The agony of her suffering
and the agony of his distress for her bridged the space between them.
And while they yearned toward each other in a silence that quivered
with pain, the light darkened in Costobarus' eyes.
When Laodice came to herself, she was laid upon a spot of rough grass,
in the shelter of an overhanging bluff. It was not the scene upon
which her sorrow-stunned eyes had closed a while before. The village
was nowhere in sight; the plain had been left behind; any further view
was shut off by Aquila's horse, and the two camels whose bridles were
in the hands of Hiram. Beside the stricken girl knelt Momus and
Aquila; standing at her feet was a new-comer, on whom her wandering and
half-conscious gaze rested.
He was an old man, clad in a short tunic, ragged of hem and girt about
him with a rope. Barefoot, bareheaded and provided only with a staff
and a small wallet, he was to outward appearances little more than one
of the legion of mendicants that infested the poverty-stricken land of
Judea. But his large eyes, under the tangle of wind-blown white hair
and white shelving brows, were infinitely intelligent and refined.
Now, they beamed with pity and concern on the bereaved girl.
But she forgot him the next instant, for returning consciousness
brought back like a blow the memory of the death of her father.
From time to time she caught snatches of conversation between the old
wayfarer and Aquila.
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