“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 he 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.

Now the newly-purchased kitchen-slave—­the Jew to whom the keeping of the Dionysian feast was an abomination—­rushed into the room shrieking out, as he plucked at his hair and beard: 

“The Philistines are upon us! save us Rabbi, great Rabbi!  Cry for us to the Lord, oh! man of God!  They are coming with staves and spears and they will tread us down as grass and burn us in this house like the locusts cast into the oven.”

In deadly terror he threw himself at Gamaliel’s feet and clasped them in his hands, but Apollodorus exclaimed:  “Follow me, follow me up on to the roof.”

“No, no,” howled the slave, “Amalek is making ready the firebrand to fling among our tents.  The heathen leap and rage, the flames they are flinging will consume us.  Rabbi, Rabbi, call upon the Hosts of the Lord!  God of the just!  The gate has given way.  Lord!  Lord!  Lord!”

The terrified wretch’s teeth chattered and he covered his eyes with his hands, groaning and howling.

Ben Jochai had remained perfectly calm, but he was quivering with rage.  His prayer was ended, and turning to Gamaliel he said in deep tones: 

“I knew that this would happen, I warned you.  Our evil star rose when we set forth on our wanderings.

“Now we must abide patiently what the Lord hath determined.  He will be our Avenger.”

“Vengeance is His!” echoed the old man, and he covered his head with his white mantle.

“In the sleeping-room—­follow me! we can hide under the beds!” shrieked Apollodorus; he kicked away the slave who was embracing the Rabbi’s feet, and seized the old man by the shoulder to drag him away with him.  But it was too late, for the door of the antechamber had burst open and they could hear the clatter of weapons.  “Lost, lost, all is lost!” cried Apollodorus.