To the bold spirit of Maccabeus there was something congenial in the adventurous kind of existence which he led, and yet he was not one who would have adopted a guerrilla life from choice. As even in a hard and rocky waste there are spots where rich vegetation betrays some source of hidden nourishment below, and they who dig deep enough under the surface find a spring of bright pure living waters,—so deep within the Asmonean's heart lay a hidden source of tenderness which prevented his nature from becoming hardened by the stern necessities of warfare. This secret affection made the warrior more chivalrous to women, more indulgent to the weak, more compassionate to all who suffered. In the moment of triumph, "Will not Zarah rejoice?" was the thought which made victory more sweet; in preservation from imminent danger, the thought, "Zarah has been praying for me," made deliverance doubly welcome. When the evening star gleamed in the sky, its pure soft guiding orb seemed to Judas an emblem of Zarah; as he gazed on it, the warrior would indulge in delicious musings. This desperate warfare might not last for ever. If the Lord of Sabaoth should bless the arms of His servants; might not the time come when swords should be beaten into ploughshares, when children should play fearlessly in pastures which no oppressor's foot should tread, and the sound of bridal rejoicings be heard in the land of the free? Hopes so intensely delightful would then steal over the Asmonean's soul, that he would suddenly start like a sentinel who finds himself dropping asleep on his post. How dared the leader of Israel's forlorn hope indulge in reveries which made him feel how precious a thing life might be to himself, when he had freely devoted that life to the service of God and his country? When David was engaged in rescuing his flock from the lion and the bear, did he stop to gather the lilies of the field? "It is well," thought Judas Maccabeus, "that I have never told Zarah what is in my heart; if I fall, as I shall probably fall, on the field of conflict, I would not leave her to the grief of a widow."

An event was at hand which was felt as a heavy blow by all to whom the cause of Israel was dear, but more especially so by the Asmonean brethren, who from their childhood had regarded their father with reverence and affection.

Mattathias was an aged man, and though his spirit never sank under toil and hardship, his constitution soon gave way under their effects. The patriarch felt that his days, nay, that his hours, were numbered, and summoned his sons around him to hear his last wishes, and to receive his parting blessing.

In a cave near the foot of a mountain, stretched upon a soft couch of skins of animals slain in the chase, lay the venerable man. The pallor of death was already on his face, but its expression was tranquil and calm. The aged pilgrim looked like one who feels indeed that he has God's rod and staff to lean on while he is passing through the valley of the shadow of death. The full glare of noonday was glowing on the world without, but softened and subdued was the light which struggled into the cave, and fell on the form of the dying man, and the stalwart figures of the Asmonean brothers bending in mute sorrow around their honoured parent.

Mattathias bade his sons raise him a little, that he might speak to them with more ease. Jonathan and Eleazar, kneeling, supported him in their arms; while their three brothers, in the same attitude of respect, listened silently at his side to the patriarch's farewell address.

I shall not dare to add words of my own to those which the historian has preserved as the dying utterances of this noble old man—a hero, and the father of heroes. I give them as they fell upon the ears of Judas Maccabeus and his brothers, who received them as Joseph received the parting blessing of Israel.

"Now hath pride and rebuke gotten strength, and the time of destruction, and the wrath of indignation. Now, therefore, my sons, be ye zealous for the law, and give your lives for the covenant of your fathers. Call to remembrance what acts our fathers did in their time, so shall ye receive great honour and an everlasting name.

"Was not Abraham found faithful in temptation, and it was imputed unto him for righteousness. Elias, for being zealous and fervent for the law, was taken up into heaven. Ananias, Azarias, and Misael, by believing, were saved out of the flame. Daniel, for his innocence, was delivered from the mouth of the lion. And thus, consider ye, throughout all ages, that none that put their trust in Him shall be overcome. Wherefore, ye my sons, be valiant, and show yourselves men in behalf of the law; for by it ye shall obtain glory."

The old man paused, as if to gather strength, and then stretching forth his wasted hand towards Simon, his second son, he went on:

"Behold, I know that your brother Simon is a man of counsel; give ear unto him alway; he shall be a father unto you."

Then the hand was again extended, and this time laid on the bowed head of Maccabeus:

"As for Judas Maccabeus," said the dying man, in firmer accents, as if the very name inspired him with vigour, "he hath been mighty and strong, even from his youth up; let him be your captain, and fight the battle of the people."

There was no murmur of dissent, not even a glance of jealousy from the eye of the generous Johannan, when his younger brothers were thus preferred before him, as superior in those qualities with which leaders should be endowed. Johannan knew, and was content to acknowledge, that the wisdom of Simon and the military talents of Judas far exceeded his own; he would serve with them, and serve under them, cheerfully submissive to the will of God and the counsels of his father. We find not the slightest trace of jealous rivalry amongst that glorious band of brethren, who all shared the privilege of suffering—three of dying—for their country.

Then, after solemnly blessing his five sons, Mattathias departed in peace, as one who has fought a good fight, and kept the faith to the end. Great lamentation was made throughout Judaea for him in whom the nation had lost a parent. The sons of Mattathias carried his body to Modin, and buried it in the sepulchre of his fathers.

In after-times of prosperity and peace Simon raised a fair monument of marble, in the form of seven lofty pillars, which could be seen from afar by those sailing over the blue waters of the Mediterranean. The Asmonean prince placed this memorial there in honour of his parents and their five sons, after Jonathan, Eleazar, and Judas Maccabeus had sealed with their brave blood the testimony of their devotion to the cause of faith and of freedom.



CHAPTER X.

CONCEALMENT.

We will now return to the quiet dwelling-place of Hadassah, where Lycidas day by day was becoming more hopelessly entangled in the silken meshes which kept him a willing captive in the Hebrew home. The very danger of his position served to add to its charms; it was with keen gratification that the Greek marked the anxiety which Zarah felt on his account. Whenever Lycidas emerged from his "den," Zarah kept careful watch as she sat at her wheel near the front entrance of the dwelling, ready to give timely notice of the approach of any intruder. The wave of the maiden's hand gave sufficient warning to the Greek. The view from the doorway commanded a long enough tract of road to render it impossible for any visitor to enter the house so suddenly as to prevent Lycidas, thus warned, from having time to retreat behind his curtain.

An occasion, however, arose when the gentle sentinel was at last found off her guard. Resting on his arm, with his form half reclining on the floor, Lycidas was giving to Hadassah an account of the defence of Thermopylae, while his eyes were fixed on Zarah, who sat listening with her whole attention absorbed by the thrilling tale, when Abishai, breathless with excitement, rushed so suddenly into the house that Zarah was not aware of his coming in time to give her accustomed signal. It was Hadassah who heard the sound of rapid footsteps, though not till they had almost crossed the threshold. With great presence of mind the widow flung over Lycidas a large striped mantle of goat-hair, which she was preparing for Judas Maccabeus, should any opportunity arise of conveying it to the Asmonean leader. Hadassah then shifted her position, so as to interpose her own form between her guest and the door. These movements were so rapid as to take less time in the action than the narration.

