and bounded along it, marking their course by fragments of shattered marble and a cloud of dust.  At others, directed by an evil fate, they crashed into groups of Jews, destroying all they touched.  Wandering to and fro among these people was that crazed man Jesus, the son of Annas, who had met them with his wild prophetic cry as they entered into Jerusalem, and whose ill-omened voice Miriam had heard again before Marcus was taken at the fight in the Old Tower.  To and fro he went, none hindering him, though many thrust their fingers in their ears and looked aside as he passed, wailing forth:  “Woe, woe to Jerusalem!  Woe to the city and the Temple!” Of a sudden, as Miriam watched, he was still for a moment, then throwing up his arms, cried in a piercing voice, “Woe, woe to myself!” Before the echo of his words had died against the Temple walls, a great stone cast from the Court of Women rushed upon him through the air and felled him to the earth.  On it went with vast bounds, but Jesus, the son of Annas, lay still.  Now, in the hour of the accomplishment of his prophecy, his pilgrimage was ended.

All the day the cloisters that surrounded the Court of Women burned fiercely, but the Jews, whose heart was out of them, did not sally forth, and the Romans made no attack upon the inner Court of Israel.  At length the last rays of the setting sun struck upon the slopes of the Mount of Olives, the white tents of the Roman camps, and the hundreds of crosses, each bearing its ghastly burden, that filled the Valley of Jehoshaphat and climbed up the mountain sides wherever space could be found for them to stand.  Then over the tortured, famished city down fell the welcome night.  To none was it more welcome than to Miriam, for with it came a copious dew which seemed to condense upon the gilded spike of her marble pillar, whence it trickled so continually, that by licking a little channel in the marble, she was enabled, before it ceased, to allay the worst pangs of her thirst.  This dew gathered upon her hair, bared neck and garments, so that through them also she seemed to take in moisture and renew her life.  After this she slept a while, expecting always to be awakened by some fresh conflict.  But on that night none took place, the fight was for the morrow.  Meanwhile there was peace.

Miriam dreamed in her uneasy sleep, and in this dream many visions came to her.  She saw this sacred hill of Moriah, whereon the Temple stood, as it had been in the beginning, a rugged spot clothed with ungrafted carob trees and olives, and inhabited, not of men, but by wild boars and the hyaenas that preyed upon their young.  Almost in its centre lay a huge black stone.  To this stone came a man clad in the garb of the Arabs of the desert, and with him a little lad whom he bound upon the stone as though to offer him in sacrifice.  Then, as he was about to plunge a knife into his heart, a glory shone round the place, and a voice cried to him to hold his hand.  That was a vision of the offering of Isaac.  It passed, and there came another vision.