“I lived there,” said Miriam.  “It was bricked up until yesterday and safe from robbers.”

“So!” commented that judge, “you lived alone in a deserted tower like a bat or an owl, and without food or water.  Then these must have been brought to you from without the walls, perhaps by some secret passage that was known to none, down which you loosed the Prefect, but had no time to follow him.  Woman, you are a Roman spy, as a Christian well might be.  I say that she is worthy of death.”

Then Benoni rose and rent his robes.

“Does not enough blood run through these holy courts?” he asked, “that you must seek that of the innocent also?  What is your oath?  To do justice and to convict only upon clear, unshaken testimony.  Where is this testimony?  What is there to show that the girl Miriam had any dealings with this Marcus, whom she had not seen for years?  In the Holy Name I protest against this iniquity.”

“It is natural that you should protest,” said one of his brethren.

Then they fell into discussion, for the question perplexed them sorely, who, although they were savage, still wished to be honest.

Suddenly Simeon looked up, for a thought struck him.

“Search her,” he said, “she is in good case, she may have food, or the secret of food, about her, or,” he added—­“other things.”

Now two hungry-looking officers of the court seized Miriam and rent her robe open at the breast with their rough hands, since they would not be at the pains of loosening it.

“See,” cried one of them, “here are pearls, fit wear for so fine a lady.  Shall we take them?”

“Fool, let the trinkets be,” answered Simeon angrily.  “Are we common thieves?”

“Here is something else,” said the officer, drawing the roll of Marcus’s cherished letter from her breast.

“Not that, not that,” the poor girl gasped.

“Give it here,” said Simeon, stretching out his lean hand.

Then he undid the silk case and, opening the letter, read its first lines aloud. “’To the lady Miriam, from Marcus the Roman, by the hand of the Captain Gallus.’  What do you say to that, Benoni and brethren?  Why, there are pages of it, but here is the end:  ’Farewell, your ever faithful friend and lover, Marcus.’  So, let those read it who have the time; for my part I am satisfied.  This woman is a traitress; I give my vote for death.”

“It was written from Rome two years ago,” pleaded Miriam; but no one seemed to heed her, for all were talking at once.

“I demand that the whole letter be read,” shouted Benoni.

“We have no time, we have no time,” answered Simeon.  “Other prisoners await their trial, the Romans are battering our gates.  Can we waste more precious minutes over this Nazarene spy?  Away with her.”

“Away with her,” said Simon the son of Gioras, and the others nodded their heads in assent.

Then they gathered together discussing the manner of her end, while Benoni stormed at them in vain.  Not quite in vain, however, for they yielded something to his pleading.