No, there was but one chance for them—to conceal themselves.
Nehushta looked round her for a hiding-place, and in this matter, as in others on that day, fortune favoured them. This street in the old days, when Cæsarea was called Strato’s Tower, had been built upon an inner wall of the city, now long dismantled. At a distance of a few yards from where Nehushta had stopped stood an ancient gateway, unused save at times by beggars who slept under it, which led nowhere, for the outer arch of it was bricked up. Into this gateway Nehushta bore her mistress unobserved, to find to her relief that it was quite untenanted, though a still smouldering fire and a broken amphora containing clean water showed her that folk had slept there who could find no better lodging. So far so good; but here it would be scarcely safe to hide, as the tenants or others might come back. Nehushta looked around. In the thick wall was a little archway, beneath which commenced a stair. Setting Rachel on the ground, she ran up it, lightly as a cat. At the top of thirty steps, many of them broken, she found an old and massive door. With a sigh of disappointment, the Libyan turned to descend again; then, by an afterthought, pushed at the door. To her surprise it stirred. Again she pushed, and it swung open. Within was a large chamber, lighted by loopholes pierced in the thickness of the wall, for the use of archers. Now, however, it served no military purpose, but was used as a storehouse by a merchant of grain, for there in a corner lay a heap of many measures of barley, and strewn about the floor were sacks of skin and other articles.
Nehushta examined the room. No hiding-place could be better—unless the merchant chanced to come to visit his store. Well, that must be risked. Down she sped, and with much toil and difficulty carried her still swooning mistress up the steps and into the chamber, where she laid her on a heap of sacks.
Again, by an afterthought, she ventured to descend, this time to fetch the broken jar of water. Then she closed the door, setting it fast with a piece of wood, and began to chafe Rachel’s hands and to sprinkle her face from the jar. Presently the dark eyes opened and her mistress sat up.
“Is it over, and is this Paradise?” she murmured.
“I should not call the place by that name, lady,” answered Nehushta, drily, “though perhaps, in contrast with the hell that we have left, some might think it so. Drink!” and she held the water to her lips.
Rachel obeyed her eagerly. “Oh! it is good,” she said. “But how came we here out of that rushing crowd?”
Before she answered, muttering “After the mistress, the maid,” Nehushta swallowed a deep draught of water in her turn, which, indeed, she needed sorely. Then she told her all.
“Oh! Nou,” said Rachel, “how strong and brave you are! But for you I should be dead.”
“But for God, you mean, mistress, for I hold that He sent that knife-point home.”