not, Marcus, nor speak of me as generous, or noble, since
Miriam is dead, and I who have followed her through life desire to
follow her through death, hoping that there I may find a kinder fortune
at her hands, or if not, forgetfulness. You who will live long, must
drink deep of memory--a bitterer cup. Marcus, farewell. Since die I
must, I would that it had been in open fight beneath your sword, but
Fate, who has given me fortune, but no true favour, appoints me to the
daggers of assassins that seek another heart. So be it. You tarry here,
but I travel to Miriam. Why should I grumble at the road?

"Caleb.

"Written at Rome upon the night of my death."

"A brave man and a bitter," said Marcus when he had finished reading.
"Know, my father, that I am more jealous of him now than ever I was in
his life's days. Had it not been for you and your preaching," he added
angrily, "when he came to seek Miriam, he would have found me at her
side. But now, how can I tell?"

"Peace to your heathen talk!" answered the bishop. "Is the land of
spirits then such as your poets picture, and do the dead turn to each
other with eyes of earthly passion? Yet," he added more gently, "I
should not blame you who, like this poor Jew, from childhood have been
steeped in superstitions. Have no fear of his rivalry in the heavenly
fields, friend Marcus, where neither do they marry or are given in
marriage, nor think that self-murder can help a man. What the end of
all this tale may be does not yet appear; still I am certain that yonder
Caleb will take no gain in hurrying down to death, unless indeed he did
it from a nobler motive than he says, as I for one believe."

"I trust that it may be so," answered Marcus, "although in truth that
another man should die for me gives me no comfort. Rather would I that
he had left me to my doom."

"As God has willed so it has befallen, for 'man's goings are of the
Lord; how then can a man understand his own way?'" replied Cyril with a
sigh. "Now let us to other matters, for time is short and it comes upon
me that you will do well to be clear of Rome before Domitian finds that
Caleb fell in place of Marcus."

Nearly three more months had gone when, at length, one night as the sun
vanished, a galley crept wearily into the harbour of Alexandria and cast
anchor just as the light of Pharos began to shine across the sea. Her
passage through the winter gales had been hard, and for weeks at a time
she had been