"There is moonlight," repeated the man with a hoarse chuckle. "So much the better."
Stephen looked at the speaker more attentively than he had done at first; the white light which poured down from above revealing clearly every feature of the brutal face before him. He started visibly. "I have somewhere seen thee before!" he exclaimed. "Nay I know now, thou art of them who formerly----"
The man laughed aloud. "I am Gestas; second in authority to Dumachus, who was chief of our band--and your father. Since the Romans put an end to him, along with Titus and the Nazarene, I have been chief."
"And is it one of your followers who is in need of healing?" asked Stephen, shrinking back a little with something of his old-time dread.
"It is. Art thou afraid?"
"No," returned Stephen quietly, "I am not afraid; surely of all men ye are most in need of the mighty help of the risen Lord; 'twere most fitting if so be that I may bring it into your midst."
Gestas looked at him with an indescribable mixture of contempt and pity. "Thou art a pretty enough fellow," he said, running his eyes over the slender but well-knit figure. "A thought too pretty indeed. Why art thou contented to pass thy days in the company of a band of crazy fools, who will end as their Master did--though he merited it not--on the cross. Why take the devil's wages without the devil's pleasures first? If now, I die on the cross, it will be for reasons better than preaching, praying, and the healing of dirty beggar folk."
"Afterward is the judgment," said Stephen.
"A fig for the afterwards!" cried Gestas. "Who knows anything about that? But, come," he added with a sudden change in his tones, "it lacks but an hour of midnight; thou must be gone before that time."
"I am not in haste to be gone," said Stephen gently. "I will remain until morning, if I can do anything to help."