‘No! No drugs; no magic! He must love me really, or not at all! He must love me for myself, because I am worth loving, because he honours, worships me, or let me die. I, whose boast was, even when I was basest, that I never needed such mean tricks, but conquered like Aphrodite, a queen in my own right! I have been my own love-charm: when I cease to be that, let me die!’
‘One as mad as the other!’ cried Miriam, in utter perplexity. ‘Hist! what is that tramp upon the stairs?’
At this moment heavy footsteps were heard ascending the stairs.... All three stopped aghast: Philammon, because he thought the visitors were monks in search of him; Miriam, because she thought they were Orestes’s guards in search of her; and Pelagia, from vague dread of anything and everything....
‘Have you an inner room?’ asked the Jewess.
‘None.’
The old woman set her lips firmly, and drew her dagger. Pelagia wrapped her face in her cloak, and stood trembling, bowed down, as if expecting another blow. The door opened, and in walked, neither monks nor guard, but Wulf and Smid.
‘Heyday, young monk!’ cried the latter worthy, with a loud laugh—‘Veils here, too, eh? At your old trade, my worthy portress of hell-gate? Well, walk out now; we have a little business with this young gentleman.’
And slipping past the unsuspecting Goths, Pelagia and Miriam hurried downstairs.
‘The young one, at least, seems a little ashamed of her errand.... Now, Wulf, speak low; and I will see that no one is listening at the door.’
Philammon faced his unexpected visitors with a look of angry inquiry. What right had they, or any man, to intrude at such a moment on his misery and disgrace?.... But he was disarmed the next instant by old Wulf, who advanced to him, and looking him fully in the face with an expression which there was no mistaking, held out his broad, brown hand.