Now there remained nothing but revenge. Revenged he must be, but how?
He might dog Marcus and murder him, only then his own life would be
hazarded, since he knew well the fate that awaited the foreigner, and
most of all the Jew, who dared to lift his hand against a Roman noble,
and if he hired others to do the work they might bear evidence against
him. Now Caleb did not wish to die; life seemed the only good that he
had left. Also, while he lived he might still win Miriam--after his
rival had ceased to live. Doubtless, then she would be sold with his
other slaves, and he could buy her at the rate such tarnished goods
command. No, he would do nothing to run himself into danger. He would
wait, wait and watch his opportunity.
It was near at hand, for of old as to-day the king of evil was ever
ready to aid those who called upon him with sufficient earnestness.
Indeed, even as Caleb sat there in his office, there came a knock upon
the door.
"Open!" he cried savagely, and through it entered a small man with
close-cropped hair and a keen, hard face which seemed familiar to him.
Just now, however, that face was somewhat damaged, for one of the
eyes had been blackened and a wound upon the temple was strapped
with plaster.
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