“I will try, Nou,” said Miriam humbly, still staring at the ridge whence Marcus had vanished.

“You will try, and you will succeed.  Now there is another matter of which I must speak to you.  When the Essenes received us it was solemnly decreed that if you lived to reach the full age of eighteen years you must depart from among them.  That hour struck for you nearly a year ago, and, although you heard nothing of it, this decree was debated by the Court.  Now such decrees may not be broken, but it was argued that the words ‘full age of eighteen years,’ meant and were intended to mean until you reached your nineteenth birthday; that is—­in a month from now.”

“Then must we go, Nou?” asked Miriam in dismay, for she knew no other world but this village in the desert, and no other friends than these venerable men whom she called her uncles.

“It seems so, especially as it is now guessed that Caleb fought the Captain Marcus upon your account.  Oh! that tale is talked of—­for one thing, the young wild-cat left a claw behind him which the gardener found.”

“I trust then it is known also that the fault was none of mine.  But, Nou, whither shall we go who have neither friends, nor home, nor money?”

“I know not; but doubtless in this wall also there is a door.  If the worst comes to the worst, a Christian has many brothers; moreover, with your skill in the arts you need never lack for a living in any great city in the world.”

“It is true,” said Miriam, brightening; “that is, if I may believe Marcus and my old master.”

“Also,” continued Nehushta, “I have still almost all the gold that the Phoenician Amram gave us when I fled with your mother, and added to it that which I took from the strong box of the captain of the galley on the night when you were born.  So have no fear, we shall not want; nor indeed would the Essenes suffer such a thing.  Now, child, you are weary; go to rest and dream that you have your lover back again.”

It was with a heavy heart that Caleb, defeated and shamed, shook the dust of the village of the Essenes off his feet.  At dawn on the morning after the night that he had fought the duel with Marcus, he also might have been seen, a staff in his bandaged hand and a bag of provisions over his shoulder, standing upon the little ridge and gazing towards the house which sheltered Miriam.  In love and war things had gone ill with him, so ill that at the thought of his discomfiture he ground his teeth.  Miriam cared nothing for him; Marcus had defeated him at the first encounter and given him his life; while, worst of all, these two from whom he had endured so much loved each other.  Few, perhaps, have suffered more sharply than he suffered in that hour; for what agonies are there like those of disappointed love and the shame of defeat when endured in youth?  With time most men grow accustomed to disaster and rebuff.  The colt that seems to break its heart at the cut of a whip, will hobble at last to the knacker unmoved by a shower of blows.