“Do I dream?” he said.
“Nay, Marcus,” she answered in her sweet voice, “you do not dream. I am Miriam.”
In an instant he was at her side and held her in his arms, nor did she resist him, for after so many fears and sufferings they seemed to her a home.
“Loose me, I pray you,” she said at length, “I am faint, I can bear no more.”
At her entreaty he suffered her to sink upon the cushions of a couch that was at hand.
“Tell me, tell me everything,” he said.
“Ask it of Nehushta,” she answered, leaning back. “I am spent.”
Nehushta ran to her side and began to chafe her hands. “Let be with your questions,” she said. “I bought her, that’s enough. Ask that old huckster, Stephanus, the price. But first in the name of charity give her food. Those who have walked through a Triumph to end the day on the slave block need victuals.”
“It is here, it is here,” Marcus said confusedly, “such as there is.” Taking a lamp he led the way to a table that was placed in the shadow, where stood some meat and fruit with flagons of rich coloured wine and pure water and shallow silver cups to drink from.
Putting her arm about Miriam’s waist, Nehushta supported her to the table and sat her down upon one of the couches. Then she poured out wine and put it to her lips, and cut meat and made her swallow it till Miriam would touch no more. Now the colour came back to her face, and her eyes grew bright again, and resting there upon the couch, she listened while Nehushta told Marcus all the story of the slave sale.