less, four men sat opposite him, their misshapen knotty hands rested upon the carven lions’ heads that formed the arms of their chairs. Their faces were so still it was as if they were made of stone and only the trembling flames in the bronze receptacles swept over them the unreal motion of shadows.
The first wore the dress of a priest of Israel. His beard was parted and combed and reached to his waist. His name was Sadok. The second wore the insignia of the head of the army. His name was Banahash. The other two were courtiers, Semej and Rej. Their richly oiled hair smelled of sandal wood and hyacinth. They had torn the costly garments that covered their breasts. Grief dwelled in their hearts and lessened the quick pulsing of blood in their veins. Their attitude was expectant. It was evident that they were waiting for something important. Their eyes rested upon the bed where David lay wrapped in the lion’s skin. His face was like a mask. It was the face of the dead. The body of the king was beginning to grow cold.
“Nathan does not come,” remarked Sadok.
No one answered.
Banahash drew his brows together ominously. Semej and Rej sighed.
Again there was silence, heavy and prophetic.
“Does Bethsheba know what Nathan said?” inquired Semej in a whisper.
“Yes, she knows,” replied Sadok.
“And has she agreed to it?” asked Rej.
“She had to agree. Does not God speak through