"Why, child, you look as much startled and terrified as if the Syrians were upon you!" exclaimed Abishai to Zarah, catching sight of her look of terror; his own eyes were flashing with triumph, and his gestures betrayed his excitement as he continued, "I bring you tidings of victory—glorious victory—achieved by our hero, Judas Maccabeus! Apollonius—may the graves of his fathers be polluted!—Apollonius, who tore down the dwellings near Mount Zion to make fortifications of the stones—he himself is laid low! The murderer, the oppressor, the instrument of a tyrant, and almost more hateful than the tyrant himself, now lies in his gore, and his mighty army has fled before the warriors of Judah!"

"The Lord of Hosts be praised!" exclaimed Hadassah; "tell us, my son, of the fight," and she motioned to Abishai to take his seat beside her, so that his back should be turned towards Lycidas. The Jew seated himself so near to the Greek that the folds of his upper garment touched the mantle under which Lycidas lay crouched. If Abishai but moved his hand a few inches, he must feel that a warm and living form was concealed under the goats' hair stripes.

"How your cheek changes colour, child!" exclaimed Abishai, surveying with surprise his young niece, who could not disguise her terror, nor prevent her knees from trembling beneath her as she stood in the doorway. "You have no cause to fear; Maccabeus is not even wounded. Apollonius met him in fight, and fell by his hand. Henceforth Judas, it is said, declares that he will always use as his own the sword which he took from the vanquished Syrian. As David said when he grasped that of Goliath, "There is no weapon like that."

Zarah scarcely heard the words addressed to her. One thought possessed her mind to the exclusion of every other—the peril of the wounded Athenian. Should any sound or movement betray his presence to her fanatic uncle, she knew that the doom of Lycidas would be sealed, for he was yet by far too weak to defend himself with the faintest chance of success, and his recumbent position rendered him utterly helpless.

Hadassah anxiously watched the countenance of Zarah, and read the thoughts passing within. Fearing that the maiden would faint where she stood, Hadassah motioned to her to come closer to her and take her seat at her feet. Zarah obeyed, taking care to be near enough to Abishai to catch him by the knees, and with what little strength she possessed at least to impede his movements should he discover the presence of the Greek.

"Judas has brought great honour to our race," exclaimed Abishai, who attributed the emotion of his niece to a cause very different from the real one; "in his acts he is like a lion, and like a lion's whelp roaring for his prey. He has pursued the wicked, and sought them out; he has destroyed the ungodly, thrown down their altars, and turned away wrath from Israel."

"He is a mighty instrument in the hands of the Lord," said Hadassah.

"Is he not something more?" exclaimed Abishai, his manner becoming yet more excited; "may not the time for the great deliverance be come, and the great Deliverer be amongst us, of whom it is written, Mine own arm brought salvation unto Me; and My fury, it upheld Me. And I will tread down the people in Mine anger, and make them drunk in My fury, and I will bring down their strength to the earth" (Isa. lxiii. 5, 6). Wild hope gleamed in the Hebrew's fierce eyes as he spoke, and he started upright on his feet.

"Shame to you, son of Nathan," said Hadassah with dignity, "you speak like one who knows not the writings of the Prophets. He that shall come, the Messiah, is to be of the tribe of Judah, not that of Levi (Isa. xi. 1), shall be born at Bethlehem, not at Modin (Mic. v. 11). Nor have the prophetical weeks of Daniel yet run out. Know therefore and understand, that from the going forth of the commandment to restore and to build Jerusalem unto the Messiah the Prince shall be seven weeks, and threescore and two weeks (Dan. ix. 25). The set time is not come."

The wild animation of Abishai sank under the calm rebuke of one who as much excelled him in knowledge and intellectual power, as he surpassed her in physical strength. He looked abashed at being convicted of ignorance of prophetic writings.

"You know, O Hadassah," said the Hebrew, "that I have been from my youth a man of the sword rather than of the book. Nor can I now study if I would. You are aware how Antiochus has sought out our holy writings to destroy or pollute them. Save the copy of the Scriptures which I occasionally see at the house of the elder, Salathiel, when we meet there by stealth to worship God on the Sabbath, my eyes never so much as look on the roll of the holy Word."

"I have a complete copy of the Psalms and Prophets, and am making from it another," said Hadassah, intuitively lowering her tone, and glancing at the door.

"A noble but dangerous work!" cried Abishai.

"Go and look yonder, my son, glance up the path to the right and the left, see whether any of the heathen be near," said Hadassah, pointing to the door as she spoke. "If none of the enemy be in sight, I will show you the sacred treasure which I hold at risk of my life."

Abishai instantly left the dwelling, half closing the door behind him.

"Now Lycidas—oh, haste!" exclaimed Zarah in an eager whisper; she was terrified lest the opportunity of retreat which Hadassah had given, should be lost by one moment's delay.

There was no need to repeat the word; Lycidas instantly drew back into his retreat behind the curtain, and the Hebrew ladies could breathe more freely again. Zarah gave a bright joyous glance at Hadassah, but it met no answering smile, the widow's features wore a sad, almost indignant expression, the sight of which shot a keen pang through the gentle heart of Zarah. What had she done, what had she said, that her venerated relative should look on her thus? Had there been aught in her conduct unseemly? She had called the Gentile by his name, could it be that which had drawn upon her the unwonted displeasure of Hadassah?

As she asked herself such questions, the cheek of Zarah became suffused with crimson; she scarcely knew what caused the painful embarrassment which she felt; she seemed to herself like one detected in doing evil, and yet her conscience had nothing wherewith to reproach her as concerned her conduct towards her grandmother's guest. So uneasy was the maiden, however, that on Abishai's return she did not stay to hear the conversation which ensued between him and Hadassah, but glided up the outer stair to the roof of the house, where, seated alone on the flat roof, with only heaven's blue canopy above her, she could commune with her own heart, and question it regarding the nature of the dangerous interest which she felt in the Gentile stranger.



CHAPTER XI.

DEEP THINGS.

When Abishai re-entered the dwelling of Hadassah, he found her drawing forth, from a secret receptacle in the wall, a long roll of parchment, covered with writing in Hebrew characters within and without. The lady pressed it reverentially to her lips, and then resumed her seat, with the sacred roll laid across her knees. Abishai regarded with respect, almost amounting to awe, a woman to whom had been given the talent, wisdom, and courage to transcribe so large a portion of the oracles of God. He felt as Barak may have done towards Deborah, and stood leaning against the wall, listening with respectful attention to the words of this "Mother in Israel."

