“There is no name for it,” he said, with solemn fear.

“Is there no hope?” said I, trembling.

“Look to that mountain,” was the answer, as he pointed to Moriah.  “It is now covered with war and slaughter.  But upon that mountain shall yet be enthroned a Sovereign, before whom the sun shall hide his head.  From that mountain shall light flow to the ends of the universe, and the government shall be of the everlasting.”

In a few minutes he had carried me to the city, placed me on a battlement, and had disappeared.

Below me war raged in its boundless fury.  The Romans had forced their way; the Jews were fighting like wild beasts.  When the lance was broke, the knife was the weapon; when the knife failed, they tore with their hands and teeth.  But the Romans advanced against all.  They advanced till they were near the inner temple.  A scream of wrath and agony at the possible profanation of the Holy of Holies rose from the multitude.  I leaped from the battlement, called upon Israel to follow me, and drove the Romans back.

But Jerusalem was marked for ruin.  A madman, prophesying the succour of heaven, prevented Israel from surrendering, and thus saving the Temple.  Infuriated by his words, the populace kept up the strife, and the Temple burst into flames.  The fire sprang through the roof, and the whole of its defenders, to the number of thousands, sank into the conflagration.  In another minute the inner temple was on fire.  I rushed forward, and took my post before the veil of the portico, to guard the entrance with my blood.

But the legions rushed onward, crying that “they were led by the Fates,” and that “the God of the Jews had given his people and city into their hands.”  The torrent was irresistible.  Titus rushed in at its head, exclaiming that “the Divinity alone could have given the stronghold into his power, for it was beyond the hope and strength of man.”  My companions were torn down.  I was forced back to the veil of the Holy of Holies.  I longed to die!  I fought, I taunted, covered from head to foot in gore.  I remained without a wound.

Then came a new enemy—­fire.  I heard its roar round the sanctuary.  The Romans fled to the portal.  A wall of fire stood before them.  They rushed back, tore down the veil, and the Holy of Holies stood open.

The blaze melted the plates of the roof in a golden shower above me.  It calcined the marble floor; it dissipated in vapour the inestimable gems that studded the walls.  All who entered lay turned to ashes.  But on the sacred Ark the flame had no power.  It whirled and swept in a red orb round the untouched symbol of the throne of thrones.  Still I lived; but I felt my strength giving way—­the heat withered my sinews, the flame extinguished my sight.  I sank upon the threshold, rejoicing that death was inevitable.  Then, once again, I heard the words of terror.  “Tarry thou till I come!” The world disappeared before me.