She began to feel, what the Princess believed, that there is a mysterious sense of kinship between certain souls which asserts itself in spite of conditions, which heeds no warning of judgment, and refuses submission to other passions. If it were not so, why had Dion's sudden coming made her do that which no other surprise could have led her to do—make her forget herself?
But in a moment more she had recovered her self-possession. She bowed Dion to a seat as coldly as any stranger might have done, and bade him tell the story of the battle.
Captain Dion addressed himself solely to Glaucon, for each glance at Deborah seemed to interrupt his memory of events. Once and again he stopped midway a sentence as he looked at her, until Glaucon recalled him by repeating his last words.
At length, fixing his eyes steadily upon her face, he said:
"We were defeated because we had on our side no—prophetess—to inspire us to more than human valor."
But Deborah was now on her guard. That play on Dion's part belonged to diplomacy, not sentiment, and she rewarded his ruse by not so much as a quivering eyelash or the shadow of a changing hue.
"Do the armies take prophetesses to their battlefields?" she asked.
"The Greeks do not," replied Dion. "Such holy women as we have remain at home and consult the entrails and stars. But it was reported that the Jews were accompanied by some of theirs. I overheard one say, 'The prophetess, the Daughter of Jerusalem, is with us.'"
His eyes searched hers, but could discover no sign that she understood his deeper meaning.