A little dancing in the sunshine, a little
moaning in the shade, then death, and after death----
"What are you thinking of, Miriam?" said a rich voice at her elbow, the
voice of Caleb.
She started, for here she believed herself alone, then answered:
"My thoughts matter nothing. Why are you here? You should be with your
fellow----"
"Conspirators. Why do you not say the word? Well, because sometimes one
wearies even of conspiracy. Just now we triumph and can take our ease.
I wish to make the most of it. What ring is that you wear upon your
finger?"
Miriam straightened herself and grew bold.
"One which Marcus sent me," she answered.
"I guessed as much. I have heard of him; he has become a creature of the
mad Nero, the laughing-stock of Rome."
"I do not laugh at him, Caleb."
"No, you were ever faithful. But, say, do you laugh at me?"
"Indeed not; why should I, since you seem to fill a great and dangerous
part with dignity?"
"Yes, Miriam, my part is both great and dangerous. I have risen high and
I mean to rise higher."
"How high?"
"To the throne of Judaea."
"I think a cottage stool would be more safe, Caleb."
"Mayhap, but I do not like such seats. Listen, Miriam, I will be great
or die.
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