Part 31 (1/2)
”What is there to talk of, Miriam, save misery, misery, misery?” and again he groaned. ”You were right, and I have been wrong. That Messiah of yours whom I rejected, yes, and still reject, had at least the gift of prophecy, for the words that you read me yonder in Tyre will be fulfilled upon this people and city, aye, to the last letter. The Romans hold even the outer courts of the Temple; there is no food left. In the upper town the inhabitants devour each other and die, and die till none can bury the dead. In a day or two, or ten--what does it matter?--we who are left must perish also by hunger and the sword. The nation of the Jews is trodden out, the smoke of their sacrifices goes up no more, and the Holy House that they have builded will be pulled stone from stone, or serve as a temple for the wors.h.i.+p of heathen G.o.ds.”
”Will t.i.tus show no mercy? Can you not surrender?” asked Miriam.
”Surrender? To be sold as slaves or dragged a spectacle at the wheels of Caesar's triumphal car, through the shouting streets of Rome? No, girl, best to fight it out. We will seek mercy of Jehovah and not of t.i.tus.
Oh! I would that it were done with, for my heart is broken, and this judgment is fallen on me--that I, who, of my own will, brought my daughter to her death, must bring her daughter to death against my will.
If I had hearkened to you, you would have been in Pella, or in Egypt. I lost you, and, thinking you dead, what I have suffered no man can know.
Now I find you, and because of the office that was thrust upon me, I, even I, from whom your life has sprung, must bring you to your doom.”
”Grandfather,” Miriam broke in, wringing her hands, for the grief of this old man was awful to witness, ”cease, I beseech you, cease.
Perhaps, after all, I shall not die.”
He looked up eagerly. ”Have you hope of escape?” he asked. ”Perchance Caleb----”
”Nay, I know naught of Caleb, except that there is still good in his heart, since at the last he tried to save me--for which I thank him.
Still, I had sooner perish here alone, who do not fear death in my spirit, whatever my flesh may fear, than escape hence in his company.”
”What then, Miriam? Why should you think----?” and he paused.
”I do not think, I only trust in G.o.d and--hope. One of our faith, now long departed, who foretold that I should be born, foretold also that I should live out my life. It may be so--for that woman was holy, and a prophetess.”
As she spoke there came a rolling sound like that of distant thunder, and a voice without called:
”Rabbi Benoni, the wall is down. Tarry not, Rabbi Benoni, for they seek you.”
”Alas! I must begone,” he said, ”for some new horror is fallen upon us, and they summon me to the council. Farewell, most beloved Miriam, may my G.o.d and your G.o.d protect you, for I cannot. Farewell, and if, by any chance, you live, forgive me, and try to forget the evil that, in my blindness and my pride, I have brought upon yours and you, but oh! most of all upon myself.”
Then he embraced her pa.s.sionately and was gone, leaving Miriam weeping.
CHAPTER XVII
THE GATE OF NICANOR
Another two hours went by, and the lengthening shadows cast through the stonework of the lattice told Miriam that the day was drawing to its end. Suddenly the bolts were shot and the door opened.
”The time is at hand,” she said to herself, and at the thought her heart beat fast and her knees trembled, while a mist came before her eyes, so that she could not see. When it pa.s.sed she looked up, and there before her, very handsome and stately, though worn with war and hunger, stood Caleb, sword in hand and clad in a breast plate dinted with many blows.
At the sight, Miriam's courage came back to her; at least before him she would show no fear.
”Are you sent to carry out my sentence?” she asked.
He bowed his head. ”Yes, a while hence, when the sun sinks,” he answered bitterly. ”That judge, Simeon, who ordered you to be searched, is a man with a savage heart. He thought that I tried to save you from the wrath of the Sanhedrim; he thought that I----”
”Let be what he thought,” interrupted Miriam, ”and, friend Caleb, do your office. When we were children together often you tied my hands and feet with flowers, do you remember? Well, tie them now with cords, and make an end.”
”You are cruel,” he said, wincing.
”Indeed! some might have thought that you are cruel. If, for instance, they had heard your words in that tower last night when you gave up my name to the Jews and linked it with another's.”