He turned,
looking at the man who held his arm. A squad with torches came
swiftly, forming about them. The powerful hands let go; a cloak and
hood fell upon the floor.
"The king!" said Vergilius, bowing low.
"And you," said Herod, breathing heavily and leaning on the shoulder of
the young man, "you are the only friend of the king. To save you from
the fate of those dogs yonder, I would not let you go."
This unloved and terrible man, still leaning upon the shoulder of
Vergilius, wept feebly. It seemed as if the infirmity of old age had
fallen suddenly upon him. He muttered, in a weak and piping tone, of
his great life weariness. Then he seemed to hear those low cries of
terror from beyond the line of guards. He lifted his head, listening.
He turned quickly, crouching low, and seemed to threaten the soldiers
near him with his hand. They stepped aside fearfully. Then was he,
indeed, the old lion of Judea, ready to spring upon his prey.
"Stand them here before me," he growled, fiercely.
The conspirators were drawn up in line.
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