At this name the dim form beneath her seemed to quiver, and the lips muttered, “Now I know that I am dead. Well, it is better than I hoped for. Speak on, sweet shade of Miriam.”
“Nay, Marcus, you are not dead, you are only wounded and I am not a spirit, I am a woman, that woman whom once you knew down by the banks of Jordan. I have come to save you, I and Nehushta. If you will obey what I tell you, and if you have the strength to stand, we can guide you into a secret place where the Essenes are hidden, who for my sake will take care of you until you are able to return to the Romans. If you do not escape I fear that the Jews will crucify you.”
“By Bacchus, so do I,” said the whisper beneath, “and that will be worse than being beaten by Caleb. But this is a dream, I know it is a dream. If it were Miriam I should see her, or be able to touch her. It is but a dream of Miriam. Let me dream on,” and he turned his head.
Miriam thought for a moment. Time was short and it was necessary to make him understand. Well, it was not difficult. Slowly she bent a little lower and pressed her lips upon his.
“Marcus,” she went on, “I kiss you now to show you that I am no dream and how needful it is that you should be awakened. Had I light I could prove to you that I am Miriam by your ring which is upon my fingers and your pearls which are about my neck.”
“Cease,” he answered, “most beloved, I was weak and wandering, now I know that this is not a dream, and I thank Caleb who has brought us together again, against his wish, I think. Say, what must I do?”
“Can you stand?” asked Miriam.
“Perhaps. I am not sure. I will try.”
“Nay, wait. Nehushta, come hither; you are stronger than I. Now, while I unlatch the secret door, do you lift him up. Be swift, I hear the guard stirring without.”
Nehushta glided forward and knelt by the wounded man, placing her arms beneath him.