Marcus put his foot upon the blade, and wheeled round.
"Young man," he said sternly, "you have learnt your lesson and will bear
the mark of it till your death day. Now begone."
The wretched Caleb ground his teeth. "It was to the death!" he said, "it
was to the death! You have conquered, kill me," and with his bloody hand
he tore open his robe to make a path for the sword.
"Leave such talk to play-actors," answered Marcus. "Begone, and be sure
of this--that if ever you try to bring treachery on me, or trouble on
the lady Miriam, I will kill you sure enough."
Then with a sound that was half curse and half sob, Caleb turned and
slunk away. With a shrug of the shoulder Marcus also turned to go, when
he felt a shadow fall upon him, and swung round, to find Nehushta at his
side.
"And pray where did you come from, my Libyan friend?" he asked.
"Out of that pomegranate fence, my Roman lord, whence I have seen and
heard all that passed."
"Indeed. Then I hope that you give me credit for good sword-play and
good temper."
"The sword-play was well enough, though nothing to boast of with such a
madman for a foe. As for the temper, it was that of a fool."
"Such," soliloquised Marcus, "is the reward of virtue.
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