Concealing the precious fragment within her bosom, Vashti descended the stairway, passing by her mother again, who looked at her with the same listless, mechanical stare as before. Under that dreadful look Vashti felt like a traitress. A struggle began in her breast. Was it right to conceal this discovery from her mother? Was she not entitled to a share of the crust? Yes, if she would be content with a share, but supposing in her fierce hunger she should seize upon the whole? _There_ was Vashti’s fear. Affection bade her choose between her mother and Arad, and the latter prevailed. It went to her heart to leave her mother dying there, but it would go to her heart still more to see little Arad robbed of his last morsel by the mother who bore him. As Vashti entered the chamber the little fellow turned his eyes eagerly upon her. She stole to his pallet. “See! here is a large cake of bread; but it is hard, and must be softened before you can eat it.” And then, dreading lest her mother’s ears should be caught by these doings, she added in a whisper, “Hush! do not talk, darling. Lie still, and you shall have it soon.” Having rendered the bread eatable by moistening it with water, tormented the while by a fearful longing to devour it herself, she handed the whole to Arad. There were many fathers among the besieging Romans outside, men of humane disposition, despite their warlike calling. Could they have witnessed the joy with which the little fellow swallowed the not very palatable morsels, they would surely have loaded their balistæ, not with stones, but with loaves, and have rained them upon the roof of Miriam’s dwelling. “Eat slowly,” said Vashti, “or ’twill do you hurt.” She had scarcely said this when a scream broke from her. Between her and Arad there had suddenly dropped a skinny hand, a hand that clutched greedily at the bread, a hand belonging to the figure whom Vashti had thought to be still crouching upon the floor of the next apartment. Arad, instinctively divining that he was about to be robbed of his meal, crammed one end of the crust into his mouth. “Give it to me,” shrieked Miriam, tugging at the other end with such force as to drag the child from off his pallet. Arad hung with his teeth upon the crust; it suddenly parted, and Miriam, securing her own piece, swallowed it with a wolfish gusto dreadful to witness, while Vashti looked on in fear and trembling. “Oh, mother! mother!” she gasped. “How could you do it?” Arad, frightened almost to death by his mother’s deed and look, clung to his sister, who strove to soothe his grief. “It is as I have suspected,” said Miriam. “You are hiding food from me to satisfy yourself and Arad, while I, your mother, may starve.” “Not so, mother.” “Will you deny what mine eyes have seen? Show me the way to your secret store.” “I have no secret store.” “Whence, then, did you obtain this bread?”