“I believe it. I have forgotten all bitterness about these marks and have borne them as my cross.
“But, Sir Charleroy, don’t wear thy cross in their sight!”
“For once, I’ll cover it.” So saying he hid the emblem.
The comrades parted, and Sir Charleroy quickly found himself by the maiden who personated Esther. He approached unnoticed until he pleasantly said: “Queen of Shushan, a man out there behind a clump of Sharon roses, played me a game of lots. I lost the game, and he has put it on me to come to the Queen to fix the forfeit I shall pay.” The maiden turned her head haughtily and examined the speaker from head to foot with repelling gaze. It was her way of freezing off the amorous swains who constantly aimed to pay her court. But when her eyes met those of the self-possessed stranger, she gave a little start. Perhaps she caught sight, by some omen, of her fate; perhaps she felt the magnetism of the strong will which for the first time presented itself. In any event, it was the first time she had ever been alone, face to face, with such as he; a stalwart man, all reverential, yet all self-possessed. They were well matched, and they both felt it, intuitively, instantly.
“Who art thou?”
“A child of God.”
“Of Israel?”
“By faith, most holy of Abraham’s seed,” responded Sir Charleroy.
“Thy speech bewrayeth thee as lacking our shibboleth.”