e seems to be."

"Yes, yes," said Miriam wildly, "we must find out. Shall we go now?"

"Aye, while there is still a little light, for these steps are breakneck
in the dark. No, do you follow me."

So on they glided down the ancient, darksome stairway, where owls hooted
and bats flittered in their faces. Now they were at the last flight,
which descended to a little recess set at right angles to the steps and
flush with the floor of the basement, for once the door of the stairway
had opened here. Thus a person standing on the last stair could not be
seen by any in the tower. They reached the step and halted. Then very
stealthily Nehushta went on to her hands and knees and thrust her head
forward so that she could look into the base of the tower. It was dark
as the grave, only a faint gleam of starlight reflected from his armour
showed where Marcus lay, so close that she could touch him with her
hand. Also almost opposite to her the gloom was relieved by a patch
of faint grey light. Here it was that the wall had been broken in, for
Nehushta could see the shadows of the sentries crossing and recrossing
before the ragged opening.

She leant yet lower towards Marcus and listened. He was not dead, for he
breathed. More, she heard him stir his hand and thought that she could
see it move upwards towards his wounded head. Then she drew back.

"Lady," she whispered, "he lives, and I think he is awake. Now you must
do the rest as your wit may teach you how, for if I speak to him he will
be frightened, but your voice he may remember if he has his senses."

At these words all her doubts and fears seemed to vanish from Miriam's
heart, her hand grew steady and her brain clear, for Nature told her
that if she wished to save her lover she would need both clear brain and
steady hand. The timid, love-racked girl was transformed into a woman
of iron will and purpose. In her turn she kneeled and crept a little
forward from the stair, so that her face hung over the face of Marcus.
Then she spoke in a soft whisper.

"Marcus, awake and listen, Marcus; but I pray of you do not stir or make
a noise. I am Miriam, whom once you knew."

At this name the dim form beneath her seemed to quiver, and the lips
muttered, "Now I know that I am dead. Well, it is better than I hoped
for. Speak on, sweet shade of Miriam."

"Nay, Marcus, you are not dead, you are only wounded and I am not a
spirit, I am a woman, that woman whom once you knew down by th