There was the maid from whom he had
parted in the desert village by Jordan, the same, and yet changed.
Then she had been a lovely girl, now she was a woman on whom sorrow
and suffering had left their stamp. The features were finer, the deep,
patient eyes were frightened and reproachful; her beauty was such as we
see in dreams, not altogether that of earth.
"Oh! my darling, my darling," murmured Nehushta, stretching out her arms
towards her. "Christ be thanked, that I have found you, my darling."
Then she turned to Marcus, who was devouring Miriam with his eyes, and
said in a fierce voice:
"Roman, now that you see her again, do you still love her as much as of
old time?"
He took no note and she repeated the question. Then he answered:
"Why do you trouble me with such idle words. Once she was a woman to be
won, now she is a spirit to be worshipped."
"Woman or spirit, or woman and spirit, beware how you deal with her,
Roman," snarled Nehushta still more fiercely, "or----" and she left her
hand fall upon the knife that was hidden in her robe.
"Peace, peace!" said Marcus, and as he spoke the procession came to
a halt before his windows. "How weary she is, and sad," he went on
speaking to himself.
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