"These Scriptures, my son," said Hadassah, "have been my study by day, and my meditation by night; and most earnestly have I sought, with fasting and prayer, to penetrate some of their deep meaning in regard to Him that shall come. I am yet as a child in knowledge, but the All-wise may be pleased to reveal something even to a child. It has seemed to me of late that I have been permitted to trace one word, written as in gigantic shadows—now fainter—now deeper—on Nature, in History, on the Law, in the Prophets. That single word is SACRIFICE. Wherever I turn I see it; it seems to me as a law of being; yea, as the very essence of religion itself."

"I do not understand you," said Abishai; "how is the word Sacrifice written on Nature?"

"See we it not on all things around us?" replied Hadassah. "Does not the seed die that the corn may spring up; doth not the decaying leaf nourish the living plant; doth not one creature maintain its existence by the destruction of others? There is a mystery of suffering in this fair world, some stern necessity for what we call evil, though from it a merciful God is ever evolving good. These things distressed and perplexed me, till I could dimly trace that word Sacrifice as written by God's finger upon His works; death the parent of life, pain and sorrow—of joy!"

"The primeval curse is on Nature," observed the Hebrew.

"Linked with the primeval blessing," said Hadassah. "And now when I turn from natural objects to the history of our race, sacrifice and suffering are still ever before me. Isaac is devoted as a burnt-offering before he becomes the father of the chosen race; Joseph is sold for pieces of silver ere he can redeem his family from destruction; the storm is only stilled by Jonah's being cast out into the deep; Samson triumphs over the enemy by the sacrifice of his own life! All these historical facts seem to me as types, dim and shadowy indeed, yet legible to the eye of faith, and Sacrifice is the word which they form."

"Dim and shadowy," repeated Abishai, to whom Hadassah's views on the subject appeared somewhat fanciful and vague.

"If so in Nature and history," said the Hebrew lady, "the lines are clear and distinct enough in our holy law. Why have countless victims been offered, even from the time of the Fall? Why was the dying lamb of Abel more acceptable than the bloodless offering of Cain? Why have thousands of guiltless creatures been slain on the altar of God; nay, not upon His alone, even on altars of the heathen who have never heard of His name, as if there were a deep instinct implanted in the soul of man, to testify that without shedding of blood there is no remission of sin? Think we that the All-merciful can take pleasure in the death of bulls or of goats? Yet hath He Himself ordained it. Sacrifice, suffering, substitution, one life accepted as ransom for another, this idea pervades the law given by inspiration to Moses; yea, long before the birth of Moses, to Abraham, to Noah, to Abel!"

"I grant it," Abishai replied. "As man is guilty in the sight of his Maker, there must be sacrifice for sin as long as the world shall last."

The light of inspiration seemed to glow in the uplifted eyes of Hadassah, and her lips to breathe words not her own as she spoke again. "What if all these sacrifices but point to one great Sacrifice; what if the deep mystery of suffering be resolved into some deeper mystery of love; what if God Himself should provide the substitute, and if on some altar blood be shed which shall suffice to atone for transgressions past, present, and to come, even to the end of all time? May it not be—must it not so be—if we read the Scriptures aright?"

"I cannot divine your meaning," said Abishai.

"What is written here of the coming Messiah?" asked Hadassah, laying her hand on the roll of prophecy, as she turned her earnest, searching gaze upon her companion.

"That He shall rule the nations with a rod of iron, and break them in pieces like a potter's vessel!" exclaimed Abishai with exultation; "is He not named Messiah the Prince?"

"Who shall be cut off, but not for Himself" (Dan. ix. 26), said Hadassah, in low thrilling tones that made Abishai start, and look at her with surprise. "You," she continued, "see the PRINCE in prophecy, written as in characters of light; I see the SACRIFICE, ever in letters of deepening shadow. Behold here,"—and as the widow spoke, she opened the roll till her finger could point to the Twenty-second Psalm,—"what means this cry of mysterious sorrow, My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?"

"It is David's cry of anguish," said Abishai.

"Look farther on, my son, ponder the subject more deeply," cried Hadassah, and she proceeded to read aloud part of the inspired Word. "The assembly of the wicked have inclosed Me: they pierced My hands and My feet. I may tell all My bones: they look and stare upon Me. They part My garments among them, and cast lots on My vesture (Ps. xxii. 16-18). These things never happened to David; the Psalmist speaks not here of himself."

"Of whom then could he be speaking," said Abishai, looking perplexed. "Not surely of the Messiah, not of the seed of the woman who shall bruise the serpent's head" (Gen. iii. 15).

"Wherefore not?" asked Hadassah, "seeing that He Himself must be bruised in the conflict? If it be written, My Servant shall deal prudently, He shall be exalted and extolled, and be very high, the shadow lies close under the brightness, it is also written, His visage was so marred more than any man, and His form more than the sons of men, and why? because so shall He sprinkle many nations (Isa. lii. 13-15), it may be—with His own blood!"

"Yours are strange thoughts," muttered the son of Nathan.

"They are not my thoughts," replied Hadassah. "Behold, farther on in the roll, what was revealed to the prophet Isaiah? Is the note of triumph sounded here? He is despised and rejected of men; a Man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief: and we hid as it were our faces from Him; He was despised, and we esteemed Him not. Surely He hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows: yet we did esteem Him stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted. But He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon Him; and with His stripes we are healed. All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way; and the Lord hath laid on Him the iniquity of us all. He was cut off out of the land of the living: for the transgression of My people was He stricken (Isa. liii. 3-6, 8). Have we not here the Victim, the Substitute, the Sacrifice bound on the altar, bleeding, wounded, dying, and that for sins not His own?"

"It cannot be. It is impossible—quite impossible—that when the Messiah comes He should be despised and rejected," exclaimed Abishai, to whom this interpretation of prophecy was as unwelcome as it was new. "When He comes, all Israel shall triumph and rejoice, and welcome their King, the Ruler of the world."

Hadassah silently unrolled her parchment until she came to the thirteenth chapter[1] of the prophet Zechariah.

"Listen to this, son of Nathan," said she. "Awake, O sword, against My Shepherd, and against the Man that is My Fellow, saith the Lord of hosts" (Zech. xiii. 7).

"Who is My Fellow?" repeated Abishai, in amazement, for that portion of Scripture had never been brought to his attention before. "Can you have read the sentence correctly? Were that not written in the Word of God, methinks it were rank blasphemy even to think that the Lord of hosts could have an equal."

"There is mystery in that word which man cannot fathom," cried Hadassah, "The Divine Essence is One: the foundation of our faith is the most solemn declaration, Hear, O Israel! the Lord our God[2] is One Lord (Deut. vi. 4); and yet in that very declaration is conveyed the idea of unity combined with distinction of persons."

"Hadassah, Hadassah, into what wilderness of heresy are you wandering?" Abishai exclaimed.

