Men bearing lights were rushing into the tower.  Her right hand, which held the iron, was free, and lest it should tell a tale she cast the instrument from her towards that side of the deserted place which she knew was buried deep in fallen stones, fragments of rotted timber and dirt from the nests of birds.  Then she stood still.  Now they were upon her, Caleb at the head of them.

“What is it?” he cried.

“I know not,” answered the guard.  “I heard a sound as of clanking armour and ran in, when some one struck the lantern from my hand, a strong rascal with whom I have struggled sorely, notwithstanding the blows that he rained upon me with his sword.  See, I hold him fast.”

They held up their lights and saw a beautiful, dishevelled maid, small and frail of stature, whereon they laughed out loud.

“A strong thief, truly,” said one.  “Why, it is a girl!  Do you summon the watch every time a girl catches hold of you?”

Before the words died upon the speaker’s lips, another man called out, “The Roman!  The Prefect has gone!  Where is the prisoner?” and with a roar of wrath they began to search the place, as a cat searches for the mouse that escapes her.  Only Caleb stood still and stared at the girl.

“Miriam!” he said.

“Yes, Caleb,” she answered quietly.  “This is a strange meeting, is it not?  Why do you break in thus upon my hiding-place?”

“Woman,” he shouted, mad with anger, “where have you hidden the Prefect Marcus?”

“Marcus?” she answered; “is he here?  I did not know it.  Well, I saw a man run from the tower, perhaps that was he.  Be swift and you may catch him.”

“No man left the tower,” answered the other sentry.  “Seize that woman, she has hidden the Roman in some secret place.  Seize her and search.”

So they caught Miriam, bound her and began running round and round the wall.  “Here is a staircase,” called a man, “doubtless he has gone up it.  Come, friends.”

Then taking lights with them, they mounted the stairs to the very top, but found no one.  Even as they came down again a trumpet blew and from without rose the sound of a mighty shouting.

“What happens now?” said one.

As he spoke an officer appeared in the opening of the tower.

“Begone,” he cried.  “Back to the Temple, taking your prisoner with you.  Titus himself is upon us at the head of two fresh legions, mad at the loss of his Prefect and so many of his soldiers.  Why! where is the wounded Roman, Marcus?”

“He has vanished,” answered Caleb sullenly.  “Vanished”—­here he glanced at Miriam with jealous and vindictive hate—­“and in his place has left to us this woman, the grand-daughter of Benoni, Miriam, who strangely enough was once his love.”

“Is it so?” said the officer.  “Girl, tell us what you have done with the Roman, or die.  Come, we have no time to lose.”

“I have done nothing.  I saw a man walk past the sentries, that is all.”