andful of soldiers
are with Him. They have not yet started. As soon as they do start,
follow. They must not reach Golgotha. But wait until they are outside
the city wall. Then countermand the order. Take an extra horse for Him
to ride. The rest is easy. Ride away into Syria with Him, or into
Idumaea, or anywhere so long as He be saved."

She concluded with her arms around my neck, her face upturned to mine and
temptingly close, her eyes greatly solemn and greatly promising.

Small wonder I was slow of speech. For the moment there was but one
thought in my brain. After all the strange play I had seen played out,
to have this come upon me! I did not misunderstand. The thing was
clear. A great woman was mine if . . . if I betrayed Rome. For Pilate
was governor, his order had gone forth; and his voice was the voice of
Rome.

As I have said, it was the woman of her, her sheer womanliness, that
betrayed Miriam and me in the end. Always she had been so clear, so
reasonable, so certain of herself and me, so that I had forgotten, or,
rather, I there learned once again the eternal lesson learned in all
lives, that woman is ever woman . . . that in great decisive moments
woman does not reason but feels; that the last sanctuary and innermost
pulse to conduct is in woman's heart and not in woman's head.

Miriam misunderstood my silence, for her body moved softly within my arms
as she added, as if in afterthought:

"Take two spare horses, Lodbrog. I shall ride the other . . . with you
. . . with you, away over the world, wherever you may ride."

It was a bribe of kings; it was an act, paltry and contemptible, that was
demanded of me in return. Still I did not speak. It was not that I was
in confusion or in any doubt. I was merely sad--greatly and suddenly
sad, in that I knew I held in my arms what I would never hold again.

"There is but one man in Jerusalem this day who can save Him," she urged,
"and that man is you, Lodbrog."

Because I did not immediately reply she shook me, as if in impulse to
clarify wits she considered addled. She shook me till my harness
rattled.

"Speak, Lodbrog, speak!" she commanded. "You are strong and unafraid.
You are all man. I know you despise the vermin who would destroy Him.
You, you alone can save Him. You have but to say the word and the thing
is done; and I will well love you and always love you for the thing you
have done."

"I am a Roman," I said slowly, knowin