The Hebrew lady appeared not to hear him, but went on, as if thinking aloud:

"No man hath seen God at any time, He Himself hath declared—No man shall see Me, and live" (Exod. xxxiii. 20). "But who, then, visibly appeared unto Abraham? Who was it who wrestled with Jacob? Who spake unto Gideon? On whose glory was Isaiah permitted to gaze? Who was soon to walk in the fiery furnace? Who was He, like the Son of Man, who came with the clouds of heaven, and came to the Ancient of Days?" (Dan. vii. 18.)

"At one moment you would view Messiah as a Victim; at the next, as a God!" cried the Hebrew.

"If God should deign to take the form of Man, to bear Man's penalty, to suffer Man's death, might He not be both?" asked Hadassah.

Seeing that Abishai started at the question, she turned to the portion of the roll which contained the prophecy of Isaiah, and read aloud:—

"Unto us a Child is born. Here is clearly an announcement of human birth; yet is this Child revealed to us as the mighty God, the everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace" (Isa. ix. 6).

"Such thoughts as these are too high, too difficult, for the human mind to grasp," exclaimed Abishai, pressing his brow. "The frail vessel must burst that has such hot molten gold poured within it. All that I can answer to what you have said is this. I believe not—and never will believe—that when Messiah, the Hope of Israel, shall come, He will be rejected by our nation. Were it so, such a fearful curse would fall upon our race that the memory of the Egyptian bondage, the Babylonish captivity, the Syrian persecution, would be forgotten in the greater horrors of what God's just vengeance would bring upon this people. We should become a by-word, a reproach, a hissing. We should be scattered far and wide amongst the nations, as chaff is scattered by the winds, until—"

Abishai paused, and clenched his hand and set his teeth, as if language failed him to describe the utter desolation and misery which such a crime as the rejection of the Messiah must bring upon the descendants of Abraham. As Abishai did not finish his sentence, Hadassah completed it for him.

"Until," she said, with a brightening countenance—"until Judah repent of her sin, and turn to Him whom she once denied. Hear, son of Nathan, but one more prophecy from the Scriptures. Thus saith the Lord:—I will pour upon the house of David, and upon the inhabitants of Jerusalem, the spirit of grace and of supplications: and they shall look upon ME whom they have pierced, and they shall mourn for Him, as one mourneth for his only son, and shall be in bitterness for Him, as one that is in bitterness for his first-born (Zech. xii. 10). And the Lord shall be King over all the earth" (Zech. xiv. 9).

Abishai left the dwelling of Hadassah with a perturbed spirit, unwilling to own to himself that views so widely differing from his own could have any foundation in truth. The idea of a rejected, suffering, dying Messiah was beyond measure repugnant to the soul of the Hebrew.

"See what comes of concentrating all the powers of the mind on abstruse study!" Abishai muttered to himself as he descended the hill. "Hadassah is going mad; her judgment is giving way under the strain."



[1] Of course, the Hebrew roll was not divided into chapters; they are but given for facility of reference.

[2] "God," in the original, is "Elohim," a plural word.



CHAPTER XII.

TRIALS OF THE HEART.

For the first time in the course of her life, Zarah dreaded a meeting with Hadassah. Though the season was now so far advanced that the heat of the sun was great, the maiden lingered on the shadeless housetop, leaning her brow against the parapet, listlessly gazing towards Jerusalem, but with her mind scarcely taking in the objects upon which her eyes were fixed. Was it a foreboding of coming sorrow, or a feeling of self-reproach, that brooded over the maiden's soul? Zarah was afraid to analyze her own feelings: she only knew that her heart was very heavy.

Nearly two hours thus passed. The sun had now approached the horizon, and the heat was less oppressive. Zarah heard the slow step of Hadassah ascending the stair, and rose to meet her, but with a sensation of fear. The remembrance of that look of sad displeasure, such as had never been turned upon her before, had haunted the mind of the conscious girl. Was Hadassah angry with her daughter? Would she come to probe a heart which had never from childhood kept a secret from one so tenderly loved? Zarah was afraid to raise her eyes to Hadassah's when they met, lest she should encounter that stern look again; but never had the aged lady's face worn an expression of greater tenderness than it did when, on the housetop, she rejoined the child of her love.

"Have you been here in the heat of the sun, my dove, letting the fierce rays beat on your unveiled face?" said Hadassah, after printing a kiss on the maiden's brow. "Nay, I must chide you, my Zarah. Seat yourself where yon tall palm now throws its shadow, and I will sit beside you. We will talk of the glorious tidings which Abishai brought to us to-day."

It was a great relief to Zarah to hear that such was to be the subject of the coming conversation. She glanced timidly up into the face of Hadassah; and, quite reassured by what she saw there, took her favourite place at her grandmother's feet.

"Is it not evident," pursued Hadassah, "that the arm of the Lord is stretched out to fight for Judah—-that His blessing goes with Judas Maccabeus? Do you not rejoice, Zarah, in the victory which has been won by our Hebrew heroes?"

"I do rejoice; I thank God for it," replied the maiden. "I hope that a time is coming when we shall go forth, like the women of Israel in olden time, who went singing and dancing to meet Saul and David, after the triumph over the Philistines."

"David, when he slew Goliath and won the hand of a king's daughter, deserved not more of his country than does Maccabeus," observed Hadassah. "Are you not proud of your kinsman, my child?"

"All Judaea is proud of her hero," said Zarah.

"Happy the woman whom he shall choose as his bride!" cried Hadassah.

The maiden gave no reply.

"Zarah, why should I longer conceal from you what has so long been in my thoughts?" said the aged lady, after a pause of some minutes' duration. "Why should you not know of the high honour awaiting my daughter? From your early childhood both Mattathias, our revered kinsman—on whose grave be peace!—and myself have looked forward to the future espousals of my loved Zarah and Judas."

"Judas! Oh, no, no!" exclaimed Zarah, suddenly withdrawing her trembling hand from that of her grandmother, in which it had been clasped. "He is wedded to his country; he will never think of taking a wife." She spoke rapidly, and with some emotion.

"His toils and triumphs may, and I trust will, lead to future peace," said Hadassah. "Then may he enjoy the happiness which he has earned so well. Will you not give it to him, Zarah—you, whose very name signifies 'brightness'?"

"I honour Maccabeus as a hero; I could reverence him as my prince; I would kneel and wash the dust from his feet, or cut off my long hair to string his bow; but I cannot be his bride," exclaimed Zarah. "I am so weak, so unworthy! It would be like mating the eagle with the sparrow that sits on the housetops. Maccabeus is the noblest of men."

"Blessed the wife who can so honour her lord!" said Hadassah.

"I do honour Maccabeus from the depths of my soul; but—but I fear him," faltered Zarah.

"Were you a Syrian you might say so," observed Hadassah, with a faint approach to a smile; "but not as a daughter of Judah. Terrible as he is to his country's foes, to armed oppressors, no maiden had ever cause to dread Maccabeus. The sharp thorns of the cactus make it an impenetrable fence which the strongest intruder cannot break through; yet bears it brilliant flowers and refreshing fruit. The strong war-horse tramples down the enemy in battle; but in peace the little child unharmed may play with his mane. The bravest are the most gentle. Judas is no exception to this rule. Pure-hearted and true, he is one to make a woman happy."

