While they were still conversing thus, of a sudden the bushes on their path were pushed aside, and from between them emerged Caleb, of whom she had seen but little of late.  He halted and looked at them.

“Friend Caleb,” said Miriam, “this is the Roman captain Marcus, who comes to visit the curators of the Order.  Will you lead him and his soldiers to the council hall and advise my uncle Ithiel and the others of his coming, since it is time for us to go home?”

Caleb glared at her, or rather at the stranger, with sullen fury; then he answered: 

“Romans always make their own road; they do not need a Jew to guide them,” and once more he vanished into the scrub on the further side of the path.

“Your friend is not civil,” said Marcus, as he watched him go.  “Indeed, he has an inhospitable air.  Now, if an Essene could do such a thing, I should think that here is a man who might have drawn an arrow upon a Jewish tax-gatherer,” and he looked inquiringly at Miriam.

“That lad!” put in Nehushta.  “Why, he never shot anything larger than a bird of prey.”

“Caleb,” added Miriam in excuse, “does not like strangers.”

“So I see,” answered Marcus; “and to be frank, lady, I do not like Caleb.  He has an eye like a knife-point.”

“Come, Nehushta,” said Miriam, “this is our road, and there runs that of the captain and his company.  Sir, farewell, and thank you for your escort.”

“Lady, for this while farewell, and thank you for your guidance.”

Thus for that day they parted.

The dwelling which many years before had been built by the Essenes for the use of their ward and her nurse, stood next to the large guest-house.  Indeed, it occupied a portion of the ground which originally belonged to it, although now the plot was divided into two gardens by an irrigation ditch and a live pomegranate fence, covered at this season of the year with its golden globes of fruit.  That evening, as Miriam and Nehushta walked in the garden, they heard the familiar voice of Ithiel calling to them from the other side of this fence, and presently above it saw his kindly face and venerable white head.

“What is it, my uncle?” asked Miriam running to him.

“Only this, child; the noble Roman captain, Marcus, is to stay in the guest-house during his visit to us, so do not be frightened if you hear or see men moving about in this garden—­If, indeed, Romans care to walk in gardens.  I am to bide here also, to play host to him and see that he lacks nothing.  Also I do not think that he will give you any trouble, since, for a Roman, he seems both courteous and kindly.”

“I am not afraid, my uncle,” said Miriam; “indeed,” she added, blushing a little in spite of herself, “Nehushta and I have already become acquainted with this captain”; and she told him of their meeting beyond the village.

“Nehushta, Nehushta,” said Ithiel reprovingly, “have I not said to you that you should not walk so far afield without some of the brethren as an escort?  You might, perchance, have met thieves, or drunken men.”