The Maccabaean

In Anxious Days*

IN great haste the slaves sped through the wide corridors of the imperial palace in Rome, turning in all directions to find an individual whose presence the Cæsar demanded in the audience chamber. Yet he was wise who, though daily in attendance at the palace, was not to be found when the imperial eyes desired to urgently light upon him, for he would hear little good; the Cæsar's face was stern, his eyes glistened, and at any moment his temper might break loose upon those who knelt in his presence.

The slaves ran hither and thither, seeking the missing person, who, from their interjections to one another, they cordially despised and hated. Presently, however, there came along the marble pavement, with slow steps, a bowed man. Now and then he paused and stretched his thin hands toward the skies, as though seeking to compose his ideas and collect his thoughts; and as he stepped forward again, a sneer played around his thin lips. The slaves spied him, but it required no little courage to approach him. But the Cæsar's will was a powerful impulse, and, at length, one approached him, exclaiming, "Thank the gods, revered Ascletarion, that I find you. The Cæsar requires your presence."

The aged man cast one piercing look upon the slave, and asked: "Cæsar, you say? And to what purpose?" Then turned he his back upon the slave and hurried as quickly as his nature permitted to the imperial chamber.

"Silence!" Scornful tones interrupted the well-prepared speech, and Ascletarion, bent to the ground, hesitated to look up.

A moment of anxious silence ensued, and then again the voice was raised, but in milder tones, and Ascletarion looked doubtfully to where the sunbeams played on the purple hangings, from behind which he was being addressed.