Sixty paces ahead was a wayside pool, overshadowed by tall trees—an irresistible invitation to the traveler seeking refuge from the sun. A lean, bowed figure in rabbinical robes stood beside a mule that drank of the spring. Half a dozen men in the garments of Levites stood by their own beasts with rein in hand while they drank.
Marsyas felt in his belt for his knife, and curbing his thirsty horse lowered down on Saul of Tarsus. In his association with hardy pagans, athletæ and the exquisite Herod, he had in a measure forgotten the feebleness of Saul.
"He is weak!" he said to himself. "But what mercy hath he shown the weak?"
He recalled the terrible desert, remembered that Saul had sworn to bring back the Nazarenes to Jerusalem for trial—back across that empire of death! And Lydia, gentle and without hardihood, against whom he could not bear to think of the wind blowing strongly, was to go that way!
The Levites watched the Pharisee narrowly; one of them, whom Marsyas recognized as Joel, made tentative movements toward unpacking the supplies from one of the burden-bearing beasts. But the Pharisee drew up the bridle of his mule and led it to the roadside toward a stone by which he could mount. The eyes of the Levites followed him in a troubled manner, and Joel sat down as if to show that he believed the rabbi would not proceed in the noon.
"Up!" said Saul calmly, "we shall continue to Damascus."
The troubled Levites stared at him, and Joel presently objected:
"But—but it is the noon! And the heat is cruel!"
"We can proceed, nevertheless," was the reply.
The stupefied Levite stumbled to his feet, and the party led their beasts out into the sun. Marsyas with a fierce word dismounted and strode toward them.