What bitter memories of early years passed through the renegade's soul as he spoke! Happy days, when there was no shame on the brow, no gnawing worm in the conscience—when he had feared the face of no man, and had dared to lift his eyes towards heaven, and his heart to One who dwelt there! Blessed days, never, never to come again!
"Hark! she speaks in her sleep. What says she?"
Pollux bent down his head to listen, and caught the faint murmur, "My poor, poor father!"
The groan which burst from the apostate's lips awoke the sleeper. Zarah started into a sitting posture, and, with a gesture of alarm, threw back the long tresses which had partly fallen over her face.
"Fear not, poor child; I would not harm you," said Pollux, in a gentle, soothing tone, which restored Zarah's confidence at once.
"Oh no! I will not fear you!" she cried, recognizing her protector; "it was you—the God of Jacob requite you for it!—it was you who saved me to-day."
"And will do so again," said Pollux, as he seated himself at Zarah's side; "but I cannot save you in spite of yourself. You must let yourself be guided by me."
"What would you have me do?" asked Zarah.
"Bend to the force of circumstances, humour the mighty king, give an outward obedience to his will. I have pledged myself that you should do so. There is nothing so dreadful, after all," continued the courtier, forcing a smile, "in bowing the knee as others do, or in burning a few grains of incense. It is but a little matter."
"A little matter!" repeated Zarah, opening wide her eyes in innocent surprise; "is it a little matter for me to throw away my soul, and break the heart of Hadassah?"