The old Christian’s face grew immeasurably sad.

“There is but one thing for you to do,” he said.

She wrenched herself away from the Maccabee, who had been angrily protesting against her carrying his case to another for decision, and confronted Nathan.

“But he rejected me!” she cried with earnestness.  “That alone is enough among our people for divorcement!”

The Christian shook his head sadly.  He was not happy to lay down this prohibition before them who suffered.

“There is no help in thy faith for such as I am.  In that thy religion fails!” she cried.

“Love, now, is all in all to thee, daughter.  It is but the speech of thy young blood running through thy veins, the claim of thy youth to thy use upon earth.  Resist it; for when thy years are as many as mine thou wilt lose thy rebellious spirit and the fervor will have died out of thy heart.  Then, if thou hast fallen in this hour, how vain and worthless it will seem to thee!  Divine fires in the heart of men never become changed in value.  Love purely and thou wilt never repent; but I say unto thee thou fashionest for thyself humbled and shamed old age if thou transgressest the Law!”

“What mercy, then, since thou preachest mercy, in filling me with this weakness if my life must be darkened resisting it, and my future show no relief for it?” she insisted passionately.

It was the cry old as the world.  He looked at her sadly, hopelessly.

“As for God, His way is perfect,” he said. “How unsearchable are his judgments, and his ways past finding out! Thou shalt struggle with the truth, my daughter, but without fail and most readily thou shalt know when thou hast sinned!”

She was past the influence of argument.  Impulse controlled her now entirely.  She would see if there were not an intelligence, even a religion which would see her sorrow from her own heart’s position.

She listened now to the words of her lover.

“He is an exclaimer, a prophet of doom!” he was crying.  “Love me and let us die!”

Without in the entrance of the crypt some great-lunged fanatic was calling the multitude to harken to the prophetess.

The Maccabee’s lips were against her cheek as he continued to speak.

“It is the end!  There is no help for us.  Love me, and let me be happy an hour before we perish!  The Nazarene is right!  The city is cursed!  God’s wrath is upon us.  The hour is still ours.  Love me and let us die!”

Without the great voice, like an unwearying bell, was calling: 

“A sign!  A sign!  Behold the Deliverer!  Come all ye who would share his triumph and hear!  Hear!  Come ye and be fed, ye hungry; be drunken, ye thirsty; love and be loved, ye forlorn!”

Laodice stiffened in the Maccabee’s clasp.

“Dost thou hear?” she whispered.  “It may be true!”

He shook his head that he had bowed upon her shoulder.