Part 20 (1/2)

Then for the first time Miriam threw herself into the old man's arms and kissed him on the brow.

So it came about that they made their peace and were happy together.

Indeed, day by day Benoni loved her more, till at length she was everything to him, and he grew jealous of all who sought her company, and especially of Nehushta.

CHAPTER XII

THE RING, THE NECKLACE AND THE LETTER

So Miriam came to Tyre, where, for many months, her life was peaceful and happy enough. At first she had feared meeting Caleb, who she knew from her grandfather was dwelling there; but as it chanced, he had left the city upon business of his own, so for the while she was free of him.

In Tyre were many Christians with whom she made friends and wors.h.i.+pped, Benoni pretending to know nothing of the matter. Indeed, at this time and place it was the Jews rather than the Christians who were in danger at the hands of the Syrians and Greeks, who hated them for their wealth and faith, threatening them continually with robbery and ma.s.sacre. But as yet that storm did not burst, and in its brewing the Christians, who were few, humble, and of all races, escaped notice.

Thus it came about that Miriam dwelt in quiet, occupying herself much with her art of modelling and going abroad but little, since it was scarcely safe for her, the grandchild of the rich Jew merchant, to show her face in the streets. Though she was surrounded by every luxury, far more than she needed, indeed, this lack of liberty irked her who had been reared in the desert, till at times she grew melancholy and would sit for hours looking on the sea and thinking. She thought of her mother who had sat thus before her; of her father, who had perished beneath the gladiators' swords; of the kindly old men who had nurtured her, and of the sufferings of her brothers and sisters in the faith in Rome and at Jerusalem. But most of all she thought of Marcus, her Roman lover, whom, strive as she would, she could never forget--no, not for a single hour.

She loved him, that was the truth of it, and between them there was a great gulf fixed, not of the sea only, which s.h.i.+ps could sail, but of that command which the dead had laid upon her. He was a pagan and she was a Christian, and they might not wed. By now, too, it was likely that he had forgotten her, the girl who took his fancy in the desert. At Rome there were many n.o.ble and lovely women--oh! she could scarcely bear to think of it. Yet night by night she prayed for him, and morn by morn his face arose before her half-awakened eyes. Where was he? What was he doing? For aught she knew he might be dead. Nay, for then, surely, her heart would have warned her. Still, she craved for tidings, and alas!

there were none.

At length tidings did come--the best of tidings. One day, wearying of the house, with the permission of her grandfather, and escorted by servants, Miriam had gone to walk in the gardens that he owned to the north of that part of the city on the mainland, which was called Palaetyrus. They were lovely gardens, well watered and running down to the sea-edge, and in them grew beautiful palms and other trees, with fruitful shrubs and flowers. Here, when they had roamed a while, Miriam and Nehushta sat down upon the fallen column of some old temple and rested. Suddenly they heard a footstep, and Miriam looked up to see before her a Roman officer, clad in a cloak that showed signs of sea-travel, and, guiding him, one of Benoni's servants.

The officer, a rough but kindly looking man of middle age, bowed to her, asking in Greek if he spoke to the lady Miriam, the granddaughter of Benoni the Jew, she who had been brought up among the Essenes.

”Sir, I am she,” answered Miriam.

”Then, lady, I, who am named Gallus, have an errand to perform”; and drawing from his robe a letter tied with silk and sealed, and with the letter a package, he handed them to her.

”Who sends these?” she asked, hope s.h.i.+ning in her eyes, ”and whence come they?”

”From Rome, lady, as fast as sails could waft them and me. And the sender is the n.o.ble Marcus, called the Fortunate.”

”Oh!” said Miriam, blus.h.i.+ng to her eyes, ”tell me, sir, is he well?”

”Not so well but that such a look as that, lady, would better him, or any other man, could he be here to see it,” answered the Roman, gazing at her with admiration.

”Did you then leave him ill? I do not understand.”

”Nay, his health seemed sound, and his uncle Caius being dead his wealth can scarce be counted, or so they say, since the old man made him his heir. Perhaps that is why the divine Nero has taken such a fancy to him that he can scarce leave the palace. Therefore I cannot say that Marcus is well to-day, since sometimes Nero's friends are short-lived. Nay, be not frightened, I did but jest; your Marcus is safe enough. Read the letter, lady, and waste no time. As for me, my mission is fulfilled.

Thank me not; it is reward enough to have seen that sweet face of yours.

Fortunate indeed is the star of Marcus, and, though I am jealous of the man, for your sake I pray that it may lead him back to you. Lady, farewell.”

”Cut the silk, Nou,” said Miriam when the Captain Gallus had gone.

”Quick. I have no knife.”

Nehushta obeyed smiling and the letter was unrolled. It, or those parts of it which concern us, ran thus:

”To the lady Miriam, from Marcus the Roman, her friend, by the hand of the Captain Gallus.

”Dear friend and lady, greeting. Already since I came here I have written you one letter, but this day news has reached me that the s.h.i.+p which bore it foundered off the coast of Sicily. So, as Neptune has that letter, and with it many good men, although I write more ill than I do most things, I send you another by this occasion, hoping, I who am vain, that you have not forgotten me, and that the reading of it may even give you pleasure. Most dear Miriam, know that I accomplished my voyage to Rome in safety, visiting your grandsire on the way to pay him a debt I owed. But that story you will perhaps have heard.