They clung to each other—the noble Pagan soul and the warm Jewish heart at one over the Christian's grave.
Suddenly bells began to ring in the city. Miriam started and disengaged herself.
"I must go," she said hurriedly.
"It is but Ave Maria," said Helena. "Thou hast no vespers to sing."
Miriam touched the yellow badge on her head. "Nay, but the gates will be closing, sister."
"Alas, I had forgotten. I had thought we might always be together henceforth. I will accompany thee so far as I may, sister."
They hastened from the lonely, unblessed grave, holding each other's hand.
The shadows fell. It was almost dark by the time they reached the Ghetto.
Miriam had barely slipped in when the gates shut with a harsh clang, severing them through the long night.