“Are these,” he said, indicating the elders, “waiting their turn to be modelled, or are they critics?”

“They are critics,” said Miriam drily, as she lifted the damp cloths from the rude lump of clay.

Then the work began.  As the three curators were seated in a line at the end of the shed, and did not seem to think it right to leave their chairs, they could see little of its details, and as they were early risers and the afternoon was hot, soon they were asleep, every one of them.

“Look at them,” said Marcus; “there is a subject for any artist.”

Miriam nodded, and taking three lumps of clay, working deftly and silently, presently produced to his delighted sight rough but excellent portraits of these admirable men, who, when they woke up, laughed at them very heartily.

Thus things went on from day to day.  Each afternoon the elders attended, and each afternoon they sank to slumber in their comfortable chairs, an example that Nehushta followed, or seemed to follow, leaving Miriam and her model practically alone.  As may be guessed, the model, who liked conversation, did not neglect these opportunities.  Few were the subjects which the two of them failed to discuss.  He told her of all his life, which had been varied and exciting, omitting, it is true, certain details; also of the wars in which he had served, and the countries that he had visited.  She in turn told him the simple story of her existence among the Essenes, which he seemed to find of interest.  When these subjects were exhausted they discussed other things—­the matter of religion, for instance.  Indeed, Miriam ventured to expound to him the principles of her faith, to which he listened respectfully and with attention.

“It sounds well,” he said at length with a sigh, “but how do such maxims fit in with this world of ours?  See now, lady, I am not old, but already I have studied so many religions.  First, there are the gods of Greece and Rome, my own gods, you understand—­well, the less said of them the better.  They serve, that is all.  Then there are the gods of Egypt, as to which I made inquiry, and of them I will say this:  that beneath the grotesque cloak of their worship seems to shine some spark of a holy fire.  Next come the gods of the Phoenicians, the fathers of a hideous creed.  After them the flame worshippers and other kindred religions of the East.  There remain the Jews, whose doctrine seems to me a savage one; at least it involves bloodshed with the daily offering of blood.  Also they are divided, these Jews, for some are Pharisees, some Sadducees, some Essenes.  Lastly, there are you Christians, whose faith is pure enough in theory, but whom all unite against in hate.  What is the worth of a belief in this crucified Preacher who promises that He will raise those who trust in Him from the dead?”

“That you will find out when everything else has failed you,” answered Miriam.

“Yes, it is a religion for those whom everything else has failed.  When that chances to the rest of us we commit suicide and sink from sight.”