Deborah rose. The gracefulness of her courtesy as she recognized her visitors matched her beauty. The Greek afterward said it was as fitting as the light is to the flame which emits it.
"You are welcome to our home, sir, both for your own sake and the sake of Dion. But do you know this good man whom God has just taken from us?"
"I knew him," replied the Greek, bowing beside the stiffening form. "I knew Gideon ben Sirach. And aye for a good man too."
He raised the deformed arm of the dead man, and pressed it to his lips. He drew up Sirach's loose sleeve, and looked long upon a terrible scar that lay among the shrivelled muscles. Then, speaking to himself, seemingly unaware that he was uttering his thoughts aloud:
"To this poor hand, good Gideon, do I not owe more than to any other, living or dead? These arms brought me my greatest treasure—the only treasure I would live for, or die for."
Then, raising his face as if to discern the spirit of Sirach hovering above his body, as it was believed by many in that age that newly departed spirits were loath to venture suddenly out upon the great unknown journey, and remained for a while near to their former house of clay—he said:
"Gideon, let me speak the gratitude that I have longed these years to tell into your living ears. Sirach! Alas, I have found him too late. My thanks, good lady, to all in this house that such a man came to no want in his last days."
Agathocles noted the surprise upon his son's face, and, looking anxiously from one to another, asked:
"Did Sirach ever tell his story in this house?"
"We know his story," replied Deborah. "Never was man more faithful to man than this man has been."