“I am their guest,” she said.

“Their guest?  Why, this is stranger still.  If these spiritual outlaws—­the word is that old high priest’s, not mine—­share their bread and water with such guests, my sojourn among them will be happier than I thought.”

“They brought me up, I am their ward,” Miriam explained again.

“In truth, my opinion of the Essenes rises, and I am convinced that those priests slandered them.  If they can shape so sweet a lady, surely they must themselves be good and gentle”; and he bowed gravely, perhaps to mark the compliment.

“Sir, they are both good and gentle,” answered Miriam; “but of this you will be able to judge for yourself very shortly, seeing that they live near at hand.  If you will follow us over yonder rise we will show you their village, whither we go.”

“By your leave, I will accompany you,” he said, dismounting before she could answer; then added, “Pardon me for one moment—­I must give some orders,” and he called to a soldier, who, with his companions, had halted at a little distance.

The man advanced saluting, and, turning aside, his captain began to talk with him, so that now, for the first time, Miriam could study his face.  He was young—­not more than five or six and twenty years of age—­of middle height, and somewhat slender, but active in movement and athletic in build.  Upon his head, which was round and not large, in place of the helmet that hung at his saddle-bow, he wore a little cap, steel lined and padded as a protection against the sun, and beneath it she could see that his short, dark brown hair curled closely.  Under the tan caused by exposure to the heat, his skin was fair, and his grey eyes, set rather wide apart, were quick and observant.  For the rest, his mouth was well-shaped, though somewhat large, and the chin clean-shaved, prominent and determined.  His air was that of a soldier accustomed to command, but very genial, and, when he smiled, showing his regular white teeth, even merry—­the air of one with a kind and generous heart.

Miriam looked at him, and in an instant was aware that she liked him better than any man—­that is any young man—­she had ever seen.  This, however, was no great or exclusive compliment to the Roman, since of such acquaintances she had but few, if, indeed, Caleb was not the only one.  However, of this she was sure, she liked him better than Caleb, because, even then and there, comparing them in her thoughts, this truth came home to her; with it, too, a certain sense of shame that the newcomer should be preferred to the friend of her childhood, although of late that friend had displeased her by showing too warm a friendship.

Having given his instructions, the captain dismissed the orderly, commanding him to follow at a distance with the men.  Then saying, “Lady, I am ready,” he began to walk forward, leading his horse by the bridle.