Again, by an afterthought, she ventured to descend, this time to fetch the broken jar of water.  Then she closed the door, setting it fast with a piece of wood, and began to chafe Rachel’s hands and to sprinkle her face from the jar.  Presently the dark eyes opened and her mistress sat up.

“Is it over, and is this Paradise?” she murmured.

“I should not call the place by that name, lady,” answered Nehushta, drily, “though perhaps, in contrast with the hell that we have left, some might think it so.  Drink!” and she held the water to her lips.

Rachel obeyed her eagerly.  “Oh! it is good,” she said.  “But how came we here out of that rushing crowd?”

Before she answered, muttering “After the mistress, the maid,” Nehushta swallowed a deep draught of water in her turn, which, indeed, she needed sorely.  Then she told her all.

“Oh!  Nou,” said Rachel, “how strong and brave you are!  But for you I should be dead.”

“But for God, you mean, mistress, for I hold that He sent that knife-point home.”

“Did you kill the man?” asked Rachel.

“I think that he died by a dagger-thrust as Anna foretold,” she answered evasively; “and that reminds me that I had better clean the knife, since blood on the blade is evidence against its owner.”  Then drawing the dagger from its hiding-place she rubbed it with dust, which she took from a loop-hole, and polished it bright with a piece of hide.

Scarcely was this task accomplished to Nehushta’s satisfaction when her quick ears caught a sound.

“For your life, be silent,” she whispered, and laid her face sideways to a crack in the cement floor and listened.  Well might she listen, for below were three soldiers searching for her and her mistress.

“The old fellow swore that he saw a Libyan woman carrying a lady down this street,” said one of them, the petty officer in charge, to his companion, “and there was but a single brown-skin in the lot; so if they aren’t here I don’t know where they can be.”

“Well,” grumbled one of the soldiers, “this place is as empty as a drum, so we may as well be going.  There’ll be fun presently which I don’t want to miss.”

“It was the black woman who knifed our friend Rufus, wasn’t it—­in the theatre there?” asked the third soldier.

“They say so; but as he was trodden as flat as a roof-board, and they had to take him up in pieces, it is difficult to know the truth of that matter.  Anyhow his mates are anxious to get the lady, and I should be sorry to die as she will, when they do, or her mistress either.  They have leave to finish them in their own fashion.”

“Hadn’t we best be going?” said the first soldier, who evidently was anxious to keep some appointment.

“Hullo!” exclaimed the second, a sharp-eyed fellow, “there’s a stair; we had better just look up it.”

“Not much use,” answered the officer.  “That old thief Amram, the corn-merchant, has a store there, and he isn’t one of the sort to leave it unlocked.  Still, just go and see.”