“I do say it and I am thankful. Have you any food?”
“Yes, a piece of dried meat and barley bread, which chanced to be in my robe when I was captured. Take them and eat.”
“Nay, Miriam, that desire has gone from me, nor do I wish to live, whose days are done. But save the food, for doubtless they will starve you also. And, look, there is water in that jar, they gave it me to make me live the longer. Drink, drink while you can, who to-morrow may be thirsty.”
For a time there was silence, while the tears that gathered in Miriam’s eyes fell upon the old man’s face.
“Weep not for me,” he said presently, “who go to my rest. How came you here?”
She told him as briefly as she might.
“You are a brave woman,” he said when she had finished, “and that Roman owes you much. Now I, Theophilus, who am about to die, call down the blessing of God upon you, and upon him also for your sake, for your sake. The shield of God be over you in the slaughter and the sorrow.”
Then he shut his eyes and either could not or would not speak again.
Miriam drank of the pitcher of water, for her thirst was great. Crouched at the side of the old Essene, she watched him till at length the door opened, and two gaunt, savage-looking men entered, who went to where Theophilus lay and kicked him brutally.
“What would you now?” he said, opening his eyes.