Vashti explained, but all to no purpose. Miriam persisted in declaring that Vashti had secreted provisions somewhere in the house, and announced her intention of watching henceforth all her daughter’s movements. Vashti, weak before, was now almost ready to collapse under the shock of this rude encounter, but for Arad’s sake she bravely bore up. Her indignation against her mother passed away after a time, giving place to pity; in taking Arad’s food Miriam had been doing only what she herself had been terribly tempted to do. Though tormented within by a gnawing pain that grew greater with each hour, Vashti, hiding it all under a cheerful mien, sought to make Arad forget his sorrows; she brought out his toys (for children had toys in those days as in these) and played with him; she procured parchment, ink and pens, and drew letters and objects and little pictures for his diversion; she told him simple stories and sang some of the psalms known to him that he might chime in with his little voice. Those psalms recalled the happy twilight hours spent with Crispus, and she sang with a quaver in her voice and tears welling from her eyes, till at last she broke down entirely and sobbed aloud. Seeing his sister cry, Arad naturally cried, too; and, the pangs of hunger asserting themselves, he began his piteous wail for something to eat. “Give us of your store,” said Miriam. “Mother, I have no store.” “Then, find us food,” returned Miriam, raising her voice to a shriek. “You see me and the child starving, and yet you sit idly by doing nothing to prevent it. Are we to die? I am too weak to stir abroad, but you have strength left. There must be food somewhere in the city. Go and find it. Take money, your jewels, your golden zone. Buy--beg--steal, if need be, but bring us food.” In Vashti’s opinion Miriam’s words were mere raving. Of what use was it to wander through the city offering to buy food from a starving populace? He who had bread, would he not keep it? Suddenly she bethought herself of one with whom she had always been a favorite, the benevolent Johanan ben Zacchai, whose two daughters had been her lifelong friends. She would go to their home in Ophel, and, if they should be the happy possessors of food, beg a little of it for the sake of Arad. Kissing him passionately she laid him down, and went forth on this dubious errand. * * * * * The setting sun was tingeing with a golden glow the higher parts of the city as Vashti unbarred the gate of her dwelling, a gate that had not opened for many weeks. The first thing that impressed her was the strange stillness that prevailed around, “_a deep silence and a kind of deadly night_,” to use the language of the contemporary historian. The street was empty; every house, like her own, was shut and barred. Significant fact! What silent tragedies, what scenes of anguish, were taking place behind those closed doors and latticed windows?