s of Midian, you, with your wits running on the men,
I'll warrant, every minute I've been out of the house! Ah, you'll smart
for it some day--you'll smart for it some day, you daughters of Adam's
first wife!'

Down came, by the hands of one of the Syrian slave-girls, the fowl and
the wine.

'There, now; we'll all sup together. Wine, that maketh glad the heart of
man!--Youth, you were a monk once, so you have read all about that, eh?
and about the best wine which goes down sweetly, causing the lips of
them that are asleep to speak. And rare wine it was, I warrant, which
the blessed Solomon had in his little country cellar up there in
Lebanon. We'll try if this is not a very fair substitute for it, though.
Come, my little man-monkey, drink, and forget your sorrow! You shall
be temple-sweeper to Beelzebub yet, I promise you. Look at it there,
creaming and curdling, the darling! purring like a cat at the very
thought of touching human lips! As sweet as honey, as strong as fire, as
clear as amber! Drink, ye children of Gehenna; and make good use of the
little time that is left you between this and the unquenchable fire!'

And tossing a cup of it down her own throat, as if it had been water,
she watched her companions with a meaning look, as they drank.

The little porter followed her example gallantly. Philammon looked, and
longed, and sipped blushingly and bashfully, and tried to fancy that he
did not care for it; and sipped again, being willing enough to forget
his sorrow also for a moment; the negress refused with fear and
trembling--'She had a vow on her.'

'Satan possess you and your vow! Drink, you coal out of Tophet! Do you
think it is poisoned? You, the only creature in the world that I should
not enjoy ill-using, because every one else ill-uses you already without
my help! Drink, I say, or I'll turn you pea-green from head to foot!'

The negress put the cup to her lips, and contrived, for her own reasons,
to spill the contents unobserved.

'A very fine lecture that of the Lady Hypatia's the other morning, on
Helen's nepenthe,' quoth the little porter, growing philosophic as
the wine-fumes rose. 'Such a power of extracting the cold water of
philosophy out of the bottomless pit of Mythus, I never did hear. Did
you ever, my Philammonidion?'

'Aha! she and I were talking about that half an hour ago,' said Miriam.

'What! have you seen her?' asked Philammon, with a flutter of the heart.

'If you mean, did sh