Then going to the door he summoned Julia, and while Gallus watched without, the two of them prayed long and earnestly with Miriam. When their prayer was finished the bishop rose, blessed her, and bade her farewell.
“I leave you, daughter,” he said, “but though you see him not, another takes my place. Do you believe?”
“I have said that I believe,” murmured Miriam.
Indeed, in those days when men still lived who had seen the Christ and His voice still echoed through the world, to the strong faith of His followers, it was not hard to credit that His angel did descend to earth to protect and save at their Master’s bidding.
So Cyril, the bishop, went, and that night from many a catacomb prayers rose up to Heaven for Miriam in her peril. That night also she slept peacefully.
Two hours before the dawn, Julia awoke her and arrayed her in the glittering, hateful garments. When all was ready, with tears she bade her farewell.
“Child, child,” she said, “you have become to me as my own daughter was, and now I know not how and when we shall meet again.”
“Perhaps sooner than you think,” Miriam answered. “But if not, if, indeed, I speak to you for the last time, why, then, my blessings on you who have played a mother’s part to a helpless maid that was no kin of yours. Yes, and on you Gallus also, who have kept me safe through so many dangers.”
“And who hopes, dear one, to keep you safe through many more. Since I may not swear by the gods before you, I swear it by the Eagles that Domitian will do well to have a care how he deals by you. To him I owe no fealty and, as has been proved before to-day, the sword of vengeance can reach the heart of princes.”
“Aye, Gallus,” said Miriam gently, “but let it not be your sword, nor, I trust, shall you need to think of vengeance.”