Presently Rachel, dropping her hands, looked at the tender sky and sighed.

“Our last night on earth, Nou,” she said sadly.  “It is strange to think that we shall never again see the moon floating above us.”

“Why not, mistress?  If all that we have been taught is true, we shall see that moon, or others, for ever and ever, and if it is not true, then neither light nor darkness will trouble us any more.  However, for my own part I don’t mean that either of us should die to-morrow.”

“How can you prevent it, Nou?” asked Rachel with a faint smile.  “Lions are no respecters of persons.”

“Yet, mistress, I think that they will respect my person, and yours, too, for my sake.”

“What do you mean, Nou?”

“I mean that I do not fear the lions; they are country-folk of mine and roared round my cradle.  The chief, my father, was called Master of Lions in our country because he could tame them.  Why, when I was a little child I have fed them and they fawned upon us like dogs.”

“Those lions are long dead, Nou, and the others will not remember.”

“I am not sure that they are dead; at least, blood will call to blood, and their company will know the smell of the child of the Master of Lions.  Whoever is eaten, we shall escape.”

“I have no such hope, Nou.  To-morrow we must die horribly, that King Agrippa may do honour to his master, Caesar.”

“If you think that, mistress, then let us die at once rather than be rent limb from limb to give pleasure to a stinking mob.  See, I have poison hidden here in my hair.  Let us drink of it and be done:  it is swift and painless.”

“Nay, Nou, it would not be right.  I may lift no hand against my own life, or if perchance I may, I have to think of another life.”

“If you die, the unborn child must die also.  To-night or to-morrow, what does it matter?”

“Sufficient to the day is the evil thereof.  Who knows?  To-morrow Agrippa may be dead, not us, and then the child might live.  It is in the hand of God.  Let God decide.”

“Lady,” answered Nehushta, setting her teeth, “for your sake I have become a Christian, yes, and I believe.  But I tell you this—­while I live no lion’s fangs shall tear that dear flesh of yours.  First if need be, I will stab you there in the arena, or if they take my knife from me, then I will choke you, or dash out your brains against the posts.”

“It may be a sin, Nou; take no such risk upon your soul.”

“My soul!  What do I care about my soul?  You are my soul.  Your mother was kind to me, the poor slave-girl, and when you were an infant, I rocked you upon my breast.  I spread your bride-bed, and if need be, to save you from worse things, I will lay you dead before me and myself dead across your body.  Then let God or Satan—­I care not which—­deal with my soul.  At least, I shall have done my best and died faithful.”