“A sign and a wonder!” said the Roman knight, as they continued their journey.  “That old fighter has no hand for kindness.”

“But mark this miracle of God,” said the friend of Vergilius.  “He softens the heart of those with young and makes gentle the hand that touches them.  Ay, has he not softened the heart of the world?  ’Tis like a mother whose time is near.”

Soon a purple dusk had overflooded the hills and risen above the splendor of Jerusalem.  The old capital was now like a dim, mysterious, golden isle in a vast, azure sea.  Vergilius thought, as he went on, of those camel-riders.  He seemed to hear in the lift and fall of hoofs, in the rattle of scabbards, that strange cry:  “Where is he that is born king of the Jews?”

Darkness fell upon those riding in silence on the lonely road.  Suddenly they drew rein, listening.

Said Vergilius, whispering:  “I thought I heard voices.”

“And I,” said David, his words touched with awe. “’Twas like tens of thousands singing in some distant place.”

Again they listened, but the song, if song it was, had ceased.

Then, boldly, as one who would put down his fear, the color-bearer spoke up; “’Tis a band of shepherd folk on some far hill.  Never saw I so dark a night.  By the curtains of Solomon, I cannot see my horse!”

“There is no star in the sky,” said another.

Then said the young commander, whist with awe:  “Look yonder!  A light on the hills!  I saw it appear.”

Amazement was in the tone of David:  “Nay, ’tis a window of paradise!  Or maybe that time is come when the three great stars should gather side by side.  Do you not remember the talk of the astrologers?”

“I say ’tis a light on the hills.”  Vergilius now spoke in a husky, solemn whisper.  “See, ’tis larger; and I would think it near the village of Bethlehem.”

After a moment of silence he added, with a laugh:  “Why stand we here and whisper, like a lot of women?  Let us move on.”

Again he seemed to hear peals of song in the sky and their rhythm in hoof and scabbard.  It put him in mind of that strange, mysterious chant of the old singer.

Soon he drew rein, saying:  “Halt and listen!” They stopped, conscious only of the great silence of the night.  Vergilius felt for the arm of his friend.

“What think you?” said he, his voice full of wonder.  “I doubt not the sound is in our fancy.”

“See!  The star!  It grows!” said David, eagerly. “’Tis like a mighty lantern hung in the dome of the sky.”

Then said Vergilius, a pagan fancy filling his mind:  “It may be God is walking upon the earth.”

A moment they rode on, looking up at the heavens.  Suddenly Vergilius bade them halt again, saying:  “Hist!  What is that cry?”

Now they could hear a faint halloo far behind them.

Then the bearer of the colors remarked:  “It might be the squad of Manius.”