Now among his fellow-slaves was a man whose brother belonged to the Order of the Essenes, and from him he learned that they had gone back to Jordan.  So thither Samuel started, having Miriam’s ring still hidden safely about his person.  Reaching the place without further accident he declared himself to the Essenes, who received him with joy, which was not to be wondered at, since he was able to tell them that Miriam, whom they named their Queen and believed to be dead, was still alive.  He asked them if they had a Roman prisoner called Marcus hidden away among them, and when they answered that this was so, said that he had a message from Miriam which he was charged to deliver to him.  Then they led him to the garden where her workshop had been, telling him that there he would find the Roman.

Marcus was seated in the garden, basking in the sunshine, and with him Nehushta.  They were talking of Miriam—­indeed, they spoke of little else.

“Alas! although I seem to know her yet alive, I fear that she must be dead,” Marcus was saying.  “It is not possible that she could have lived through that night of the burning of the Temple.”

“It does not seem possible,” answered Nehushta, “yet I believe that she did live—­as in your heart you believe also.  I do not think it was fated that any Christian should perish in that war, since it has been prophesied otherwise.”

“Prove it to me, woman, and I should be inclined to become a Christian, but of prophecies and such vague talk I am weary.”

“You will become a Christian when your heart is touched and not before,” answered Nehushta sharply.  “That light is from within.”

As she spoke the bushes parted and they saw the Essene, Samuel, standing in front of them.

“Whom do you seek, man?” asked Nehushta, who did not know him.

“I seek the noble Roman, Marcus,” he answered, “for whom I have a message.  Is that he?”

“I am he,” said Marcus, “and now, who sent you and what is your message?”

“The Queen of the Essenes, whose name is Miriam, sent me,” replied the man.

Now both of them sprang to their feet.

“What token do you bear?” asked Marcus in a slow, restrained voice, “for know, we thought that lady dead.”

“This,” he answered, and drawing the ring from his robe he handed it to him, adding, “Do you acknowledge the token?”

“I acknowledge it.  There is no such other ring.  Have you aught else?”

“I had a letter, but it is lost.  The Roman soldiers robbed me of my robe in which it was sewn, and I never saw it more.  But the ring I saved by hiding it in my mouth while they searched me.”

Marcus groaned, but Nehushta said quickly: 

“Did she give you no message?  Tell us your story and be swift.”

So he told them all.

“How long was this ago?” asked Nehushta.

“Nearly five months.  For a hundred and twenty days I was kept as a slave at Jerusalem, labouring at the levelling of the walls.”