The Jewess murmured a low farewell. The two priests hurriedly returned to the temple gate. She heard it closed and bolted. One of her new companions caught her by the hand.
“Come, little lady; Isaiah is near by with the carriage.”
But at that touch, instinct, surer than knowledge, flashed a warning. The Jewess did not follow.
“Who are you?” she demanded, for the first time wavering, “which of my father’s servants? Your voices are strange.”
“Merciful Jehovah!” protested the other, tightening his grasp at the word, “do you not know the voice of your dear Simeon?”
“You are not Simeon,” cried the girl, startled now in truth. “I do not understand. I will not go with you.”
But a woman’s cracked voice piped at her elbow. “Come, pretty gosling; the carriage is ready. No fears; your friends provide everything!”
It needed no more to make Ruth’s lips open in a piercing scream, a second, a third, before three pairs of rude hands plucked her round the throat and almost throttled her.
“Curses on you, Binit,” the first speaker was muttering, “for croaking so soon! Off with her; the priests are rousing!”