ter. Hadassah made little observation on
the flight of Lycidas until Anna had again quitted the apartment, when
the widow lady said abruptly,--

"It was strange to leave without a word of farewell, a word of thanks,
after having been for months treated as a guest, almost as a son!"

Zarah, with her cold, nervous fingers, was unconsciously engaged in
tearing the edge of her veil into a fringe.

"If I were not uneasy regarding the safety of Abishai," resumed
Hadassah--

But here, for the first time in her life, Zarah, with an appearance of
impatience, interrupted the speech of her revered relative.

"Have no fear for Abishai," cried the maiden, raising her head, and
throwing back the long tresses which, from her drooping position, had
fallen over her pallid face. "Have no fear for Abishai," she repeated.
"The Greek will never repay your generous hospitality by revenging his
private injuries upon your son. I can answer for his forbearance."

"You are right, my child," said Hadassah, tenderly. "I did Lycidas a
wrong by expressing a doubt. Abishai is secure in his silence; and,
such being the case, I believe--nay, I feel assured--that, it is better
that we harbour the stranger here no longer. I am thankful that
Lycidas has left us though his manner of departing seem somewhat
churlish."

Was Zarah thankful also? Perhaps she was, though a miserable void
seemed to be left in young heart, which she felt that nothing could
ever fill up. More an orphan than the fatherless and motherless, more
desolate than the widow, loving and beloved, yet--save for one sick and
aged woman--alone in the world, it seemed to Zarah that a slight tie
bound her to life, and that even that tie was gradually breaking. On
the eve of that day of sore trial, the spring behind the dwelling had
quite dried up: not a single drop gushed forth from the hill to revive
the fading oleanders.

Just before sunset a laden mule was driven to the door of Hadassah's
humble retreat. It was led by Joab, a Jew who had in former years been
servant to the lady, and who had been one of those who had bravely
assisted in digging the grave of the martyrs. His presence, therefore,
in that unfrequented spot excited no alarm.

"Anna," said he, addressing the handmaid who stood in the doorway (for
he knew her by name), "help me to unload my mule; and do you bear what
I bring to your mistress."

"From whence comes all this?" asked Anna, with no small curiosity.