“I am not here,” he said, recovering himself, “to make defence of what I have done, or have not done in the past.  I am here to demand that my grandchild, now as I perceive a woman grown, may be handed over to me, her natural guardian.”

“Before this can be considered,” answered the President, “we who have been her guardians for so many years, should require guarantees and sureties.”

“What guarantees, and what sureties?” asked Benoni.

“These among others—­That money sufficient for her support after your death should be settled upon her.  That she shall be left reasonable liberty in the matter of her daily life and her marriage, if it should please her to marry.  Lastly, that as we have undertaken not to meddle with her faith, or to oppress her into changing it, so must you undertake also.”

“And if I refuse these things?” asked Benoni.

“Then you see the lady Miriam for the first and last time,” answered the President boldly, while the others nodded approval.  “We are men of peace, but, merchant, you must not, therefore, think us men without power.  We must part with the lady Miriam, who to every one of us is as a daughter, because the unbreakable rule of our order ordains that she, who is now a woman grown, can no longer remain among us.  But wherever she dwells, to the last day of her life our love shall go with her and the whole strength of our Order shall protect her.  If any harm is attempted to her, we shall be swift to hear and swifter to avenge.  If you refuse our conditions, she will vanish from your sight, and then, merchant, go, search the world, the coasts of Syria, the banks of Egypt, and the cities of Italy—­and find her if you can.  We have spoken.”

Benoni stroked his white beard before he answered.

“You talk proudly,” he said.  “Did I shut my eyes I might fancy that this voice was the voice of a Roman procurator speaking the decrees of Caesar.  Still, I am ready to believe that what you promise you can perform, since I for one am sure that you Essenes are not mere harmless heretics who worship angels and demons, see visions, prophesy things to come by the help of your familiars, and adore the sun in huts upon the desert.”  He paused, but the President, without taking the slightest notice of his insults or sarcasms, repeated merely: 

“We have spoken,” and as with one voice, like some great echo, the whole hundred of them cried, “We have spoken!”

“Do you hear them, master?” said Nehushta in the silence that followed.  “Well, I know them.  They mean what they say, and you are right—­what which they threaten they can perform.”

“Let my grandchild speak,” said Benoni.  “Daughter, is it your wish that such dishonouring bonds should be laid upon me?”

“Grandsire,” replied Miriam, in a pure, clear voice, “I may not quarrel with that which is done for my own good.  For the wealth I care little, but I would not become a slave in everything save the name, nor do I desire to set my feet in that path my parents trod.  What my uncles say—­all of these”—­and she waved her hand—­“speaking in the name of the thousands that are without, that I do, for they love me and I love them, and their mind is my mind and their words are my words.”