Here he dismounted and knocked at the small door for some time without
avail. At length it was opened a little way, and a thin, querulous
voice, speaking through the crack, said:
"Begone, whoever you are. No one lives here. This is the house of
Marcus, who is dead in the Jewish war. Who are you that disturb me?"
"The heir of Marcus."
"Marcus has no heir, unless it be Caesar, who doubtless will take his
property."
"Open, Stephanus," said Marcus, in a tone of command, at the same time
pushing the door wide and entering. "Fool," he added, "what kind of a
steward are you that you do not know your master's voice?"
Now he who had kept the door, a withered little man in a scribe's brown
robe, peered at this visitor with his sharp eyes, then threw up his
hands and staggered back, saying:
"By the spear of Mars! it is Marcus himself, Marcus returned from the
dead! Welcome, my lord, welcome."
Marcus led his horse through the deep archway, and when Nehushta had
followed him into the courtyard beyond, returned, closed and locked the
door.
"Why did you think me dead, friend?" he asked.
"Oh! my lord," answered the steward, "because all who have come home
from the war declared that you had vanished away during the siege of the
city of the Jews, and that you must either be dead or taken prisoner.
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