It was not too great a price.  Because of the birth doom laid upon her, even if he sought it, and fortune brought them back together again, she could never be a wife to Marcus.  And for the rest she was weary, sick with the sight and sound of slaughter and with the misery that in these latter days, as her Lord had prophesied, was come upon the city that rejected him and the people who had slain Him, their Messiah.  Miriam wished to die, to pass to that home of perfect and eternal peace in which she believed; where, mayhap, it might be given to her in reward of her sufferings, to watch from afar over the soul of Marcus, and to make ready an abode for it to dwell in through all the ages of infinity.  The thought pleased her, and lifting his ring, she pressed it to her lips which that very night had been pressed upon his lips, then drew it off and hid it in her hair.  She wished to keep that ring until the end, if so she might.  As for the pearls, she could not hide them, and though she loved them as his gift—­well, they must go to the hand of the spoiler, and to the necks of other women, who would never know their tale.

This done Miriam rose to her knees and began to pray with the vivid, simple faith that was given to the first children of the Church.  She prayed for Marcus, that he might recover and not forget her, and that the light of truth might shine upon him; for Nehushta, that her sorrow might be soothed; for herself, that her end might be merciful and her awakening happy; for Caleb, that his heart might be turned; for the dead and dying, that their sins might be forgiven; for the little children, that the Lord of Pity would have pity on their sufferings; for the people of the Jews, that He would lift the rod of His wrath from off them; yes, and even for the Romans, though for these, poor maid, she knew not what petition to put up.

Her prayer finished, once more Miriam strove to sleep and dozed a little, to be aroused by a curious sound of feeble sighing, which seemed to come from the further side of the cell.  By now the dawn was streaming through the stone lattice work above the doorway, and in its faint light Miriam saw the outlines of a figure with snowy hair and beard, wrapped in a filthy robe that had once been white.  At first she thought that this figure must be a corpse thrust here out of the way of the living, it was so stirless.  But corpses do not sigh as this man seemed to do.  Who could he be, she wondered?  A prisoner like herself, left to die, as, perhaps, she would be left to die?  The light grew a little.  Surely there was something familiar about the shape of that white head.  She crept nearer, thinking that she might be able to help this old man who was so sick and suffering.  Now she could see his face and the hand that lay upon his breast.  They were those of a living skeleton, for the bones stood out, and over them the yellow skin was drawn like shrivelled parchment; only the deep sunk eyes still shone round and bright.  Oh!