“In the past I have worked you evil and often striven to take your life. Now it has come to my ears that Domitian, who hates you even worse than I do, if for less reason, has laid a plot to murder you on the threshold of your own house. Therefore, by way of amends for that evidence which I gave against you that stained the truth, since no braver man ever breathed than you are, Marcus, it has come into my mind to visit the Palace Fortunate wrapped in such a cloak as you Roman captains wear. There, before you read this letter, perhaps we shall meet again. Still, mourn me not, Marcus, nor speak of me as generous, or noble, since Miriam is dead, and I who have followed her through life desire to follow her through death, hoping that there I may find a kinder fortune at her hands, or if not, forgetfulness. You who will live long, must drink deep of memory—a bitterer cup. Marcus, farewell. Since die I must, I would that it had been in open fight beneath your sword, but Fate, who has given me fortune, but no true favour, appoints me to the daggers of assassins that seek another heart. So be it. You tarry here, but I travel to Miriam. Why should I grumble at the road? “Caleb. “Written at Rome upon the night of my death.” “A brave man and a bitter,” said Marcus when he had finished reading. “Know, my father, that I am more jealous of him now than ever I was in his life’s days. Had it not been for you and your preaching,” he added angrily, “when he came to seek Miriam, he would have found me at her side. But now, how can I tell?” “Peace to your heathen talk!” answered the bishop. “Is the land of spirits then such as your poets picture, and do the dead turn to each other with eyes of earthly passion? Yet,” he added more gently, “I should not blame you who, like this poor Jew, from childhood have been steeped in superstitions. Have no fear of his rivalry in the heavenly fields, friend Marcus, where neither do they marry or are given in marriage, nor think that self-murder can help a man. What the end of all this tale may be does not yet appear; still I am certain that yonder Caleb will take no gain in hurrying down to death, unless indeed he did it from a nobler motive than he says, as I for one believe.” “I trust that it may be so,” answered Marcus, “although in truth that another man should die for me gives me no comfort. Rather would I that he had left me to my doom.” “As God has willed so it has befallen, for ‘man’s goings are of the Lord; how then can a man understand his own way?’” replied Cyril with a sigh. “Now let us to other matters, for time is short and it comes upon me that you will do well to be clear of Rome before Domitian finds that Caleb fell in place of Marcus.”