“Levi, you are a miser,” she said.  “You bury your money in a hole instead of buying me a Greek mantle like what Rebecca and Amala wear.”

“Then I shall remain a miser,” he replied, “for I shall not buy you a Greek mantle.  Foreign garments will plunge the Jews into deeper ruin than my Roman office and Roman coins.  It is not the receipt of custom, my dear wife, that is idolatry, but desire of dress, pleasure, and luxury.  Street turnpikes are not bad at a time when our people begin to be fugitives in their own land, and with all their trade and barter to export the good and import the evil.  Since the law of Moses respecting agriculture there has been no better tax than the Roman turnpike toll.  What have the Jews to do on the road?”

“You will soon see,” said Judith.  “If I don’t have the Greek mantle in two days from now, you’ll see me on the road, but from behind.”

“You don’t look bad from behind,” mischievously returned Levi.

The knocker sounded without.  The tax-gatherer looked through the window, and bade his wife undo the barrier.  She went out and raised a piercing cry, but did not unclose the barrier.  Several men had come along the road, and were standing there; the woman demanded the toll.  A little man with a bald head stepped forward.  It was the fisherman from Bethsaida.  He confessed that they had no money.  Thereupon the woman was very angry, for it was her secret intention thenceforth to keep the toll money herself in order to buy the Greek purple stuff like that worn by Rebecca and Amala.

When Levi heard her cry, he went out and said:  “Let them pass, Judith.  You see they are not traders.  They won’t do the road much damage.  Why they’ve scarcely soles to their feet.”

Then Judith was quiet, but she took a stolen glance at one of the men who stood tall and straight in his blue mantle, his hair falling over his shoulders, his pale face turned towards her with an earnest look.  “What a man?  Is something the matter with me?  Perhaps he misses the Greek mantle that he sees other women wear?”

“How far have you come?” the toll-keeper asked the men.

“We’ve come from Magdala to-day,” replied Simon, the fisherman.

“Then it is time that you rested here a little in the shade.  The sun has been hot all day.”

When Judith saw that they were really preparing to avail themselves of the invitation, she hastened to her room, adorned herself with gay-coloured stuffs, a sparkling bracelet, and a pearl necklace that she had lately acquired from a Sidonian merchant.  She came out again with a tray of figs and dates.  The tall, pale man—­it was Jesus—­silently passed on the tray, and took no refreshment Himself.  His penetrating glance made her uneasy.  Perhaps He would let Himself be persuaded.  She placed herself before Him, more striking and bold in her splendour.

“Woman,” He said suddenly, “yonder grows a thistle.  It has prickles on the stem and the flower, it is covered with the dust of the highway and eaten away by insects.  But it is more beautiful than an arrogant child of man.”