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. URIEL ACOSTA PART I GABRIEL DA COSTA I Gabriel Da Costa pricked his horse gently with the spur, and dashing down the long avenue of cork-trees, strove to forget the torment of spiritual problems in the fury of physical movement, to leave theology behind with the monasteries and chapels of Porto. He rode with grace and fire, this beautiful youth with the flashing eyes, and the dark hair flowing down the silken doublet, whom a poet might have feigned an image of the passionate spring of the South, but for whose own soul the warm blue sky of Portugal, the white of the almond blossoms, the pink of the peach sprays, the delicate odors of buds, and the glad clamor of birds made only a vague background to a whirl of thoughts. No; it was impossible to believe that by confessing his sins as the Church prescribed he could obtain a plenary absolution. If salvation was to be secured only by particular rules, why, then, one might despair of salvation altogether. And, perhaps, eternal damnation was indeed his destiny, were it only for his doubts, and in despite of all his punctilious mechanical worship. Oh, for a deliverer--a deliverer from the questionings that made the splendid gloom of cathedrals a darkness for the captive spirit! Those cursed Jesuits, zealous with the zealotry of a new order! His blood flamed as he thought of their manœuvrings, and putting his hand to his holster, where hung a pair of silver-mounted pistols marked with his initial, he drew out one and took flying aim at a bird on a twig, pleasing himself with the foolish fancy that 'twas Ignatius Loyola. But though a sure marksman, he had not the heart to hurt any living thing, and changing with the swiftness of a flash he shot at the twig instead, snapping it off.