Miriam straightened herself and grew bold.
“One which Marcus sent me,” she answered.
“I guessed as much. I have heard of him; he has become a creature of the mad Nero, the laughing-stock of Rome.”
“I do not laugh at him, Caleb.”
“No, you were ever faithful. But, say, do you laugh at me?”
“Indeed not; why should I, since you seem to fill a great and dangerous part with dignity?”
“Yes, Miriam, my part is both great and dangerous. I have risen high and I mean to rise higher.”
“How high?”
“To the throne of Judæa.”
“I think a cottage stool would be more safe, Caleb.”