Zarah sighed, and drooped her head.

"Was it not a proud moment for Achsah, when Othniel, after the conquest of Kirjathsepher, claimed her hand as the victor's prize?" asked Hadassah.

"But Achsah was the daughter of a Caleb," said Zarah. Then, raising her head, she suddenly inquired—"Did my father also destine me to be the bride of my kinsman?"

Hadassah winced at the question, as if a painful wound had been touched.

"Oh, my child, have pity on me," she faintly murmured, "and speak not of him!"

Zarah had for long known that there was one subject which she dared never approach. Her grandmother had, as it were, one locked chamber in her heart, which no one might venture to open. Whether Zarah's father were dead or not, the maiden knew not. She faintly remembered a tall, handsome man, who had played with her tresses and danced her in his arms when she was a child, in her early home at Bethsura; but since she had left that home in company with her grandmother, she had never seen him nor heard his name. The slightest allusion to her father by Zarah had caused such distress to Hadassah, that the child had soon learned to be silent, though not to forget. Hadassah often spoke of Miriam, her only daughter, and of Zarah's own gentle mother—twin-roses, as she would call them, both early gathered for heaven in the first year of their wedded lives—but of her son she never would speak. A mystery hung round the fate of Abner—such was his name—which his daughter vainly longed to penetrate. Her heart reproached her now for the unguarded question into which she had been surprised.

"Oh, forgive me, mother," said Zarah, kissing the hand of Hadassah, which was tremulous and cold; "your word, your will, shall be enough for me in all things, except—oh, ask me not to wed my kinsman."

"Is it, can it be because another has a nearer place in your heart?" said Hadassah. The fair countenance of Zarah became suddenly rosy as the sunlit cloud, then pale as Lebanon snow, at the question.

"Oh, then, my fears are too true!" exclaimed Hadassah, in a tone not of wrath but of anguish. "Must the sins of the father be visited upon the innocent child! A Gentile—a heathen—an idolater! Would I had died ere this day!"

"Be not angry with me, mother," faltered Zarah, wetting Hadassah's hand with her tears.

"I am not angry, my poor dove," cried the widow. "Woe is me that I have been, as it were, constrained to expose you to this cruel snare. But you will break through it," she added, with more animation, "my bird will rise above earth with her silver wings unsullied and bright! Various are the temptations which the soul's enemy employs to draw away God's servants from their allegiance; some he would sway through their fears; others he would win by the love of the world, its wealth and its pleasures; others he would chain by their hearts' strong affections. But the Lord gives strength to his people, to resist and to conquer, whether the temptation be from fear or from love. You are the worthy kinsman of Solomona, who gave life itself for the faith."

"Perhaps the sacrifice of life is not the hardest to make," Zarah dreamily replied.

"Solomona gave her seven sons," said Hadassah.

"Oh, what a mercy-stroke to her was that which let her follow them!" exclaimed Zarah. "Had she been left to survive all whom she loved, Solomona had been the most wretched woman on earth!"

"No; not the most wretched," said Hadassah, with deep feeling, "for they all died in the faith. Better, all, far better to lose seven by death, than one by—by treason against God!" And in an almost inaudible voice the aged lady added, closing her eyes, "Must I know that misery twice?"

"No, mother, mine own dear mother, you shall never know that misery through me!" exclaimed Zarah with animation. "I will pray, I will strive, I will try to put away, even from my thoughts, all that would come between me and the faith of a daughter of Abraham, only guide me, help me, tell your child what she should do," and the maiden passionately kissed again and again the hand of Hadassah, and then pillowed her aching head on her parent's bosom. Hadassah folded her there in a long and tender embrace.

"I would send you to Bethsura, to my aged cousin, Rachel," said the widow, "only"—

"Oh, send me not away; let me stay beside you; your health is failing; I should never know peace afar from you!" sobbed Zarah, in a tone of entreaty.

"I dare not send my child to Idumea, with no safe escort, and the Syrians, men of Belial, holding the land," said Hadassah. "Better keep her here under my wing, in the quiet seclusion of my home. But, oh, my child, attend to the voice of your mother; you must avoid meeting the Gentile stranger; you must be little in the lower apartments, Zarah, and never save when I am there also. Your trial will not last long; the Athenian's wounds are healing; after the Passover-feast, Abishai will leave Jerusalem to join the patriot band. When he is once safe beyond reach of the enemy, I will no longer for one hour harbour Lycidas under my roof; he has been here far too long already. Your painful struggle will now last but a short time, my Zarah."

Zarah thought, though she did not say so, that the heart struggle would last as long as her earthly existence.

"You will obey me, my daughter?" asked the widow; "you will shun the too attractive society of the stranger?"

The maiden bowed her head in assent, and murmured, "Pray for me, mother; I am so weak."

"My life shall be one prayer," said Hadassah.

"Mine—one sacrifice," thought the poor maiden. "Oh, may that sacrifice be accepted!"



CHAPTER XIII.

SILENT CONFLICT.

The maiden kept her silent promise; faithfully she obeyed the hest of Hadassah. Seldom as possible did she enter the room which communicated with the hiding-place of Lycidas, and never save in the company of her aged relative. Zarah's wheel was carried to her sleeping apartment; heat and discomfort were made no excuse for leaving the more secluded portions of the small and inconvenient dwelling. Zarah, a voluntary prisoner, avoiding seeing him who appeared to her to be an embodiment of all that was beautiful in form, and brilliant in mind, one whose society resembled the light which glorifies every object on which it may fall.

And Zarah did not, as many maidens in her place might have done, punish Hadassah for throwing her influence into the scale of duty, by showing her the extent of the sacrifice which she had required. The young girl, while her heart was bleeding, struggled to maintain a serene and placid mien. Hadassah never heard Zarah sigh, never surprised her in tears. No duty was neglected, no work left undone; nay, Zarah spun more busily than ever, for the support of the stranger was a drain on the scanty resources of Hadassah, and to work for him and pray for him was the sole indulgence which Zarah could allow herself without self-reproach. She tried—how arduous was the effort!—even to turn her thoughts from the subject which was to her as the forbidden fruit was to Eve. The chasm which divided Abraham's daughter from the heathen was one over which, as Zarah knew, it would be sinful to throw even the rainbow bridge of imagination. She must force her mind from approaching the dangerous brink. How many of the Psalms of David, always those most mournful in their tone, Zarah repeated to herself, to bring solace to her spirit by day, or sleep to her eyelids by night. While Judas Maccabeus was maintaining a gallant struggle against the enemies of his country, conquering, but through much stern endurance, Zarah, with the same faith and obedience as animated the warrior, was keeping up a more painful fight against the heathen in her own gentle heart.

