“Quick!” Julian said, leaning from his horse.  “Is there a young man here with gray temples?  A pagan?”

The Syrian, attracted by the anxiety in the demand, followed a train of surmise before his answer.

“No pagans, here.  Naught but Jews,” he observed finally.

“Or a young woman of wealth?  Quick!”

“No wealth at all; but plenty of women.  The Passover pilgrims.”

Julian heaved a sigh of relief and dismounted.  The Maccabee rode into the court of the khan at that instant.

The khan-keeper took their horses and a little later the two men were led into the single cobwebby chamber, low-ceiled, gloomy, cold and cheerless as a cave.  There they were given food and afterward a corner of the hall where a straw pallet had been laid and a stone trough filled with water for a bath.  After refreshing himself the Maccabee lay down and slept with supreme indifference to the rancor of the man who had attempted to kill him.

But Julian had another idea than pressing his vengeful advantage at that time.  He went out into Emmaus and engaging the unemployed of the thriftless town sent them broadcast into the hills in search of a pagan who was young, yet gray at the temples.

Some of them went—­and they were chiefly boys who were not old enough to know that these strangers who come in pagan guise to Emmaus are full of guile.  But none returned to him.  They had neither seen nor heard of a pagan who was young though the white hair of an old man snowed on his temples.

So Julian storming within went out into the hills himself, to search.

Meanwhile the Maccabee, a light sleeper and readily restored, awoke and found himself alone.  The khan-keeper informed him on inquiry that Julian had ridden away.

“Too fair a hope to think that he has deserted me,” the Maccabee observed.  “I shall await him a decent time.  He will return.”

He tramped about the chamber waiting for something that was not Julian, intending to do something but unable to define that thing.  There was a vague admission that this last pause before his entry into Jerusalem where he must accomplish so much was an opportunity for some sort of preparation, but he lacked direction and resource.  He was irritable and purposeless.

Out of the low door that opened into the lewen of the khan he caught glimpses of the town spread over the tilt of the hill before him.  It had become active since he had looked upon it in the very early hours of the day.  Over the gate he could see the toss of canopies and the heads of camels passing; he could hear the ring of mule-hooves on the stones and the tramp of wayfarers.  There were shoutings and debate; the cries of servants and the gossip of parties.  All this moved on always in the direction of Jerusalem.  Few paused.  The single shop in Emmaus became active; the khan caught a little of the drift, but the great body of what seemed to be an unending stream of pilgrims passed on.  The Maccabee spoke to his host.