ds; hence the laughter of the audience and the
groans of the victim. Sick at heart, Miriam turned away from this horrid
sight, to hear a tall man, whose back was towards her, but who was clad
in the rich robes of an Eastern merchant, asking one of the marshals of
the Triumph, in a foreign accent, whether it was true that the captive
Pearl-Maiden was to be sold that evening in the auction-mart of the
Forum. The marshal answered yes, such were the orders as regarded her
and the other women, since there was no convenient place to house them,
and it was thought best to be rid of them and let their masters take
them home at once.

"Does she please you, sir? Are you going to bid?" he added. "If so, you
will find yourself in high company."

"Perhaps, perhaps," answered the man with a shrug of his shoulders.

Then he vanished into the crowd.

Now, for the first time that day, Miriam's spirit seemed to fail her.
The weariness of her body, the foul talk, the fouler cruelty, the cold
discussion of the sale of human beings to the first-comer as though they
were sheep or swine, the fear of her fate that night, pressed upon and
overcame her mind, so that she felt inclined, like Simon, the son of
Gioras, to sink fainting to the pavement and lie there till the cruel
rods beat her to her feet again. Hope sank low and faith grew dim, while
in her heart she wondered vaguely what was the meaning of it all, and
why poor men and women were made to suffer thus for the pleasure of
other men and women; wondered also what escape there could be for her.

While she mused thus, like a ray of light through the clouds, a sense
of consolation, sweet as it was sudden, seemed to pierce the darkness
of her bitter thoughts. She knew not whence it came, nor what it might
portend, yet it existed, and the source of it seemed near to her. She
scanned the faces of the crowd, finding pity in a few, curiosity in
more, but in most gross admiration if they were men, or scorn of her
misfortune and jealousy of her loveliness if they were women. Not from
among these did that consolation flow. She looked up to the sky, half
expecting to see there that angel of the Lord into whose keeping the
bishop, Cyril, had delivered her. But the skies were empty and brazen
as the faces of the Roman crowd; not a cloud could be seen in them, much
less an angel.

As her eyes sank earthwards their glance fell upon one of the windows of
the marble house to her left. If she rememb