Laodice sat very still and listened. There was enough similarity in

this story to interest her.

The Maccabee, seeing that he had made an impression with this

deception and feeling somehow a relief in making it, went on,

delighted with his deceit.

"He has not seen her since he married her in his childhood, but he

knows full well how she will look when he meets her."

Surprise paralyzed Laodice. Was the smiling and dangerous companion of

this man, her husband?

The Maccabee, meanwhile, deliberately remarked her charms and

recounted their antithesis in making up a picture of the woman he

expected to meet as his wife.

"She will, according to his expectations, be meager and thin, not

plump! Thoughtful women and women with a purpose are never plump! And

she will be black and pale, all eyes, with a nose which is not the

noble nose of our race. She will be religious and it will not make her

happy. She will realize her value to her husband and he will not be

permitted to forget it. She will be ambitious and full of schemes. She

will be the larger part of his family, though by the balance she will

weigh not so much as an omer of barley."

Laodice got upon her feet in her agitation and raised her veil to

stare at this slander. Was this a picture of herself she heard? The

Maccabee was enjoying himself uncommonly.

"She will wear the garments of a queen, but--how little a slip of

silver tissue will become her!"

Laodice looked down in alarm at her gleaming garment, and reached for

her mantle. The Maccabee had no idea how much pleasure he was to

derive in making his own story, Julian's. He continued, almost

recklessly, now.

"Small wonder that he is so delinquent in the wilderness, with such

square-shouldered righteousness awaiting him in town! Forgive him,

lady, for his iniquities now, for he will be a good man after he

reaches Jerusalem; by my soul, you may be sure he will be good!"

Laodice gasped under the pressure of astonishment and indignation. It

was bad enough to be pictured thus unprepossessing, but to be suddenly

made aware of her husband in a man whom she feared, was desperate. She

stared with frank and horrified eyes at her tormentor.

"But--but--" she stammered.

"True," he sighed. "One can not know what calamity forces another into

misdeeds. Now were I my unfortunate friend, perhaps I should afflict

you with my hunger for sweetness also."

And that smooth, insinuating, violent pagan was Philadelphus

Maccabaeus! But what had her father said of him, as a child? "Quick in

temper, resourceful, aye, even shifty, stubborn, cold in heart, hard

to please!" And to this man she must present herself, late, penniless

and unhelpful. Panic seized her! How could she go on to Jerusalem!




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