The old Jew, hearing the reference to the scene which he himself had been compelled the day before to witness, turned boldly to the crowd of Greeks, and, with uplifted hands, repeated this imprecation from one of the Psalms of his people:
"Let your children be fatherless and your wives be widows! Let your children be vagabonds and——"
But Dion's hand was firmly laid upon the speaker's mouth.
"Nay, hold your breath, old man. If you give us much of it that way, this crowd will take the rest of it with the hangman's rope."
Dion gently took the Jew's arm. "You must go back to your house. Come, I will see you safely within doors, if you will stay there."
"No, I will go to the house of the Lord, and worship, for it is the ninth hour," replied the determined man.
"That you cannot do," said Dion, kindly. "Don't you see that the Temple gate is burned, and that soldiers are guarding the opening? Your worship is no longer permitted there. Your sort of priests are all gone."
"Then," said the patriot, "I will be my own priest. Surely the Lord will accept an old man's last worship on earth before he goes hence."
"Nay, my good man, but the priests of the new religion are at the Temple. To-morrow they celebrate the feast of Bacchus. If you go there, they will crown you with ivy, and make you drunk in honor of the god. You must go home, and stay within doors."