“Nay, Nou, it would not be right. I may lift no hand against my own life, or if perchance I may, I have to think of another life.”
“If you die, the unborn child must die also. To-night or to-morrow, what does it matter?”
“Sufficient to the day is the evil thereof. Who knows? To-morrow Agrippa may be dead, not us, and then the child might live. It is in the hand of God. Let God decide.”
“Lady,” answered Nehushta, setting her teeth, “for your sake I have become a Christian, yes, and I believe. But I tell you this—while I live no lion’s fangs shall tear that dear flesh of yours. First if need be, I will stab you there in the arena, or if they take my knife from me, then I will choke you, or dash out your brains against the posts.”
“It may be a sin, Nou; take no such risk upon your soul.”
“My soul! What do I care about my soul? You are my soul. Your mother was kind to me, the poor slave-girl, and when you were an infant, I rocked you upon my breast. I spread your bride-bed, and if need be, to save you from worse things, I will lay you dead before me and myself dead across your body. Then let God or Satan—I care not which—deal with my soul. At least, I shall have done my best and died faithful.”
“You should not speak so,” sighed Rachel. “But, dear, I know it is because you love me, and I wish to die as easily as may be and to join my husband. Only if the child could have lived, as I think, all three of us would have dwelt together eternally. Nay, not all three, all four, for you are well-nigh as dear to me, Nou, as husband or as child.”
“That cannot be, I do not wish that it should be, who am but a slave woman, the dog beneath the table. Oh! if I could save you, then I would be glad to show them how this daughter of my father can bear their torments.”
The Libyan ceased, grinding her teeth in impotent rage. Then suddenly she leant towards her mistress, kissed her fiercely on the cheek and began to sob, slow, heavy sobs.
“Listen,” said Rachel. “The lions are roaring in their dens yonder.”