"Daughter of Balthasar," he said, with dignity, "if this be the
game of which you spoke to me, take the chaplet--I accord it
yours. Only let us make an end of words. That you have a purpose
I am sure. To it, I pray, and I will answer you; then let us go
our several ways, and forget we ever met. Say on; I will listen,
but not to more of that which you have given me."
She regarded him intently a moment, as if determining what to
do--possibly she might have been measuring his will--then she
said, coldly, "You have my leave--go."
"Peace to you," he responded, and walked away.
As he was about passing out of the door, she called to him.
"A word."
He stopped where he was, and looked back.
"Consider all I know about you."
"O most fair Egyptian," he said, returning, "what all do you know
about me?"
She looked at him absently.
"You are more of a Roman, son of Hur, then any of your Hebrew
brethren."
"Am I so unlike my countrymen?" he asked, indifferently.
"The demi-gods are all Roman now," she rejoined.
"And therefore you will tell me what more you know about me?"
"The likeness is not lost upon me. It might induce me to save you."
"Save me!"
The pink-stained fingers toyed daintily with the lustrous pendant
at the throat, and her voice was exceeding low and soft; only a
tapping on the floor with her silken sandal admonished him to
have a care.
"There was a Jew, an escaped galley-slave, who killed a man in
the Palace of Idernee," she began, slowly.
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