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 the banks of Jordan.  I have come to save you, I and Nehushta.  If you will obey what I tell you, and if you have the strength to stand, we can guide you into a secret place where the Essenes are hidden, who for my sake will take care of you until you are able to return to the Romans.  If you do not escape I fear that the Jews will crucify you.”

“By Bacchus, so do I,” said the whisper beneath, “and that will be worse than being beaten by Caleb.  But this is a dream, I know it is a dream.  If it were Miriam I should see her, or be able to touch her.  It is but a dream of Miriam.  Let me dream on,” and he turned his head.

Miriam thought for a moment.  Time was short and it was necessary to make him understand.  Well, it was not difficult.  Slowly she bent a little lower and pressed her lips upon his.

“Marcus,” she went on, “I kiss you now to show you that I am no dream and how needful it is that you should be awakened.  Had I light I could prove to you that I am Miriam by your ring which is upon my fingers and your pearls which are about my neck.”

“Cease,” he answered, “most beloved, I was weak and wandering, now I know that this is not a dream, and I thank Caleb who has brought us together again, against his wish, I think.  Say, what must I do?”