Tossed backwards and forwards on a wild sea of doubt—a vessel without ballast, compass, or rudder—was the mind of the miserable Pollux. The courtier paced for hours up and down a verandah where the cool breeze of heaven could fan him, and where he would be secure from interruption. Ever and anon Pollux tore his beard, or smote his breast; unconsciously giving expression by outward gesture to the inward torture which he felt. Was he to give up all at once—all for which he had bartered his soul, rank, wealth, position—to begin life again on the lowest round of the ladder, with the brand of disgrace, the burden of shame upon him? Could he endure to appear in the presence of Maccabeus, to sue from him the place of hewer of wood and drawer of water; to exchange the pride of power and pomp of wealth for hardship and want, poverty and peril? Pollux felt that he could not bring his pride to submit to the degradation, or his worldliness to the loss. The leap to be taken was from such a height, and into such an abyss, that it seemed as if he must be dashed in pieces by the fall.

But what was the alternative, if the dreaded leap were not taken? If Zarah remained firm in the faith, she must die;—could the father endure to witness the martyrdom of his beautiful child? And his own life—was it not in danger? Was not instant flight from court the only means of affording a chance of safety either to parent or daughter? was it not the only means of delivering an apostate from the execrations of his countrymen, the curse of his mother, the impending vengeance of the Most High! Conscience would no longer be silenced—Zarah had aroused the sleeper; beside the faith and purity of his own child, Pollux had regarded himself almost as a demon!

And Zarah had awakened not only conscience, but hope. She had clung to the apostate with tenderness, not shrunk back from him with horror. She had not, then, been taught to regard her parent as one who had forfeited all claim to her affection. Zarah had spoken of the possibility of his yet giving joy to the lofty-souled mother whom Pollux, in the midst of his guilt, had not ceased to reverence and love. For many years the apostate had tried to drive from his mind all thought of Hadassah; now her image came vividly before him, not in the attitude of uttering a malediction, but as holding out her arms to receive back her prodigal son.

While Pollux was deliberating, and Zarah praying, Lysimachus was carousing amidst boon companions in the city. The ruin and approaching execution of his rival gave unwonted zest to the revels of the profligate Syrian.

"Here's to our friend the magnificent Pollux!" exclaimed Lysimachus, raising on high a huge goblet of wine. "He is going on a long journey to-morrow; here's to his quick passage over Styx, and welcome at the shadowy court of King Pluto!"

And those who listened were not ashamed to laugh at the jest, or to drink the toast, though they had mixed in familiar intercourse with Pollux, flattered and followed him, when he had basked in the sunshine of royal favour. One of the guests was calculating how he should now get possession of some coveted gem which he had seen sparkling on the girdle of the man to whom he had once sworn unalterable friendship; another fixed on the Arab steed of the ruined courtier as his share of the spoils. There was not one of the sycophants met together at that night-revel who had a word of warning or a thought of pity to give to him who had been the most admired, envied, and flattered of all the nobles who composed the brilliant court of Antiochus Epiphanes!

Stars were paling, the night was waning, the door of safety was slowly, imperceptibly closing—soon, soon the decision of Pollux, if made, would be made too late! When once the course of duty is clear to the mind, perilous is every minute of delay: while we hesitate, the enemy steals on; while we doubt, we may find ourselves under his fangs!

"Zarah shall decide for me!" exclaimed the unhappy waverer at last. "If I find her resolution immovable, come what may, I will give my child one chance of escape from the horrible fate with which she is threatened."

In a few minutes, pale and haggard from his contending emotions, Pollux re-entered the apartment in which he had left his daughter.

"Zarah!" he cried, in a hollow tone, as he grasped the maiden by the wrist, and scanned her countenance with an almost despairing gaze, "I come to ask what is your final decision. Are you still insane enough to choose tortures and death?"

Zarah looked her father full in the face; she pale, but she blenched not. In a calm, unhesitating voice she replied, "I will never deny my faith."

"Then the die is cast!" exclaimed Pollux, almost relieved by being at least freed from the misery of indecision. "We live or perish together!—we will make our escape before daybreak."

There was little time left for words—none to express the thankful joy which swelled the heart of Zarah. She was rescuing her father from dishonour and guilt; she was giving him back to his country.

"Put on this dress of a Syrian slave-girl, which I have brought for you," said Pollux. "Take up yon empty water-jar; it must appear as if you went to fill it at the tank. We cannot keep close together; that would awaken suspicion. We shall have guards to pass, and possibly other persons besides, though at this very early hour even slaves will scarcely have commenced their morning toils."

"How shall I find my way, father?" inquired Zarah; "this vast palace is as a labyrinth to me."

"You must never quite lose sight of me," Pollux replied; "though following at a sufficient distance to prevent its appearing that your movements are guided by mine. But no, that plan will not answer," he continued, pressing his forehead with his hand; "I should not then have you in view, and, should you be challenged, I should be unable to come to your help. You, my child, must go first."

"Oh, my father, my presence will fearfully increase your danger!" cried Zarah. "Leave me here, I implore, and make your escape alone. No one will challenge you."

Pollux silenced his daughter's expostulation with an impatient gesture of the hand. "Attend to my directions," he said; "we have wasted too much time already. You will follow me through the first court, and then you will precede me. Keep to the right till you pass the first sentries; then you will find yourself in a garden, in the centre of which is a tank. Fill, or make show of filling, your jar. Then the long dark passage which, you will see on the left will conduct you to a postern gate of the palace; there will be a guard at that also."

"How shall I pass them?" asked Zarah, who began to realize the difficulties and perils of the undertaking before her.

"I know not; but God, whom you serve, will help you, my brave and innocent child! I will be following at no great distance—every soldier or slave will know me—call me, and I will come to your aid."

"Father, give me your blessing," faltered Zarah.

"My blessing!" ejaculated Pollux, drawing back; "does any one ask a blessing from a wretch from whom it would sear and blast more than a curse from the lips of another!"

"Oh, never say so!" cried Zarah. "You doing now what is generous—noble—right! You are casting in your lot with the people of God; like Lot, you are turning your back upon Sodom."

"And you are the angel leading me thence," exclaimed Pollux. "Oh, Zarah, Zarah, sainted child of a sainted woman, you who have been the first to cast a gleam of hope on the darkness of guilt and despair, if ever I find mercy from man or from God, if ever I look again on the face of my mother, if ever I escape the righteous doom of an apostate, it is owing to you! Whatever be the result of our perilous enterprise to-night, remember that I thank you, I bless you—and you shall be blessed, O my daughter!" Pollux laid both his trembling hands on the head of his kneeling child, and uttered for her the first prayer to the true God which the apostate had dared to utter for many guilty, miserable years.