But, woman, who are you ?" "I am one shipwrecked!" answered Nehushta, "and I bear with me a new-born babe--nay, the story is too long to tell you; but if in this place there is any one who can nurse the babe, I will pay her well." "Give it me!" said the woman, in an eager whisper; "my child perished in the slaughter; I ask no reward." Nehushta looked at her.

Her eyes were wild, but she was still young and healthy, a Syrian peasant.
"Have you a house ?" she asked.
"Yes, it still stands, and my husband lives; we hid in a cave, but alas! they slew the infant that was out with the child of a neighbour.

Quick, give me the babe." So Nehushta gave it to her, and thus Miriam was nurtured at the breast of one whose offspring had been murdered because the head of the village had quarrelled with a Roman tax-collector.

Such was the world in the days when Christ came to save it.
After she had suckled the child the woman led Nehushta to her house, a humble dwelling that had escaped the fire, where they found the husband, a wine-grower, mourning the death of his infant and the ruin of his town.

To him she told as much of her story as she thought well, and proffered him a gold piece, which, so she swore, was one of ten she had about her.