Somewhere beyond the highest of the blue hills to the east, the white walls of the city of David were receiving all this.  Somewhere to the west the four brassy legions of Titus were marching down upon all this.  About the Maccabee were assembling all the circumstances that govern a tremendous struggle.  Eagerness, earnestness, all the strength and resolution of his strong and resolute nature surged into his soul.  It was his hour.  It should find him prepared.

He turned out of the gate and crowding along by the stone wall to pass in the opposite direction from the flood of pilgrims pouring through Emmaus, he searched for the synagogue of the little town.

He came upon it, a solid square building of stone with an Egyptic facade and an architrave carved with a great stone flower set in an olive wreath.  Without was the proseuchae, paved with boulders now worn smooth by the summer sittings of the congregation who gathered around the reader’s stone.  The Maccabee stopped at the gate and unlacing his pagan sandals set them outside the threshold.

Once over the stone sill with the imminent gloom covering him, he felt the old sanctity envelop him with a reproach in its forgotten familiarity.  Old incense, old litanies, old rites rushed back to him with the smell of the stagnant fragrance.  He heard again from the farther depths of the dark interior the musical monotone of a rabbi reciting a ritual.  The voice was young and low.  Presently he heard the responses spoken in a woman’s voice, so tender, so soft and so sad that he sensed instantly the meaning of the sympathy in the young priest’s voice.  Out of the incense-laden dusk he found old custom stealing back upon him.  His lips anticipated words unreadily; gladly he realized that he could say these formulas, also; he had not forgotten; he had not forgotten!

In this little synagogue in a poor town there were no privacies; communicants had to depend on the courtesy of their fellows for uninterrupted devotion.  The wanderer had not forgotten this.  So he effaced himself in the darkness and awaited his own turn.

He hardly knew why he had come.  For what should he ask—­forgiveness or for the hope of the King who was to come?  What should he do—­make atonement or promises; give an offering or ask encouragement?  He did not doubt for an instant that he had done wisely in seeking the synagogue, but what had he for it, or what had it for him?

Meanwhile the voice of the priest, disembodied in the gloom, had put off its ritualistic tone and was delivering a charge: 

“Since you are in haste to reach Jerusalem, you may depart, so that you will give me your word that you will in all faith abide upon the road seven days; and that at the end of the separation you will present yourselves for examination and cleansing at Jerusalem, and that you will in nowise transgress the law of separation on the journey hence.”

The Maccabee heard the woman give her word.  After a little further communication, he heard them move toward the entrance.