Upon the houses here and there clouds of dust told where the struggle was yet prolonged.

The cohort was, for the most part, standing at rest, its splendor, like its ranks, in nowise diminished.

Borne past the point of care for himself, Judah had heart for nothing in view but the prisoners, among whom he looked in vain for his mother and Tirzah.
Suddenly, from the earth where she had been lying, a woman arose and started swiftly back to the gate.

Some of the guards reached out to seize her, and a great shout followed their failure.

She ran to Judah, and, dropping down, clasped his knees, the coarse black hair powdered with dust veiling her eyes.
"O Amrah, good Amrah," he said to her, "God help you; I cannot." She could not speak.
He bent down, and whispered, "Live, Amrah, for Tirzah and my mother.
They will come back, and--" A soldier drew her away; whereupon she sprang up and rushed through the gateway and passage into the vacant court-yard.
"Let her go," the officer shouted.