“It is indeed you, Nehushta?” said his well-remembered voice.
“Who else?” she asked.
“And that lady who sleeps at your side?”
“Once they called her Queen of the Essenes; now she is a hunted fugitive, waiting to be massacred by Simon, or John, or Eleazer, or Zealots, or Sicarii, or any other of the holy cut-throats who inhabit this Holy City,” answered Nehushta bitterly.
Ithiel raised his hands as though in thankfulness, then said:
“Hush! hush! Here the very birds are spies. Brother, creep to that rock and look if any men are moving.”
The Essene obeyed, and answered, “None; and they cannot see us from the wall.”
Ithiel motioned to him to return.
“Does she sleep sound?” he asked of Nehushta, pointing to Miriam.
“Like the dead.”