“You will forgive me,” he added, “if I introduce myself more formally.  I am called Marcus, the son of Emilius—­a name which was known in its day,” and he sighed, “as I hope before I have done with it, mine will be.  At present I cannot boast that this is so, who, unless it should please my uncle Caius to decease and leave me the great fortune he squeezes out of the Spaniards—­neither of which things he shows any present intention of doing—­am but a soldier of fortune:  an officer under the command of the excellent and most noble procurator Albinus,” he added sarcastically.  “For the rest,” he went on, “I have spent a year in this interesting and turbulent but somewhat arid land of yours, coming here from Egypt, and am now honoured with a commission to investigate and make report on a charge laid at the door of your virtuous guardians, the Essenes, of having murdered, or been privy to the murder of, a certain rascally Jew, who, as I understand, was sent with others to steal their goods.  That, lady, is my style and history.  By way of exchange, will you be pleased to tell me yours?”

Miriam hesitated, not being sure whether she should enter on such confidences at so short a notice.  Thereon, Nehushta, who was untroubled by doubts, and thought it politic to be quite open with this Roman, a man in authority, answered for her.

“Lord, this maiden, whose servant I am, as I was that of her grandmother and mother before her——­”

“Surely you cannot be so old,” interrupted Marcus.  He made it a rule to be polite to all women, whatever their colour, having noticed that life went more easily with those who were courteous to the sex.

Nehushta smiled a little as she answered—­for at what age does a woman learn to despise a compliment?—­“Lord, they both died young”; then repeated, “This maiden is the only child of the high-born Graeco-Syrian of Tyre, Demas, and his noble wife, Rachel——­”

“I know Tyre,” he interrupted.  “I was quartered there till two months ago”; adding in a different tone, “I understand that this pair no longer live.”

“They died,” said Nehushta sadly, “the father in the amphitheatre at Berytus by command of the first Agrippa, and the mother when her child was born.”

“In the amphitheatre at Berytus?  Was he then a malefactor?”

“No, sir,” broke in Miriam proudly; “he was a Christian.”

“Oh!  I understand.  Well, they are ill-spoken of as enemies of the human race, but for my part I have had to do with several Christians and found them very good people, though visionary in their views.”  Here a doubt struck him and he said, “But, lady, I understand that you are an Essene.”

“Nay, sir,” she replied in the same steady voice, “I also am a Christian, who have been protected by the Essenes.”

He looked at her with pity and replied, “It is a dangerous profession for one so young and fair.”

“Dangerous let it be,” she said; “at least it is mine from the beginning to the end.”