrown boy he had become, since she had wakened to find herself in

his power that morning in the hills! The harshness and inflexibility

had left his atmosphere entirely. She was only afraid of him now

because he had refused to be dismissed. But she drew down the veil.

"I, too, expect a king," she said in a lowered tone. "A conqueror and

a redeemer."

"The Messiah?" he said, and she knew by the inflection that he had not

meant that King when he had spoken.

He noted that her hair was coiled upon her head when he threw back her

veil and he turned to that at once.

"You wear your hair in a fashion," he said, "that once meant that

which men dislike to discover of a woman whom they greatly admire. I

hope it is no longer significant."

"I go," she said after a silence, "to join my husband in Jerusalem."

The Maccabee's lips parted and an expression of disappointment with an

admixture of surprise and vexation came over his face. But what did it

matter? Were she as free as air, he was a married man. The humor of

the situation appealed to him. He dropped his head into the bend of

his elbow and laughed.

"Welladay, this is a respite for us both, then," he said. But

realizing that an admission that he was married might hopelessly

reduce their hour to a formal basis, he took refuge in a falsehood.

"My companion expects to meet a wife in Jerusalem," he continued. "A

royal creature, daughter of an ancient and haughty family, with all

her life purpose congealed in lofty and serious intent, her coffers

lined with gold and her face as determined and unbending as Juno's

with her jealousy stirred. He is not delighted, poor lad!"