There was one subject of thought, and that a distressing one, to which Zarah's mind most readily reverted when she would turn it from the channel into which it was ever naturally flowing. This was the mystery connected with the fate of Abner her father. The few words which had escaped Hadassah in an unguarded moment, were as the dull red light which a torch might throw on the sides of some yawning pit, whose depths are left in profound darkness. Often had Zarah yearned to know more of her father, how he had died, for she had once deemed him dead, where his dear remains had been laid,—all that concerned him was of deep interest to his only child. But any attempt to break through the reserve which sealed the lips of Hadassah had evidently occasioned such acute distress that Zarah had long since given up the hope of gaining information from her. Anna had entered the service of Hadassah, since the Hebrew lady had quitted Bethsura; the attendant knew nothing, and therefore could tell nothing, of what had previously occurred in the family. Solomona, when she had paid occasional visits to her kinswomen, had never given Zarah an opportunity of speaking on so delicate a subject. Once when Zarah had ventured to ask the question, "Did you know my father?" Solomona had appeared not to hear it, and had instantly started some quite irrelevant topic of conversation. Abishai doubtless knew much about the brother of his wife, but Zarah shrank from questioning him; from his fierce impetuosity of character, he was not one to draw out the confidence of a gentle and timid girl. Zarah almost felt as if her uncle disliked, and for some reason which she understood not, regarded her with mingled pity and contempt. Thus the daughter of Abner, cut off from all means of gaining reliable information, was thrown back on her own conjectures. A vague doubt which had lately arisen in Zarah's mind, but which had always heretofore been repelled as treason to a parent's memory, was given form and substance by the faint exclamation which grief had wrung from Hadassah, "Must I know that misery twice." Many slight circumstances then recurred to Zarah's memory to confirm her suspicions, especially the anguish which Hadassah had betrayed at the burial of Solomona, when a strange pang of envy had seemed to intensify that of bereavement. Zarah was as one bending lower and lower over that pit of which she longed, yet dreaded, to sound the depths, straining her eyes to penetrate the darkness, while trembling to think what horrors that darkness might hide.

"Is it possible that my father may yet be breathing on earth, living—the life of an apostate!" The idea haunted Zarah like a spectre. There was only one hope which had power to lay it: "If living, he may be spared for repentance. God is merciful; He judgeth not severely; He delighteth in receiving His wanderers back. Did not Nathan say to penitent David, 'Thou shalt not surely die;' was not even the guilty Manasseh restored to his throne? Oh, the son of the pious Hadassah, a woman of such faith and prayer, can never be lost!" After such meditations, the burdened heart of Zarah would find relief in fervent supplications for her father. Her filial affection came to the aid of her religious obedience. "God will not hear prayers," thought Zarah, "from one in whose heart an idol is enshrined. For my father's sake, as well as my own, let me strive to give unreserved obedience to my Lord."

So, endeavouring to overcome one grief by the help of another, and to cast a veil over both, Zarah passed weary day after day, letting no murmur mar her offering of meek submission. She would even speak cheerfully to Hadassah, and sing to her songs of Zion, which the aged lady delighted to hear. There was one song especially dear, in which Hadassah had herself woven prophetic promises into verse. The rhymes might be rude, and altogether unworthy of their theme; but when softly warbled by Zarah's melodious voice, they appeared to the aged listener like the very breathing of hope.

LAY OF ZION.

"Jerusalem, thou sittest in the dust, God's heavy judgment on thy children lies; But He in whom their fathers put their trust Shall bid thee yet, as from the grave, arise.[1] Oh, Zion, discrowned Queen! A throne awaits for thee;[2] For glorious thou hast been, All glorious shalt thou be.[3]

"Behold the white-winged ships from Tarshish strand,[4] Shall bear thy sons and daughters o'er the wave; All nations call thee blessed, delightsome land,[5] Which God of old to faithful Abraham gave.[6] Oh, Zion, &c.

"Ephraim with Judah God shall then restore,[7] The Hand that severed, now uniteth them; Ephraim shall envy, Judah, vex no more,[8] All shall rejoice in thee, Jerusalem. Oh, Zion, &c.

"Assyria, Egypt, shall with Israel join,[9] (The land where Daniel trod the lion's den, The land where Pharaohs bowed at Apis' shrine), Oppressors once—but more than sisters then. Oh, Zion, &c.

"God shall a wall of fire round thee abide,[10] To guard thee as the apple of the eye;[11] Rejoicing as the bridegroom o'er the bride.[12] For He hath pardoned thine iniquity.[13] Oh, Zion, &c.

"The mountains may depart, the hills may shake,[14] But nought thy Saviour's love from thee shall sever, The mother may her sucking child forsake, God thy Redeemer shall forsake thee never.[15] Oh, Zion, discrowned Queen! A throne still waits for thee; For glorious thou hast been, All glorious shalt thou be."



[1] Isa. lx. 1.

[2] Isa. xxii. 23.

[3] Isa. lx. 13, 14.

[4] Isa. lx. 9.

[5] Mal. iii. 12

[6] Gen. xiii. 15.

[7] Ezek. xxxvii. 16, 17.

[8] Isa. xi. 13.

[9] Isa. xix. 24.

[10] Zech. ii. 5.

[11] Zech. ii. 8.

[12] Isa. lxii. 5.

[13] Isa. xliv. 22.

[14] Isa. liv. 10.

[15] Isa. xlix. 15.



CHAPTER XIV.

A CRISIS.

Lycidas, in the meantime, was chafing in wild impatience under the trial of Zarah's almost perpetual absence. He could no longer watch her, no longer listen to her, except when his straining ear caught the faint sound of her music floating down from an upper apartment. Why was she away? why should she shun him? she whose presence alone had rendered not only tolerable but delightful the kind of mild captivity in which he was retained, while the state of his wounds rendered the Greek unable, without assistance, to leave the dwelling of Hadassah. Lycidas had none of the scruples of Zarah regarding union with one of a different race and religion. The Greek had resolved on winning the fair Hebrew maid as his bride; he was conscious of possessing the gift of attractions such as few young hearts could resist, and asked fortune only for an opportunity of exerting all his powers to the utmost to secure the most precious prize for which mortal had ever contended.

Lycidas beguiled many tedious hours by the composition of a poem, of singular beauty, in honour of Zarah. Most melodious was the flow of the verse, most delicate the fragrance of the incense of praise. The realms of nature, the kingdom of art, were ransacked for images of beauty. But Lycidas felt disgusted with his own work before he had completed it. He seemed to himself like one decorating with gems and hanging rich garments on an exquisite statue, in the attempt to do it honour only marring the perfection of its symmetry, and the grace of its marble drapery. A few words which the Greek had heard Hadassah read from her sacred parchment, appeared to him to include more than all his most laboured descriptions could convoy. Lycidas had thought of Zarah when he had listened to the expression, the beauty of holiness.

