Solomon was waiting for them, and had prepared for them his best upper room—­a little narrow apartment, with windows facing towards the sea—­where supper was laid, and opening from this a tiny sleeping chamber.  A swinging lamp hung over the centre table, and Solomon’s younger brother waited on them.  Esther, with the dust of the road washed from her skin, looked very fair, sitting under the light of the lamp, her eyes glowing with the mysterious fires of love and joy, and the two Jews sat listening to her eagerly as she talked to them, telling them the news of her family and friends in Jerusalem.

“If I could only go up to the city,” sighed the younger man.  “But I cannot walk, and I have no horse,” and he grew sullen and dejected and said no more, while the elder continued to ask and be answered a hundred questions about the life and doings of the city.

That night, past midnight, when the whole plain of Jericho lay wrapped in a deep hush, and not one light gleamed in the darkness of the village, a carriage drawn by two foam-covered horses thundered down the last steep descent of the road from Jerusalem into the village, and dashed through it straight to Solomon’s dwelling.  Esther, asleep in the upper room, with Nicholas’ head pillowed on her shoulder, heard the clatter of wheels and awoke suddenly, all her body growing rigid with terror.

“Nicholas, awake! they have followed us!” She sprang from the bed, and opening the window noiselessly, looked out.  The night was quite dark, but by straining her eyes she could descry the form of a covered carriage below, and two dark figures stood hammering on the house-door.  The sounds rang reverberating through the dwelling, and disturbing the still, calm air without, laden with the scent of myrtle and orange-flower.  A window above opened, and the old Jew looked out.

“Who knocks?” he called.

“Priests from Jerusalem, from the Monastery of the Holy Virgin.  One whom we seek is within; let us enter.”  Esther drew back into the room, and saw Nicholas standing behind her, his face haggard with despair.  “Jehovah, then, is not with us.”

Esther pressed his hand.

“Esther is with you,” she murmured softly.  “You shall not go back, they shall not touch you.  Give me your priest’s clothing, and stay here.”

Before he could answer she had snatched up the garments and was gone, fastening the door behind her.  Outside on the stairway she met old Solomon, coming slowly down to answer the imperative summons from below.

“Delay all you can in admitting them,” she whispered, then ran past him, fleet of foot, up the stairs to the Jews’ room—­the door stood open as Solomon had left it.  She entered, and stood within in the darkness.

“Hiram,” she called softly, “you wished to go up to Jerusalem.  Now is your opportunity.  Get up, put on these things, and the priests will take you back in their carriage.”  She heard the man rise and bound to the floor.