en the agent
of the prince had been left behind, and Miriam was at last knocked down
to some mysterious stranger woman dressed like a peasant. The woman was
veiled and disguised; she spoke with a feigned voice and in a strange
tongue, but from the beginning Caleb knew her. Incredible as it might
seem, that she should be here in Rome, he was certain that she was
Nehushta, and no other.

That Nehushta should buy Miriam was well, but how came she by so vast a
sum of money, here in a far-off land? In short, for whom was she buying?
Indeed, for whom would she buy? He could think of one only--Marcus. But
he had made inquiries and Marcus was not in Rome. Indeed he had every
reason to believe that his rival was long dead, that his bones were
scattered among the tens of thousands which whitened the tumbled ruins
of the Holy City in Judaea. How could it be otherwise? He had last seen
him wounded, as he thought to death--and he should know, for the stroke
fell from his own hand--lying senseless in the Old Tower in Jerusalem.
Then he vanished away, and where Marcus had been Miriam was found.
Whither did he vanish, and if it was true that she succeeded in hiding
him in some secret hole, what chance was there that he could have
lived on without food and unsuccoured? Also if he lived, why had he
not appeared long before? Why was not so wealthy a Patrician and
distinguished a soldier riding in the triumphant train of Titus?

With black despair raging in his breast, he, Caleb, had seen Miriam
knocked down to the mysterious basket-laden stranger whom none could
recognise. He had seen her depart together with the auctioneer and
a servant, also basket-laden, to the office of the receiving house,
whither he had attempted to follow upon some pretext, only to be stopped
by the watchman. After this he hung about the door until he saw the
auctioneer appear alone, when it occurred to him that the purchaser and
the purchased must have departed by some other exit, perhaps in order
to avoid further observation. He ran round the building to find himself
confronted only by the empty, star-lit spaces of the Forum. Searching
them with his eyes, for one instant it seemed to him that far away he
caught sight of a little knot of figures climbing a black marble stair
in the dark shadow of some temple. He sped across the open space, he
ran up the great stair, to find at the head of it a young man in whom he
recognised the auctioneer's clerk, gazing along a