"I will not stay a prisoner here, if I am to be shut out in this stifling little den not only from the world, but from her who is more than the world to me," thought the Greek. After months of suffering and weakness, strength, though but slowly, was returning to the frame of Lycidas; and when no one was near to watch him, when the door to the west was closed, and the curtain to the east was drawn, he would occasionally try how far that strength would enable him to go. He would raise himself on his feet, though not without a pang from his wounded side. Then the Greek would take a few steps, from one end of his prison to the other, leaning for support against the wall. This was something for a beginning; youth and love would soon enable him to do more. But Lycidas carefully concealed from Hadassah and Anna that he could do as much. They never saw him but reclining on the floor. He feared that measures might be taken to clip the wings of the bird if it were once guessed how nearly those wings were fledged.

The day before the celebration of the great feast of the Passover, Hadassah was far from well. Whether her illness arose from the state of the weather, for the month of Nisan was this year more than usually hot, or the effect of long fastings and prayer upon a frame enfeebled by age, or whether from secret grief preying on her health, Zarah knew not,—perhaps from all these causes combined. The maiden grew uneasy about her grandmother, and redoubled her tender ministrations to her comfort.

On the day mentioned, Anna had gone into Jerusalem to dispose of flax spun by the Hebrew ladies, and procure a few necessary articles of food. Hadassah never suffered her beautiful girl to enter to walls of the city, nor, indeed, ever to quit the precincts of her home, save when on Sabbath-days and feast-days she went, closely veiled, to the dwelling of the elder Salathiel, about half a mile distant from that of Hadassah, to join in social worship. Hadassah with jealous care shrouded her white dove from the gaze of Syrian eyes.

The aged lady had passed a very restless night. With thrilling interest Zarah had heard her moaning in her sleep, "Abner! my son! my poor lost son!" The sealed lips were opened, when the mind had no longer power to control their utterance. Hadassah awoke in the morning feverish and ill. She made a vain attempt to rise and pursue her usual avocations. Zarah entreated her to lie still. For hours the widow lay stretched on a mat with her eyes half closed, while Zarah watched beside her, fanning her feverish brow.

"Let me prepare for you a cooling drink, dear mother," said the maiden at last, rising and going to the water-jar, which stood in a corner of the apartment. "Alas! it is empty. Anna forgot to replenish it from the spring ere she set out for the city. I will go and fill it myself."

Zarah lifted up the jar, and poising it on her head, lightly descended the rough steps of the outer stair, and proceeded to the spring at the back of the house. The spring was surrounded by oleanders, which at this time of the year in Palestine are robed in their richest bloom. But the season had been singularly hot and dry, the latter rains had not yet fallen, and the spring was beginning to fail. Zarah placed her jar beneath the opening from which, pure and bright, the water trickled, but the supply was so scanty that she could almost count the drops as they fell. It would take a considerable time for the jar to be filled by these drops.

"Ah! methinks my earthly joys are even as this failing spring!" thought the maiden, sadly, as she watched the slow drip of the water. "All will be dried up soon. My loved grandmother's strength is sinking; she will be unable to-morrow to keep the holy feast in Salathiel's house, though her heart will be with the worshippers there. How different, oh! how different is this Passover from that which we celebrated last year! Then, indeed, there was an idol in the Temple of the Lord, and holy sacrifice could not be offered in the appointed place, but the fierce storm of persecution had not arisen in all its terrors. Then around the table of Salathiel how many gathered whom I never again shall behold upon earth! Solomona, my kinswoman, and her seven sons all met in that solemn assembly; the bright-eyed Asahel, the fearless Mahali, young Joseph, who was my merry playmate when ten years ago we came from Bethsura hither! I remember that when Hadassah looked on that cluster of brothers, she said that they were like the Pleiades—they are more like those star-gems now, for they shine not on earth but in heaven! And Solomona looked proudly on her boys—her noble sons, and said that not one of them had ever raised a blush on the cheek of their mother; and then, methinks, she regretted having uttered the boast, and I fancied that I heard a stifled sigh from Hadassah. Was it that the spirit of prophecy came upon her then, that she foresaw the terrible future, or was it—alas! alas! I dare not think wherefore she sighed! And old Mattathias, he who now sleeps in the sepulchre of his fathers, he and his sons kept that Passover feast with Salathiel, having come up to Jerusalem to worship, according to the law of Moses. How venerable looked the old man with his long snowy beard! it seemed to me that so Abraham must have looked, when his earthly pilgrimage was well-nigh ended. Mattathias laid his hand on my head and blessed me, and called me daughter. Ah! can it be that he thought of me then as his daughter indeed! The princely Judas stood near, and when I raised my head I met the gaze of his eyes, and I thought—no, I never then fully grasped the meaning expressed in that gaze, it was to me as the tender glance of a brother. Mattathias is gone; Solomona and her children are all gone; Judas, with his gallant band, is like a lion at bay with the hunters closing in an ever-narrowing circle around him. Apollonius has been vanquished, Seron defeated by our hero; but now Nicanor and Giorgias, with the forces of Ptolemy, upwards of forty thousand men, are combining to crush him by their overwhelming numbers! What can the devotion of our patriots avail but to swell the band of martyrs who have already laid down their lives in defence of our faith and our laws! Alas! theirs will be a stern keeping of the holy feast; other blood will flow besides that of the Paschal lamb! And a sad keeping of the feast will be mine; I shall see scarce a familiar face, that of no relative save Abishai; and I owe him but little affection. And oh! worst of all, I fear me that I have an unholy leaven in my heart, which I in vain seek to put entirely away. I am secretly cherishing the forbidden thing, though not wilfully, not wilfully, as He knows to whom I constantly pray for strength to give up all that is displeasing in His sight!"

The jar was now full; Zarah turned to raise it as the last thought passed through her mind, and started as she did so! Lycidas, with all his soul beaming in his eyes, was close beside her! The maiden uttered a faint exclamation, and endeavoured to pass him, and return to the house.

"Stay, Zarah, idol of my soul!" exclaimed the Athenian, seizing her hand; "you must not fly me, you shall listen to me once—only once!" and with a passionate gush of eloquence the young Greek laid his hopes, his fortunes, his heart at her feet.

Zarah turned deadly pale; her frame trembled. "Oh, Lycidas, have mercy upon me!" she gasped. "It is sin in me even to listen; it were cruelty to suffer you to hope. Our law forbids a daughter of Abraham to wed a Gentile; to return your love would be rebellion against my God, apostasy from the faith of my fathers; better to suffer—better to die!"—and with an effort releasing her icy-cold hand from the clasp of the man whom she loved, Zarah sprang hurriedly past him, and with the speed of a frightened gazelle fled up the staircase, and back into the chamber in which she had left Hadassah.

Lycidas stood bewildered by the maiden's sudden retreat. He felt as if the gate of a paradise had been suddenly closed against him.



