Bewildered by this new blow, she took her seat in silence, a cup in each hand. She strove to collect her thoughts. Poison to Mary or death to herself! That was the alternative. Her nature was impulsive and passionate. She reached her conclusions quickly, and she acted upon them instantaneously. “What is my wretched life worth in comparison with hers?” was the silent language of her heart, “What attraction has life for me, poor, guilty, forlorn, forsaken thing?” She drank from the cup intended for Mary. “What is the matter,” said my sister, who had noticed her singular abstraction and agitation. “What are you drinking?” “Only some milk. I was so frightened by that terrible man that I forgot what I was doing. Excuse me for drinking first. Here is a cup for you.” The unsuspecting child drank it eagerly, having passed the whole day suffering from both hunger and thirst. Taken after fasting, poisons act quickly. It was not long before Mary Magdalen began to have strange swimmings in the head and benumbing sensations along the course of all her nerves. She felt sure that her death was approaching. “Mary,” said the brave girl, “when you are delivered from these dangers and your brother comes home and I go away, will you remember me sometimes?” “You will not go away.” “Oh yes. I shall go away, far, far away.” “You shall live with us always,” said Mary. “I cannot! I cannot! When I am gone, and they tell you evil and cruel things of me, will you think of me kindly and love me still?” “I will not believe them.” “But if you should believe them, would you love me still? I cannot live without your love.” “I will love you for ever,” said Mary, throwing her arms around her neck. “Why do you speak so sadly? You frighten me. What is the matter?” “I am sleepy, so sleepy,” said Mary Magdalen, stretching herself on the couch. Mary knelt at her side, chafing her hands, with some vague foreboding rising on her mind. “Oh do not go to sleep so early. Do not leave me alone in the dark. Talk to me.” “Mary,” said the stupefied woman slowly and with difficulty, “does Jehovah who accepts the offering of a contrite heart, ever receive into his heaven a very great sinner?” “Certainly, certainly!” said the child. “Then pray for me.” No words, no shaking, no supplications, no frantic screams could arouse her again; and Mary beat her bosom and tore her hair in the extremity of grief at the side of her inanimate friend. About an hour before midnight four men stood in the inner courtyard of my father’s house. Caiaphas and Simon Magus were engaged in earnest conversation. Magistus turned to the black mute whom he had compelled to accompany him everywhere, and said: “I shall go half a day’s journey with Simon. We will start now in ten minutes. Haste to the stables where his chariot and servant are in waiting. Drive quietly around to the front gate of this house. Here is the key to Ulema’s chamber. After we have gone, not before, give those women some food.”