In answer Miriam, also speaking sadly, thanked them from her heart for all their goodness, telling them she had long known this hour of separation to be at hand.  As to where she should dwell, since tumults were so many in Jerusalem, she suggested that she might find a home in one of the coast cities, where perhaps some friend or relative of the brethren would shelter Nehushta and herself.

Instantly eight or ten of those present said that they knew such trusty folk in one place or another, and the various offers were submitted to the Court for discussion.  While the talk was still going on there came a knock upon the door.  After the usual questions and precautions, a brother was admitted who informed them that there had arrived in the village, at the head of a considerable retinue, Benoni, the Jewish merchant of Tyre.  He stated that he desired speech with them on the subject of his granddaughter Miriam, who, he learned, was, or had been recently, in their charge.

“Here may be an answer to the riddle,” said the President.  “We know of this Benoni, also that he purposed to demand his granddaughter of us, though until he did so it was not for us to speak.”  Then he put it to the Court that Benoni should be admitted.

To this they agreed, and presently the Jew came, splendidly attired, his long white beard flowing down a robe that glittered with embroideries of gold and silver.  Entering the dim, cool hall, he stared in amazement at the long half-circles of venerable, white-robed men who were gathered there.  Next his quick eyes fell upon the lovely maiden who, attended by the dark-visaged Nehushta, sat before them on a seat of honour; and looking, he guessed that she must be Miriam.

“Little wonder,” reflected Benoni to himself, “that all men seem to love this girl, since at the first sight of her my own heart softens.”

Then he bowed to the President of the Court and the President bowed back in answer.  But not one of the rest so much as moved his head, since already every man of them hated this stranger who was about to carry away her whom they called their Queen.

“Sirs,” said Benoni breaking the silence, “I come here upon a strange errand—­namely, to ask of you a maid whom I believe to be my granddaughter, of whose existence I learned not long ago, and whom, as it seems, you have sheltered from her birth.  Is she among you here?” and he looked at Miriam.

“The lady Miriam sits yonder,” said the President.  “You are right in naming her your granddaughter, as we have known her to be from the beginning.”

“Then why,” said Benoni, “did I not know it also?”

“Because,” answered the President quietly, “we did not think it fitting to deliver a child that was committed to our charge, to the care of one who had brought her father, and tried to bring her mother, his own seed, to the most horrible of deaths.”

As he spoke he fixed his eyes indignantly upon Benoni; as did every man of all that great company, till even the bold-faced Jew dropped his head abashed.