John rent his garments as a sign of distress.  Weeping he cried with a loud lamentation, “Alas! alas! to what a guardian have I trusted our brother!” The tender, faithful heart of the aged Apostle yearned for the young man.  He was ready to say, “How can I give thee up!” He knew the mercy of God, and the power of love, human and divine; and determined that the robber-chieftain should know it too.

Immediately he procured a horse and guide, and rode toward the stronghold of the robbers.  It was in a wild mountainous ravine, with rushing torrents and rugged rocks overgrown with brushwood and luxuriant herbage.  It was a place of grandeur, and yet of gloom—­a fitting haunt for the robber-band.  Few travelers passed that way, and that hurriedly and in terror.

At last the Apostle and his guide heard from behind the rocks the hoarse shouts of revelry.  But he heeded them not, so intent was he on his errand.  He was seeking the prodigal, his adopted son—­who was not seeking the loving father.  He drew the reins of his horse, while he told his guide that their journey was ended, and prayed for themselves and for him whom they sought.  His nearness was discovered by one of the band, who led him to the rest, and bound his guide.  There was a great contrast between the old man with his snowy locks and beard, in his humble garb; and the younger, the wild looking bandit with his streaming hair and loose white kilt; between the defenceless captive, and his captors armed with Roman swords, long lances, and bows and arrows before which he seemed perfectly powerless.

As he looked upon their hardened features they looked into his benignant face, and stood awed in his presence.  Their rough manner, words and tones were changed by his smile and even friendly greeting.  He made no resistance.  His only motion was a wave of his hand.  It was mightier than sword or lance or bow.  His only request was, “Take me to your captain.”  Over-awed by the dignity of his manner and his calmness, the captors obeyed their captive and silently led him to their chief.  In an open space the tall handsome young man was seated on his horse, wearing bright armor and breastplate, and holding the spear of a warrior.  At a glance he recognized his old master, instructor and guide, who had been to him as a father.  His first thought was, “Why should this holy man seek me?” He answered his own question, saying to himself, “He has come with just and angry threatenings which I well deserve.”  John had been called “a son of thunder.”  As such the trembling chief thought of him, ready to hear him pronounce an awful woe.  So with a mingled cry of fear and anguish, he turned his horse and would have fled—­a strange sound and sight for his fellow-robbers.