“Dost thou know that man with the sinister face,” she said, “who spoke to thee about the dog to-day?” “No,” he replied, “save that he is of the Imperial household, and must not be offended.” “He must be _escaped_,” she replied decidedly. “It is not the dog only that he wants, and he looks a son of Belial. The Imperial household is said to be a sink of iniquity; we must never sell these children into that.” He was silent; heart and conscience were with her, but he murmured sullenly— “I told thee these Gentile strangers were no merchandise for us.” “The God of the fatherless sent them to us,” she replied; “and our own child is fatherless and motherless; and if we suffer God’s orphans to be ruined, how are we to ask Him to care for our own?” “We are no princes now,” he answered, “to have young men and maidens in our service, and beasts of the chase. What would you do?” “They have a tablet from that young Roman officer,” she said. “A letter to his family in a palace on the Aventine.” “What of that?” he grumbled. “I will go to-morrow,” she said, “with the maiden, to see the lady on the Aventine, the young Roman noble’s mother, and tell her all. Perchance she will have compassion on these Christian captives, and help them and us.” “Thou wilt do what seemeth thee best,” he rejoined, in a tone of oppressed acquiescence. “If we are ruined, we are ruined; and the All-Merciful have mercy on thee and our lost child.” Miriam, having gained her point, was too wise to prolong the debate and imperil the victory, which was, she well knew, the victory of his own conscience, by the most brilliant or devout retort. So the next morning early she gently tapped at the door of the rooms where the young captives were, and said— “Put on thy raiment quietly, my daughter, and bring the tablet the young Roman gave thee, and come with me, and let thy brother and the dog follow close behind.” In the dusk of the morning they crossed the Tiber, and gliding along the silent quays at the foot of the Aventine, climbed from their level between the walls of the vineyard and palace gardens till they reached the gate of the house of Fabricius. Eleazar came after them, and stood near them at the gate, in the shadow, a little apart. One or two slaves were stirring, and seemed at first determined not to heed them, but in a few minutes the steward of the household appeared, and demanded what they wanted at that unseasonable hour. “We want thee to bear this epistle instantly to thy lady,” said Miriam; “it is from her son. He gave it us at the city of Troyes, far away in Gaul, to bring hither to her.” The steward looked doubtfully at the group, but nevertheless accepted the tablet, went quickly into the house, and in a few minutes returned with his young mistress. Lucia’s smile reassured them. “Does the matter press?” she asked. “It presses sore,” was Miriam’s reply. “A few hours’ delay may prove the ruin of two innocent lives.”