“A very pleasant night—­to talk about Caleb,” reflected Marcus, who had reached the appointed spot ten minutes before the time, as he strolled from the narrow belt of trees that were planted along the high, outer wall, into the more open part of the garden.  Had Marcus chanced to notice that this same Caleb, walking softly as a cat, and keeping with great care in the shadow, had followed him through the little door which he forgot to lock, and was now hidden among those very trees, he might have remembered a proverb to the effect that snakes hide in the greenest grass and the prettiest flowers have thorny stems.  But he thought of no such thing, who was lost in happy anticipations of a moonlight interview with a lovely and cultured young lady, whose image, to speak truth, had taken so deep a hold upon his fancy, that sometimes he wondered how he would be able to banish it thence again.  At present he could think of no better means than that which at this moment he was following with delight.  Meetings in moonlit gardens tend proverbially to disenchantment!

Presently Marcus caught the gleam of a white robe followed by a dark one, flitting towards him through the dim and dewy garden, and at the sight his heart stood still, then began to beat again in a disorderly fashion.  Had he known it, another heart a few yards behind him also stood still, and then began to beat like that of a man in a violent rage.  It seems possible, also, that a third heart experienced unusual sensations.

“I wish she had left the old lady behind,” muttered Marcus.  “No, I don’t, for then there are brutes who, if they knew, might blame her”; and, luckily for himself, he walked forward a few paces to meet the white robe, leaving the little belt of trees almost out of hearing.

Now Miriam stood before him, the moonlight shining on her delicate face and in her tranquil eyes, which always reminded him of the blue depths of heaven.

“Sir,” she began——­

“Oh, I pray you,” he broke in, “cease from ceremony and call me Marcus!”

“Captain Marcus,” she repeated, dwelling a little on the unfamiliar name, “I beg that you will forgive me for disturbing you at so unseasonable an hour.”

“Certainly I forgive you, Lady Miriam,” he replied, also dwelling on her name and copying her accent in a fashion that made the grim-faced Nehushta smile.

She waved her hand in deprecation.  “The truth is, that this matter of Caleb’s——­”

“Oh, may all the infernal gods take Caleb! as I have reason to believe they shortly will,” broke in Marcus angrily.

“But that is just what I wish to prevent; we have met here to talk of Caleb.”

“Well, if you must—­talk and let us be done with him.  What about Caleb?”

Miriam clasped her hands.  “What do you know of him, Captain Marcus?”