“When will He appear?” cried the Rabbi.  “When?  Can I tell when?  Only one thing I do know; the serpent is already sharpening its fangs to sting the heel of Him who shall tread upon it.  Have you heard the name of Bar Kochba?”

“Uncle,” said Ben Jochai, interrupting the old Rabbi’s speech, and rising from his seat:  “Say nothing you might regret.”

“Nay, nay,” answered Gamaliel earnestly.  “Our friends here prefer the human above the divine, but they are not traitors.”  Then turning again to Apollodorus he continued: 

“The oppressors in Israel have set up idols in our holy places, and strive again to force the people to bow down to them; but rather shall our back be broken than we will bend the knee or submit!”

“You are meditating another revolt?” asked the Alexandrian anxiously.

“Answer me—­have you heard the name of Bar Kochba?”

“Yes, as that of the foolhardy leader of an armed troup.”

“He is a hero—­perhaps the Redeemer.”

“And it was for him that you charged me to load my next corn vessel to Joppa with swords, shields and lance-heads?”

“And are none but the Romans to be permitted to use iron?”

“Nay—­but I should hesitate to supply a friend with arms if he proposed to use them against an irresistible antagonist, who will inevitably annihilate him!”

“The Lord of Hosts is stronger than a thousand legions!”

“Be cautious uncle,” said Ben Jochai again in a warning voice.

Gamaliel turned wrathfully upon his nephew, but before he could retort on the young man’s protest, he started in alarm, for a wild howling and the resounding clatter of violent blows on the brazen door of the house rang through the hall and shook its walls of marble.

“They are attacking my house,” shouted Apollodorus.

“This is the gratitude of those for whom you have broken faith with the God of your fathers,” said the old man gloomily.  Then throwing up his hands and eyes he cried aloud:  “Hear me Adonai!  My years are many and I am ripe for the grave; but spare these, have mercy upon them.”

Ben Jochai followed his uncle’s example and raised his arms in supplication, while his black eyes sparkled with a lowering glow in his pale face.

But their prayers were brief, for the tumult came nearer and nearer; Apollodorus wrung his hands, and struck his fist against his forehead; his movements were violent—­spasmodic.  Terror had entirely robbed him of the elegant, measured demeanor which be had acquired among his Greek fellow-citizens, and mingling heathen oaths and adjurations with appeals to the God of his fathers, he flew first one way and then another.  He searched for the key of the subterranean rooms of the house, but he could not find it, for it was in the charge of his steward, who, with all the other servants, was taking his pleasure in the streets, or over a brimming cup in some tavern.