"Why did I not hear of this sooner?" cried Dorothea reprovingly. "What
have you done to the girl?"

"We have shut her up in the hay loft," answered Jethro, "and there she is
raging and storming."

The mistress shook her head disapprovingly. "The girl will not be
improved by that treatment," she said. "Go and bring her to me."

As soon as the intendant had left the room, she exclaimed, turning to her
husband, "One may well be perplexed about these poor creatures, when one
sees how they behave to each other. I have seen it a thousand times! No
judgment is so hard as that dealt by a slave to slaves!"

Jethro and a woman now led Miriam into the room. The girl's hands were
bound with thick cords, and dry grass clung to her dress and rough black
hair. A dark fire glowed in her eyes, and the muscles of her face moved
incessantly, as if she had St. Vitus' dance. When Dorothea looked at her
she drew herself up defiantly, and looked around the room, as if to
estimate the strength of her enemies.

She then perceived Hermas; the blood left her lips, with a violent effort
she tore her slender hands out of the loops that confined them, covering
her face with them, and fled to the door. But Jethro put himself in her
way, and seized her shoulder with a strong grasp. Miriam shrieked aloud,
and the senator's daughter, who had set down the medicines she had had
in her hand, and had watched the girl's movements with much sympathy,
hastened towards her. She pushed away the old man's hand, and said,
"Do not be frightened, Miriam. Whatever you may have done, my father
can forgive you."