“Why should it be denied?” he asked softly and coming towards her. “Is there not much between you and me? Did not you, brave and blessed woman that you are, risk your life for my sake in the Old Tower at Jerusalem? Did you not for my sake stand there upon the gate Nicanor to perish miserably? And I, though it be little, have I not done something for you? Have I not so soon as your message reached me, journeyed here to Rome, at the cost, perhaps, of what I value more than life—my honour?”
“Your honour?” she asked. “Why your honour?”
“Because those who have been taken prisoner by the enemy and escaped are held to be cowards among the Romans,” he answered bitterly, “and it may be that such a lot awaits me.”
“Coward! You a coward, Marcus?”
“Aye. When it is known that I live, that is what my enemies will call me who lived on for your sake, Miriam—for the sake of a woman who denies me.”
“Oh!” she said, “this is bitter. Now I remember and understand what Gallus meant.”
“Then will you still deny me? Must I suffer thus in vain? Think, had it not been for you I could have stayed afar until the thing was forgotten, that is, if I still chose to live; but now, because of you, things are thus, and yet, Miriam—you deny me,” and he put his arms about her and drew her to his breast.
She did not struggle, she had no strength, only she wrung her hands and sobbed, saying:
“What shall I do? Woe is me, what shall I do?”
“Do?” said the voice of Nehushta, speaking clear as a clarion from the shadows. “Do your duty, girl, and leave the rest to Heaven.”