There was an immediate murmur of voices, swelling into a babel of excited cries, accompanied by a sudden blazing up of torches in all directions. By the ruddy light the little party on the ramparts could see hundreds of dark figures racing towards the wall of Ophel, all in a tempest of Eastern fury. “We are lost!” gasped Vashti, her skin, darkened by famine, becoming white now. “Have no fear,” responded Crispus cheerily; and, addressing the three Jews, he said in a rapid, staccato utterance, “Make for the rope--lower the damsel first--descend yourselves--when the last man is down blow your trumpet--AWAY!” With this, Crispus drew his blade; and, taking his station at the head of the steps, glared down like an eagle upon the coming foe. In the full belief that Crispus’ end was at hand Vashti would fain have stayed to die with him, but, heeding not her protests, the three Jews whirled her off her feet and ran like madmen towards the suspended rope, their sole means of escape. It was woe to them if they were caught! The torch-carrying, saber-brandishing multitude halted at the foot of the steps, surprised to see but a single armed Roman, surprised still more that that Roman should be preparing to offer resistance. The stair at the head of which Crispus stood formed the sole access to the battlements; of narrow width it did not permit two men to stand abreast; and, moreover, neither on the one side nor on the other was it provided with a hand-rail. Strong therefore in his position, Crispus felt that he could hold the foe in play for a space of time sufficiently long to enable his confederates to descend the wall; after which it would be a race between himself and the enemy as to which would first reach the rope-encircled battlement. “A Roman! How came he there?” exclaimed one. “Asaph is playing the traitor,” cried a second. “He is admitting the enemy into the city.” “Why, ’tis Crispus the Tribune,” said a third. _Crispus!_ At the sound of that name, a man--the foremost of the crowd--who had just put his foot upon the lowest step, immediately withdrew it in favor of anyone else that chose to mount. Crispus, during the siege, had added to his former fame gained by his defense of the Prætorium of Florus; so quick of limb and eye, so deadly dexterous in fence was he known to be, that it was the confident belief of almost every Zealot present that the first of their number to reach the topmost stair would be a dead man the moment afterwards. Their state of hesitancy was highly favorable to the escaping fugitives. A quick, backward glance on the part of Crispus showed him that the three Jews, having lowered Vashti, were themselves preparing to descend. “Way there!” cried a powerful voice from among the crowd. The throng parted, and a tall, red-bearded figure, armed with sword and shield, mounted the lowest stair and began a wary ascent. His example inspired others to follow. Crispus looked calmly down upon the first of the ascending file.