It had been long since any one had gone up that way to Jerusalem.

There was no moon to show him whether there were any recent marks of fugitives fleeing that way.
He did not expect that Julian of Ephesus would have courage to halt within sight of the glow on the western horizon which was the burning from the Temple.

He expected the Ephesian to flee far and long, and in that consciousness of the cowardice of his enemy he based his hope.
But he ran tirelessly, seeking right and left, led on by instinct toward the Christian city in the north.
At times, his terror for Laodice made him cry out; again, he made violent pictures of his revenge upon Julian; and at other moments, he believed, while drops stood on his forehead from the effort of faith, that his new Christ would save her yet.

There were moments when he was ready to die of despair, when he wondered at himself attempting to trace Julian with all the directions of wild Judea to invite the fugitives.

Why might they not have fled toward Arabia as well, or even toward the sea?
Perhaps they had not gone far, but had hidden in the rock, and had been left behind.