"Tangle not thy fair tresses. Soft must they lie across my cheek when thou art mine. Come," and the soldier lay hands upon her, but she shrank away and throwing herself down beside the bench cried:
"Oh, Jael—Jael—save me!"
"Come here," the first soldier called to the second, "thy sword. A live Roman is better than a dead Jew. Why wait we for the cross?"
Turning on her knees before the soldier, Sara caught the upraised sword saying, "Nay—nay—spare him."
"Wilt thou come with me?"
"Yea—God of my fathers—God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, I come! But ere I leave my home forever, let me have the blessing of my mother Rachael. Stand thou beyond the threshold lest thy presence pollute the air."
"Thou wouldst be blessed?" and the soldier laughed. "I await beyond the threshold," and pushing the other soldier in front of him, he stepped outside and stood where he could watch the pile of fish nets, from which came the sound of heavy breathing.
"My blessing," Sara whispered, "the bitter hemlock!"
With tears streaming down her withered cheeks while she muttered and cursed, the aged woman fastened Sara's torn bodice, binding the deadly herb within easy hand's reach.