Nevertheless the example of a true Christian, in the real acceptation of the word, is never without its effect on those who live under its constant influence. Even Eleazar loved and respected his brother more than anything on earth, save his ambition and his creed; while Mariamne, whose trusting and gentle disposition rendered her a willing recipient of those truths which Calchas lost no opportunity of imparting, gradually, and almost insensibly, imbibed the opinions and the belief of one whose everyday practice was so pure, so elevated, and so kindly; to whom, moreover, she was accustomed to look as her counsellor in difficulty, and her refuge in distress.
It was Calchas, then, whose studies she interrupted as he sat with the scroll before him, that was seldom out of his hand, perusing those Syriac characters again and again, as a mariner consults his chart, never weary of storing information for his future course, and verifying the progress he has already made. It was to Calchas she had determined to apply for comfort because Esca came not, and for assistance to see him again—not that she admitted, even to herself, that this was her intention or her wish. Nevertheless, she hovered about the old man’s seat, more caressingly than usual, and finding his attention still riveted on his employment, she laid one hand lightly on his shoulder, and with the other parted the thin grey hair that strayed across his forehead. He looked up with a pleasant smile.
“What is it, little one?” said he, with the endearing diminutive he had used in addressing her from her childhood. “You seem unusually busy with your household affairs to-day. Is this room to be decorated for a guest? My brother makes no acquaintances here in Rome; and we have given no stranger so much as a mouthful of food since we arrived, save that goodly barbarian you brought home with you the other evening. Is he coming again to-night?”
A bright blush swept over her face, yet when it faded, Calchas could not but remark that she was paler than her wont; and her manner, usually so gentle and composed, was now restless, anxious, and ill at ease.
“Nay,” she replied, “what should I know of the barbarian’s movements? It was but a chance meeting that led him to our quiet dwelling in the first instance; and save by the merest accident we are never likely to see him more.”
She turned away while she spoke, trying to steady her voice and give it a tone of cold indifference, but failing utterly in the attempt.
“There is no such power as chance,” said Calchas, looking her keenly in the face.
“I know it,” replied Mariamne, smiling sadly; “and I know, too, that whatever befalls us is for the best. Yet some things are hard to bear, nevertheless. Not that I have aught to complain of,” she added, shrinking instinctively from the very topic she wanted to bring on, “save my constant anxiety for my father in these tumultuous times.”
“He is in God’s hand,” said Calchas, “who will bring him safe through all his perils, though they seem now to environ him as the breakers boil round a stranded galley, when the wild Adriatic is leaping and dashing for its prey. Take [pg 130]comfort, little one; I cannot bear to see your step so listless and your cheek so pale.”
“How can they be otherwise?” returned the girl, not very candidly. “It is a weary lot to be a soldier’s daughter. I could even find it in my heart to wish we had never left Judæa; never come to Rome.”