forehead that he dropped as if struck by lightning.  One of the Britons knocked down the sausage-maker and a hideous hand to hand fight would have been the upshot if help had not come to the hardly-beset Romans from two quarters at once.  The veterans supported by a number of lictors were the first to appear, and soon after them came Benjamin, the Jew’s eldest son, who was passing down the great thoroughfare with his boon-companions and saw the danger that was threatening his father’s house.

The soldiers parted the throng as the wind chases the clouds, and the young Israelite pressed forward with his heavy thyrsus fought and pushed his way so valiantly and resolutely through the panic-stricken mob, that he reached the door of his father’s house but a few moments later than the soldiers.  The lictors battered at the door and as no one opened it, they forced it with the help of the soldiers in order to set a guard in the beleaguered house, and protect it against the raging mob.

Verus and the officer entered the Jew’s dwelling with the armed men, and behind them came Benjamin and his friends—­young Greeks with whom he was in the habit of consorting daily, in the bath or the gymnasium.  Apollodorus and his guests expressed their gratitude to Verus, and when the old Jewish house-keeper, who had seen and heard from a hiding-place under the roof all that had taken place outside her master’s house, came into the men’s hall and gave a full report of the uproar from beginning to end, the praetor was overwhelmed with thanks; and the old woman embroidered her narrative with the most glowing colors.  While this was going on Apollodorus’ pretty daughter, Ismene, came in, and after falling on her father’s neck and weeping with agitation the house keeper took her hand and led her to Verus, saying: 

“This noble lord—­may the blessing of the Most High be on him—­staked his life to save us.  This beautiful robe he let be rent for our sakes, and every daughter of Israel should fervently kiss this torn chiton, which in the eyes of God is more precious than the richest robe—­as I do.”

And the old woman pressed the praetor’s dress to her lips, and tried to make Ismene do the same; but the praetor would not permit this.

“How can I allow my garment,” he exclaimed, laughing, “to enjoy a favor of which I should deem myself worthy—­to be touched by such lips.”

“Kiss him, kiss him!” cried the old woman, and the praetor took the head of the blushing girl in his hands, and pressing his lips to her forehead with a by no means paternal air, he said gaily: 

“Now I am richly rewarded for all I have been so happy as to do for you, Apollodorus.”

“And we,” exclaimed Gamaliel.  “We—­myself and my brother’s first-born son-leave it in the hands of God Most High to reward you for what you have done for us.”

“Who are you?” asked Verus, who was filled with admiration for the prophet-like aspect of the venerable old man and the pale intellectual head of his nephew.