eb thanked the girl and followed her through sundry tortuous lanes to
a court surrounded by old houses.

"If you go in there," she said, pointing to a certain doorway, "and
climb to the top of the stairs, I forget whether there are three or four
flights, you will find the makers of the lamp in the roof-rooms--oh!
sir, I thank you, but I expected nothing. Good-night."

At length Caleb stood at the head of the stairs, which were both steep,
narrow, and in the dark hard to climb. Before him, at the end of a
rickety landing, a small ill-fitting door stood ajar. There was light
within the room beyond, and from it came a sound of voices. Caleb crept
up to the door and listened, for as the floor below was untenanted he
knew that none could see him. Bending down he looked through the space
between the door and its framework and his heart stood still. There,
standing full in the lamplight, clothed in a pure white robe, for her
rough working dress lay upon a stool beside her, was Miriam herself,
her elbow leaning on the curtained window-place. She was talking to
Nehushta, who, her back bent almost double over a little charcoal fire,
was engaged in cooking their supper.

"Think," she was saying, "only think, Nou, our last night in this
hateful city, and then, instead of that stifling workshop and the terror
of Domitian, the open sea and the fresh salt wind and nobody to fear but
God. _Luna!_ Is it not a beautiful name for a ship? I can see her, all
silver----"

"Peace," said Nehushta. "Are you mad, girl, to talk so loud? I though I
heard a sound upon the stairs just now."

"It is only the rats," answered Miriam cheerfully, "no one ever comes up
here. I tell you that were it not for Marcus I could weep with joy."

Caleb crept back to the head of the stairs and down several steps, which
he began to re-ascend noisily, grumbling at their gloom and steepness.
Then, before the women even had time to shut the door, he thrust it wide
and walked straight into the room.

"Your pardon," he began, then added quietly, "Why, Miriam, when we
parted on the gate Nicanor, who could have foretold that we should live
to meet again here in a Roman attic? And you, Nehushta. Why, we were
separated in the fray outside the Temple walls, though, indeed, I
think that I saw you in a strange place some months ago, namely, the
slave-ring on the Forum."

"Caleb," asked Miriam in a hollow voice, "what is your business here?"

"Well, Miriam, it began wi