That day had been disturbed, different, indeed, from all the peaceful days which she was wont to spend.  First had come the messenger bearing her lover’s gifts and letter which already she longed to read again; then hard upon his heels, like storm upon the sunshine, he who, unless she was mistaken, still wished to be her lover—­Caleb.  How curious was the lot of all three of them!  How strangely had they been exalted!  She, the orphan ward of the Essenes, was now a great and wealthy lady with everything her heart could desire—­except one thing, indeed, which it desired most of all.  And Marcus, the debt-saddled Roman soldier of fortune, he also, it seemed, had suddenly become great and wealthy, pomps that he held at the price of playing some fool’s part in a temple to satisfy the whimsy of an Imperial madman.

Caleb, too, had found fortune, and in these tumultuous times risen suddenly to place and power.  All three of them were seated upon pinnacles, but as Miriam felt, they were pinnacles of snow, which for aught she knew, might be melted by the very sun of their prosperity.  She was young, she had little experience, yet as Miriam sat there watching the changeful sea, there came upon her a great sense of the instability of things, and an instinctive knowledge of their vanity.  The men who were great one day, whose names sounded in the mouths of all, the next had vanished, disgraced or dead.  Parties rose and parties fell, high priest succeeded high priest, general supplanted general, yet upon each and all of them, like the following waves that rolled beneath her, came dark night and oblivion.  A little dancing in the sunshine, a little moaning in the shade, then death, and after death——­

“What are you thinking of, Miriam?” said a rich voice at her elbow, the voice of Caleb.

She started, for here she believed herself alone, then answered: 

“My thoughts matter nothing.  Why are you here?  You should be with your fellow——­”

“Conspirators.  Why do you not say the word?  Well, because sometimes one wearies even of conspiracy.  Just now we triumph and can take our ease.  I wish to make the most of it.  What ring is that you wear upon your finger?”

Miriam straightened herself and grew bold.

“One which Marcus sent me,” she answered.

“I guessed as much.  I have heard of him; he has become a creature of the mad Nero, the laughing-stock of Rome.”

“I do not laugh at him, Caleb.”

“No, you were ever faithful.  But, say, do you laugh at me?”

“Indeed not; why should I, since you seem to fill a great and dangerous part with dignity?”

“Yes, Miriam, my part is both great and dangerous.  I have risen high and I mean to rise higher.”

“How high?”

“To the throne of Judaea.”

“I think a cottage stool would be more safe, Caleb.”

“Mayhap, but I do not like such seats.  Listen, Miriam, I will be great or die.  I have thrown in my lot with the Jews, and when we have cast out the Romans I shall rule.”