The figure just beyond the hedge gave such a start that only the vital interest of the twain in the topic of their conversation prevented a discovery.
Little Cassia, who was not greatly disconcerted, pouted her lips a bit, toyed with her fan, and took her turn in gazing at the mountain.
“O Barnabas! I would counsel thee, that thou set not up for an interpreter. Seership is not befitting to thee.”
“Thou dost say neither yea nor nay.”
“I say that thou hast altogether missed thy calling.”
“It seemeth strange; but verily, I find much contentment in my error, if my interpretation be not true.”
“It hath been told me by my father that Saulus is to return to Jerusalem, in order that he may vex the new pestilent sect of heretics, which is said to be gathering strength. I wot not more of his sojourn or plans.”
“I say unto thee again, that it rejoiceth me that my seership be at fault.”
“True prophets are not usually so fickle.”
There was a slight tinge of cheery, though defiant, sarcasm in her tone, and the flush on her cheek had heightened. Then a little period of silence followed, during which Barnabas again gave himself to the mountain. On the other side of the thin hedge a heart was beating so loudly that its throbs were almost audible.