Miriam, having gained her point, was too wise to prolong the debate and imperil the victory, which was, she well knew, the victory of his own conscience, by the most brilliant or devout retort.
So the next morning early she gently tapped at the door of the rooms where the young captives were, and said—
“Put on thy raiment quietly, my daughter, and bring the tablet the young Roman gave thee, and come with me, and let thy brother and the dog follow close behind.”
In the dusk of the morning they crossed the Tiber, and gliding along the silent quays at the foot of the Aventine, climbed from their level between the walls of the vineyard and palace gardens till they reached the gate of the house of Fabricius.
Eleazar came after them, and stood near them at the gate, in the shadow, a little apart. One or two slaves were stirring, and seemed at first determined not to heed them, but in a few minutes the steward of the household appeared, and demanded what they wanted at that unseasonable hour.
“We want thee to bear this epistle instantly to thy lady,” said Miriam; “it is from her son. He gave it us at the city of Troyes, far away in Gaul, to bring hither to her.”
The steward looked doubtfully at the group, but nevertheless accepted the tablet, went quickly into the house, and in a few minutes returned with his young mistress. Lucia’s smile reassured them.
“Does the matter press?” she asked.
“It presses sore,” was Miriam’s reply. “A few hours’ delay may prove the ruin of two innocent lives.”
Lucia went instantly to her mother’s room.