"I have spoken to the king's sister, Abiathar," answers Obed; "I have heard from her own

lips that Herod has given full permission for the restoration of Josiah's family." "Canst thou tell me this in cold blood?" Abiathar rather hisses than speaks. "Rememberest thou not that through thy exertions Josiah was condemned to death with the other members of the Sanhedrin, was discovered in his safe hiding-place and dragged to the place of execution? Hast thou forgotten that thy own hand has blotted Josiah's and Ananiah's names from the priestly registers, and has forged the legal transfer of his family estate to thy own name?" "Abiathar," contemptuously answers Obed, "if I have shed blood once, I may shed it again; what my hand has done in Josiah's case, it can do in thine own. Hast thou not trained me well in all the arts of deceit and cunning? Is it not for thee that I have exchanged the way of righteousness and the law of Jehovah with the crooked paths of sin and the tyranny of Herod? Thou holdest the office that belonged to Josiah's family for ages, presidest in his place over the course of Abijah, sittest in his chair in the council of the Sanhedrin. My fortune will follow me to Rome, Antioch or Babylon; if thou leavest Jerusalem, thou leavest all thy possession." "Let not thy mouth speak foolishness," soothingly whispers Abiathar; "Josiah's family is not yet restored. Its registers are destroyed, and as to Ananiah's wife, I have taken care not to have her name entered on the list of Israelites." "All thy care has been vain," simply retorts Obed. "Matthiah has procured Ismeria's genealogical record from Babylon." "This must not be," excitedly exclaims Abiathar. "The walls hear thee, friend," coolly remarks Obed. "It shall not be, if I can obtain possession of the document for a single moment." "Knowest thou who keeps the record?" anxiously questions Abiathar.

"That is my secret," replies Obed. "Keep thou Zachary from the room of Pinchas, when the priests change dress."

Chapter 3 The Sky Lit Up As Far As Hebron "Come and cast lots," again resounds Matthiah's stentorian voice, as soon as the priests are gathered in Gazith. A circle immediately forms around the prefect of the lots, the turban of one of the priests is seized, the fingers of the sacred ministers are raised, the stated number is counted off on the uplifted fingers, in a word, ail is repeated that was done about the cockcrowing. Not less than thirteen offices are determined by the second lot. The priest on whom it falls, must slaughter the victim; the one next to him must sprinkle the blood upon the aitar; the third in order must remove the ashes from the altar of incense; the fourth has to trim the lamps of the candlestick; the fifth must carry the head and one of the hind legs of the victim to the altar; the sixth must carry the two forelegs; the seventh, the tail and the other hind leg; the eighth, the breast and the neck; the ninth, the two sides; the tenth, the entrails; the eleventh, the offering of fine flour; the twelfth, the baked meat-offering of the high priest; the thirteenth, the wine for the drink-offering. "Ascend the pinnacle, and see whether the time of sacrifice is at hand," is Matthiah's next command. Immediately one of the bystanders ascends the very highest place on the top of Nitzutz, and gazes towards the region of the rising sun. "The morning shineth," runs his report. The bright sky of Palestine causes the heat of the day to radiate very quickly, so that the nights are as remarkable for their cold as the days for their heat. Thousands of years ago Jacob complained of the "drought consuming him by day, and the cold by night." This intense cold condenses all the moisture of the night air into drops, so that a heavy fog rests in the morning, like a sea, on the plains and reaches far up the sides of hill and mountain. Hosea speaks of these "morning clouds and the early dew that go away." But all this changes with sun-rise. Looking down from Nitzutz towards the Dead Sea, we notice the billowy masses of vapor sway and break up as soon as the light streams on them over the purple mountains of Moab; their shape and color change every moment in the kindling warmth of the

sun, and instead of the whitish vapory color, which they had in the hollows of the landscape, they assume a fleecy, yellow tint on the slopes of the hills, then an opal and snowy brightness in the upper air, and finally they fade away into the unclouded sky. "Is the sky lit up as far as Hebron?" is Matthiah's next question. "The auroral column reaches as far as Hebron," the priest answers from the pinnacle. In fact, the oriental sun, suddenly rising above the horizon, appears like a cone of light.