Grandmother Rachael had taken refuge on the oven step and was wringing her hands and muttering prayers, while Sara was keeping as close as possible to Jael.
"Have pity, sir," she begged of the soldier when the cross was mentioned. "Have pity, he hath done thee no harm."
"Hold your tongue, woman," the soldier replied without looking at her, "else the cross will be thy portion also."
"And to the cross I choose to go if there my Jael goeth," she replied.
Then the second soldier, casting admiring glances on Sara, said, "She is a fair maiden; she shall be my spoil."
"Jove Almighty!" exclaimed the other, catching his sword-point in the front of her bodice and laying it open. "A fair maiden indeed. Not thine, but mine shall she be," and he motioned his fellow soldier to stand back.
"The God of our fathers strike thee dead!" Jael shouted in wrath.
"The God of thy fathers! Ha! Ha! The God of thy fathers hath no more power than yonder driveling granny. By Rome hath the God of thy fathers been smitten. To Rome belongs the maiden."
"Of all the spoil," the soldier who had discovered the beauty of Sara said to his companion, "of all the spoil that hath been taken between us, you have the larger portion. I first saw the maiden. She shall be mine!"
"Nay, mine—first mine. Then shall she be yours."