“There is no joy in that tale,” replied Miriam, “for it means that the Holy City will be besieged and taken.”

“Nay, but among that host is one who, if all the stories are true,” and again he glanced at her face, “would rather take you than the city.”

“Who?” she said, pressing her hands against her heart and turning redder than the lamplight.

“One of Titus’ prefects of horse, the noble Roman, Marcus, whom in byegone days you knew by the banks of Jordan.”

Now the red blood fled back to Miriam’s heart, and she turned so faint that had not the wall been near at hand she would have fallen.

“Marcus?” she said.  “Well, he swore that he would come, yet it will bring him little nearer me;” and she turned and sought her chamber.

So Marcus had come.  Since he sent the letter and the ring that was upon her hand, and the pearls which were about her throat, she had heard no more of him.  Twice she had written and forwarded the writings by the most trusty messenger whom she could find, but whether they reached him she did not know.  For more than two years the silence between them had been that of death, till, indeed, at times she thought that he must be dead.  And now he was come back, a commander in the army of Titus, who marched to punish the rebellious Jews.  Would she ever see him again?  Miriam could not tell.  Yet she knelt and prayed from her pure heart that if it were once only, she might speak with him face to face.  Indeed, it was this hope of meeting that, more than any other, supported her through all those dreadful days.

A week went by, and although the hurt to her foot had healed, like some flower in the dark Miriam drooped and languished in those gloomy vaults.  Twice she prayed her uncle to be allowed to creep to the mouth of the hole behind the ridge of rock, there to breathe the fresh air and see the blessed sky.  But this he would not suffer.  The thing was too dangerous, he said; for although none knew the secret of their hiding-place, already two or three fugitives had found their way into the quarries by other entrances, and these it was very difficult to pass unseen.

“So be it,” answered Miriam, and crept back to her cell.

Nehushta looked after her anxiously, then said: 

“If she cannot have air I think that she will soon die.  Is there no way?”

“One,” answered Ithiel, “but I fear to take it.  The staircase from the spring leads to an ancient tower that, I am told, once was a palace of the kings, but now for these many years has been deserted, for its entrance is bricked up lest thieves should make it their home.  None can come into that tower, nor is it used for purposes of war, not standing upon any wall, and there she might sit at peace and see the sun; yet I fear to let her do so.”

“It must be risked,” answered Nehushta.  “Take me to visit this place.”