Pearl-Maiden: A Tale of the Fall of Jerusalem. Генри Райдер Хаггард

of Marcus grew quite pale and stern.

      “It seems,” he said severely, “that it is not I who mock. Tell me, lady, what do you with these things?” and he pointed to the statuettes.

      “I, sir? I sell them; or at least my uncles do.”

      “The money is given to the poor,” interposed Ithiel.

      “Would it be rude to ask at what price?”

      “Sometimes,” replied Ithiel with pride, “travellers have given me as much as a silver shekel.[*] Once indeed, for a group of camels with their Arabian drivers, I received four shekels; but that took my niece three months to do.”

      [*] About 2s. 6d. of English money.

      “A shekel! Four shekels!” said Marcus in a voice of despair; “I will buy them all—no, I will not, it would be robbery. And this bust?”

      “That, sir, is not for sale; it is a gift to my uncle, or rather to my uncles, to be set up in their court-room.”

      An idea struck Marcus. “I am here for a few weeks,” he said. “Tell me, lady, if your uncle Ithiel will permit it, at what price will you execute a bust of myself of the same size and quality?”

      “It would be dear,” said Miriam, smiling at the notion, “for the marble costs something, and the tools, which wear out. Oh, it would be very dear!” This she repeated, wondering what she could ask in her charitable avarice. “It would be——” yes, she would venture it—“fifty shekels!”

      “I am poor enough,” replied Marcus quietly, “but I will give you two hundred.”

      “Two hundred!” gasped Miriam. “It is absurd. I could never accept two hundred shekels for a piece of stonework. Then indeed you might say that you had fallen among thieves on the banks of Jordan. No. If my uncles will permit it and there is time, I will do my poor best for fifty—only, sir, I advise you against it, since to win that bad likeness you must sit for many weary hours.”

      “So be it,” said Marcus. “As soon as I get to any civilised place I will send you enough commissions to make the beggars in these parts rich for life, and at a very different figure. Let us begin at once.”

      “Sir, I have no leave.”

      “The matter,” explained Ithiel, “must be laid before the Court of Curators, which will decide upon it to-morrow. Meanwhile, as we are talking here, I see no harm if my niece chooses to work a lump of clay, which can be broken up later should the Court in its wisdom refuse your request.”

      “I hope for its own sake that the Court in its wisdom will not be such a fool,” muttered Marcus to himself; adding aloud, “Lady, where shall I place myself? You will find me the best of sitters. Have I not the great Glaucus for a friend—until I show him this work of yours?”

      “If you will, sir, be seated on that stool and be pleased to look towards me.”

      “I am your servant,” said Marcus, in a cheerful voice; and the sitting began.