A sudden thought flashed upon Claudius.
“Hearken, old man, wretched dog as you are, if you will do me a service I will pay you in gold pieces, but it must be done at once. Leave your daughter’s body to me for burial, and betake yourself to a thicket just beyond the village. Stay there till I come to you, and I will ensure you safe departure. If you refuse, by the gods, I will drag you before the Governor to-morrow, and see you torn limb from limb.”
“Oh! good sir! Oh! kind sir! have pity. My daughter! my daughter!”
“She is dead,” Claudius replied, as throwing the light of the torch on the pale, still face, wan and attenuated by sickness, and set in its frame of raven hair it looked white as snow.
“Poor creature!” Claudius said, “she is young to die, but we all die, some old, some young; it is the fate of all, and the gods take the best first. Now, Jew, there must be no delay. Shall I carry away your daughter, and in return will you, for gold, which I will bring you, do my behest? It must be now, or it will be too late.”
As he spoke, Claudius took the old man roughly by the arm, and setting him on his feet, raised the body of the dead maiden in his arms, and bidding the Jew follow him, went down to the road below.
The long, dark hours had passed slowly in the dungeon, where, after the cruel scene of the morning, Agatha and Anna had sat together, waiting for death. Anna had revived when she had swallowed a few drops of cold water, and Agatha, though utterly exhausted herself, seating herself by the wall, had gathered the girl tenderly into her maternal arms, and revived her, as best she could, by chafing her cold hands, and pressing her close to her bosom.
Then, while Agatha watched, Anna had slept at intervals, and the elder woman did her best to encourage and comfort the younger.
“It has been a fearsome day and fiery trial for thee, Anna,” Agatha said. “How wilt thou bear the morrow?”