"Stay! It is not customary for any outside of thine order to offer an Essene assistance, since we would spare thee the pain of refusal. But—it hath been suggested that thy haste may permit thee to waive thy scruples and accept help from me—as it hath been suggested—I filched precious time from thee. Thou canst ride with us, if thou wilt, and take my daughter's camel. She will come with me."
The brilliant eyes no longer obeyed the restraint which would keep them from the flower face. He turned to the girl, shyly withdrawn under the shade of the fringed tent, and knew by the lowered eyes and the warmer flush mantling the cheek that it was she that had made these suggestions.
Twenty reasons why he should accept the magistrate's offer arose to combat the single stern admonition of Custom. He was not yet under the Essenic vow to accept hospitality from none but Essenes, though he had lived in its observance all his life; he could not reach Nazareth under a day's journey and these swift beasts could carry him into the village by midnight. And Stephen's life depended on it.
"We depart even now," the magistrate added, "and I promise thee no further delay."
Ancient usage accused the young man on account of the woman, but by this time she had arisen and passed out of his sight, as if in good faith that he should not be troubled by her presence.
"Thou yieldest me invaluable aid," he said in a lowered tone, "and since I am not an elected Essene, but a ward of the brotherhood and a postulant, I am free and most glad to have thy help. Be thou blessed."
The magistrate acknowledged the young man's acceptance by a wave of a withered white hand and the slaves made the camels ready to proceed.
At midnight, the rocking camels sped without apparent weariness up the uneven streets of Nazareth, white under the stars. At the lewen of the single khan, the drivers drew up and Marsyas alighted to go forward and thank his host, but the magistrate slept, even while his servants lifted him down from the howdah. As he turned away, regretfully, he confronted the veiled girl, almost childlike in stature under the protection of her tall handmaiden. She dropped her head modestly and moved aside to let him pass, but he hesitated, and stopped. Few indeed had been the words he had addressed to women in his lifetime, and now his speech was more than ever unready.
"Thy father sleeps, yet I would not depart with my thanks unsaid. Be thou the messenger and give him my gratitude when he waketh."
"It shall be my pleasure," she answered softly, "and may thy hopes come to pass. Farewell."