"Tirzah, Tirzah! What will become of us?"
She had not seen the occurrence below, but was listening to the shouting and watching the mad activity of the people in view on the houses. Something terrible was going on, she knew; but what it was, or the cause, or that she or any of those dear to her were in danger, she did not know.
"What has happened? What does it all mean?" she asked, in sudden alarm.
"I have killed the Roman governor. The tile fell upon him."
An unseen hand appeared to sprinkle her face with the dust of ashes it grew white so instantly. She put her arm around him, and looked wistfully, but without a word, into his eyes. His fears had passed to her, and the sight of them gave him strength.
"I did not do it purposely, Tirzah—it was an accident," he said, more calmly.
"What will they do?" she asked.
He looked off over the tumult momentarily deepening in the street and on the roofs, and thought of the sullen countenance of Gratus. If he were not dead, where would his vengeance stop? And if he were dead, to what height of fury would not the violence of the people lash the legionaries? To evade an answer, he peered over the parapet again, just as the guard were assisting the Roman to remount his horse.
"He lives, he lives, Tirzah! Blessed be the Lord God of our fathers!"
With that outcry, and a brightened countenance, he drew back and replied to her question.
"Be not afraid, Tirzah. I will explain how it happened, and they will remember our father and his services, and not hurt us."
He was leading her to the summer-house, when the roof jarred under their feet, and a crash of strong timbers being burst away, followed by a cry of surprise and agony, arose apparently from the court-yard below. He stopped and listened. The cry was repeated; then came a rush of many feet, and voices lifted in rage blent with voices in prayer; and then the screams of women in mortal terror.
