your life for me, and yet you will not give your life to
me?"

"Yes, Marcus."

"Why? Why?"

"For the reasons that I gave you yonder by the banks of Jordan; because
those who begat me laid on me the charge that I should marry none who is
not a Christian. How then can I marry you?"

Marcus thought a moment.

"Does the book of your law forbid it?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No, but the dead forbid it, and rather will I join
them than break their command."

Again Marcus thought and spoke.

"Well, then, since I must, I will become a Christian."

She looked at him sadly and answered:

"It is not enough. Do you remember what I told you far away in the
village of the Essenes, that this is no matter of casting incense on an
altar, but rather one of a changed spirit. When you can say those words
from your heart as well as with your lips, then, Marcus, I will listen
to you, but unless God calls you this you can never do."

"What then do you propose?" he asked.

"I? I have not had time to think. To go away, I suppose."

"To Domitian?" he queried. "Nay, forgive me, but a sore heart makes
bitter lips."

"I am glad you asked forgiveness for those words, Marcus," she said
quivering. "What need is there to insult a slave?"

The word seemed to suggest a new train of thought to Marcus.

"Yes," he said, "a slave--my slave whom I have bought at a great price.
Well, why should I let you go? I am minded to keep you."

"Marcus, you can keep me if you will, but then your sin against your own
honour will be greater even than your sin against me."

"Sin!" he said, passionately. "What sin? You say you cannot marry me,
not because you do not wish it, if I understand you right, but for other
reasons which have weight, at any rate with you. But the dead give no
command as to whom you should love."

"No, my love is my own, but if it is not lawful it can be denied."

"Why should it be denied?" he asked softly and coming towards her. "Is
there not much between you and me? Did not you, brave and blessed woman
that you are, risk your life for my sake in the Old Tower at Jerusalem?
Did you not for my sake stand there upon the gate Nicanor to perish
miserably? And I, though it be little, have I not done something for
you? Have I not so soon as your message reached me, journeyed here to
Rome, at the cost, perhaps, of what I value more than life--my honour?"

"Your honour?" she asked. "Why your honour?"

"Because those who ha