Yet they worked madly, their breath
coming in great gasps, knowing that the work was in vain, and that even
if they could open the door, by now it would be to find Miriam gone,
or at the best to be taken themselves. Suddenly Marcus ceased from his
labour.
"Lost!" he moaned, "and for my sake. O ye gods! for my sake." Then
down he fell, his harness clattering on the rocky step, and lay there,
muttering and laughing foolishly.
Nehushta ceased also, gasping: "The Lord help you, Miriam, for I cannot.
Oh! after all these years to lose you thus, and because of that man!"
and she glared through the darkness towards the fallen Marcus, thinking
in her heart that she would kill him.
"Nay," she said to herself, "she loved him, and did she know it might
pain her. Better kill myself; yes, and if I were sure that she is dead
this, sin or no sin, I would do."
As she sat thus, helpless, hopeless, she saw a light coming up the stair
towards them. It was borne by Ithiel. Nehushta rose and faced him.
"Praise be to God! there you are at length," he said. "Thrice have I
been up this stair wondering why Miriam did not come."
"Brother Ithiel," answered Nehushta, "Miriam will come no more; she
is gone, leaving us in exchange this man Marcus, the Roman prefect of
Horse.
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