t is one who, if all the stories are true," and
again he glanced at her face, "would rather take you than the city."

"Who?" she said, pressing her hands against her heart and turning redder
than the lamplight.

"One of Titus' prefects of horse, the noble Roman, Marcus, whom in
byegone days you knew by the banks of Jordan."

Now the red blood fled back to Miriam's heart, and she turned so faint
that had not the wall been near at hand she would have fallen.

"Marcus?" she said. "Well, he swore that he would come, yet it will
bring him little nearer me;" and she turned and sought her chamber.

So Marcus had come. Since he sent the letter and the ring that was upon
her hand, and the pearls which were about her throat, she had heard no
more of him. Twice she had written and forwarded the writings by the
most trusty messenger whom she could find, but whether they reached him
she did not know. For more than two years the silence between them had
been that of death, till, indeed, at times she thought that he must be
dead. And now he was come back, a commander in the army of Titus, who
marched to punish the rebellious Jews. Would she ever see him again?
Miriam could not tell. Yet she knelt and prayed from her pure heart that
if it were once only, she might speak with him face to face. Indeed,
it was this hope of meeting that, more than any other, supported her
through all those dreadful days.

A week went by, and although the hurt to her foot had healed, like some
flower in the dark Miriam drooped and languished in those gloomy vaults.
Twice she prayed her uncle to be allowed to creep to the mouth of the
hole behind the ridge of rock, there to breathe the fresh air and
see the blessed sky. But this he would not suffer. The thing was
too dangerous, he said; for although none knew the secret of their
hiding-place, already two or three fugitives had found their way into
the quarries by other entrances, and these it was very difficult to pass
unseen.

"So be it," answered Miriam, and crept back to her cell.

Nehushta looked after her anxiously, then said:

"If she cannot have air I think that she will soon die. Is there no
way?"

"One," answered Ithiel, "but I fear to take it. The staircase from the
spring leads to an ancient tower that, I am told, once was a palace
of the kings, but now for these many years has been deserted, for its
entrance is bricked up lest thieves should make it their home. None can
come into that