,
roasted whole, which followed, she was forced to turn.

"Send it out to the soldiers," she suggested, and it was sent as her
gift.

"Now, my captive," said Gallus, drawing his stool near to her, "I want
you to tell me what you can remember of your story. Ah! you don't know
that for many days past we have dined together and that it had been your
fashion to sit with your arm round my old neck and call me your uncle.
Nay, child, you need not blush, for I am more than old enough to be your
father, let alone your uncle, and nothing but a father shall I ever be
to you."

"Why are you so good to me?" asked Miriam.

"Why? Oh! for several reasons. First, you were the friend of a comrade
of mine who often talked of you, but who now is dead. Secondly, you
were a sick and helpless thing whom I chanced to rescue in the great
slaughter, and who ever since has been my companion; and thirdly--yes,
I will say it, though I do not love to talk of that matter, I had a
daughter, who died, and who, had she lived, would have been of about
your age. Your eyes remind me of hers--there, is that not enough?

"But now for the story. Stay. I will tell you what I know of it. Marcus,
he whom they called The Fortunate, but whose fortune has deserted him,
was in love with you--like the rest of us. Often he talked to me of you
in Rome, where we were friends after a fashion, though he was set far
above me, and by me sent to you that letter which I delivered here in
this garden, and the trinket that you wear about your neck, and if I
remember right, with it a ring--yes, it is upon your finger. Well, I
took note of you at the time and went my way to the war, and when I
chanced to find you lately upon the top of the Gate Nicanor, although
you were more like a half-burnt cinder than a fair maiden, I knew you
again and carried you off to Caesar, who named you his slave and bade me
take charge of you and deliver you to him in Rome. Now I want to know
how you came to be upon that gateway."

So Miriam began and told him all her tale, while he listened patiently.
When she had done he rose and, limping round the little table, bent over
and kissed her solemnly upon the brow.

"By all the gods of the Romans, Greeks, Christians, Jews, and barbarian
nations, you are a noble-hearted woman," he said, "and that kiss is
my tribute to you. Little wonder that puppy, Marcus, is called The
Fortunate, since, even when he deserved to die who suffered himself to
be ta