CHAPTER XV.

THE TWO CAMPS.

While the scenes lately described had been occurring in the neighbourhood of Jerusalem, Maccabeus, in the mountains, had been preparing for the deadliest shock of war. Like wave upon wave, each swelling higher than the one before it, successive armies hurled their strength against the devoted band that held aloft the banner of the truth, as a beacon-light gleaming on high amidst the fiercest fury of the tempest. The mighty Nicanor, son of Patroclus, a man honoured with the king's peculiar favour, had gathered together a powerful force "to root out the whole generation of the Jews," and with him was joined in command Georgias, a general of great experience in war.

A large camp was formed by the Syrians at Emmaus, about a Sabbath-day's journey from Jerusalem. The hills were darkened with their goats'-hair tents, the roads thronged with soldiers, and with a multitude of merchants who brought much silver and gold to purchase Hebrew captives as slaves for their markets. For so confident of victory was Nicanor, that he had beforehand proclaimed a sale of the prisoners whom he would reserve from slaughter; nay, had fixed the very price which he would demand for his vanquished foes! Ninety of the Hebrew warriors should be sold for a talent, so ran Nicanor's proclamation.

"These bold outlaws," said the haughty Syrian, "shall spend their superfluous strength, as did their Samson of old, in grinding corn for their victors, or in tilling the fields which they once called their own, with the taskmaster's lash to quicken their labours. Ha! ha! it were good subject for mirth to see the lordly Maccabeus himself, with blinded eyes, turning the wheel at the well, and bending his proud back to serve as my footstool when I mount my Arab steed! This were sweeter vengeance, a richer triumph, than to hew him to pieces with the sword which he took from the dead Apollonius. Let the Asmonean fall into my hands, and he shall taste what it is to endure a living death!"

Maccabeus, on his part, had led his forces to Mizpeh, where they had encamped. Here a day of solemn humiliation was appointed by the Asmonean chief; he and his warriors fasted, put on sackcloth, and united in prayer to the God of Hosts.

The leader then more perfectly organized his little army, dividing it into bands, and appointing captains over the divisions. While Divine aid was implored, human means were not neglected.

Early in the morning of the succeeding day, Maccabeus and Simon, his elder brother, held grave consultation together. The scene around them was historic; the very heap of stones upon which the chiefs were seated marked the spot where the last leave of Laban had been taken by Jacob their forefather, when returning to his aged parent.

But few months have elapsed since Judas stood, as the reader first saw him, by the grave of the martyrs, but these eventful months have wrought a marked change upon the Asmonean leader. Fatigue, hardship, the burden of care, the weight of responsibility, added to the sorrow of bereavement, have left their stamps on his expressive features. Maccabeus looks a worn and a weary man; but there is increased majesty in his demeanour, that dignity which has nothing to do with pride; for pride has its origin in self-consciousness, true dignity in forgetfulness of self.

"This will be our sharpest conflict; the enemy is strong," observed Simon, glancing in the direction of the Syrian hosts, which lay between them and Jerusalem.

"With the God of Heaven it is all one to deliver with a great multitude or with a few," said Maccabeus.

"What is the number of our forces?" asked Simon.

"Six thousand, as given by yesterday's returns," was the reply; "but to-day I will make proclamation that they who are planting vineyards or building houses, or who have lately married wives, have full leave to retire if they will it, and then—ha! Eleazar returned already!" cried the leader, interrupting himself, as a young Hebrew, dressed as a Syrian merchant, with rapid step ascended the little eminence on which the Asmonean brothers were seated.

"I have been in the midst of them!" exclaimed Eleazar; "ay, I have stood in their tents, heard their songs, listened to their proud boastings, been present when the sons of Mammon bartered for the limbs and lives of the free-born sons of Abraham! They may have our bodies as corpses," added the young Asmonean, with a proud smile, "but never as slaves; and even as corpses, they shall purchase us dearly."

"Know you the numbers of the Syrians?" inquired Simon, whose quiet, sedate manner formed a strong contrast to that of the fiery young Eleazar.

"Nicanor has forty thousand footmen and seven thousand horse," was the reply; "to say nothing of those who hang round his camp, as vultures who scent the carnage from afar."

"More than seven to one," observed Simon, slightly shaking his head.

"Hebrews have encountered worse odds than that," cried the young man.

"Ay, when all were stanch," his elder brother rejoined.

"Do you then doubt our men!" exclaimed Eleazar.

"Many of them will be faithful unto death; but I know that in some quarters there are misgivings—I may call them fears," was the grave reply of Simon. "Not all our troops are tried warriors; some in the camp have spoken of submission."

"Submission!" cried Eleazar, clenching his hand; "I would lash the slaves up to the conflict as I would lash dogs that hung back in the chase."

"On the contrary," said Maccabeus, who had hitherto listened to the conversation in silence, "I shall proclaim that whoso is fearful, has my free permission to depart from us in peace."

"Were that well?" asked Simon, doubtfully, "we are already so greatly outnumbered by the foe."

"It is according to the law," replied Judas, calmly; "it is what Gideon did before encountering Midian. We can have no man with us who is half-hearted; no one who will count his life dear in the struggle which is before us."

"If we are to fall in the struggle," observed Simon, "half our number will indeed suffice for the sacrifice." He spoke without fear, but in the tone of one who felt the full extent of the threatening danger.

"See you yon stone, my brother?" asked Maccabeus, pointing to a pillar on the way to Shen, which was clearly visible against the background of the deep blue sky. "Yonder is Ebenezer, the stone of help, which Samuel set up in remembrance of victory over the Philistines, when God thundered from heaven, and discomfited the foes of Israel."

"Ay, I see it," replied Simon; "and I see the power and faithfulness of the Lord of Hosts written on that stone. We are in His hand, not in that of Nicanor."

"Let God arise, and let His enemies be scattered!" exclaimed Eleazar.

"My brother, give order that the trumpets be sounded," said Maccabeus, "and let our proclamation be known through the camp—that all who fear may retire at once, nor remain to shame us by turning their backs in the day of battle."

The commands of the leader were at once obeyed; the proclamation was issued, and its alarming effects were speedily seen. The small force of Maccabeus began to melt like a snow-wreath under the beams of the sun. One man remembered the tears of his newly-wedded bride, another the helpless state of a widowed mother; the hearts of not a few were set on their flocks and herds, while many of their comrades found in the state of crops needing the sickle, an excuse to cover the fear which they would have blushed to own as their motive for deserting the cause of their country. Long before the evening had closed in, the forces under Maccabeus had been reduced to one-half their number.

"They have judged themselves unworthy to share the glory that awaits their brave brethren," cried the indignant Eleazar, as, leaning on his unstrung bow, he watched a long line of fugitives wending their way towards the west.

Undismayed, though perhaps somewhat discouraged by the defection of half his troops, Maccabeus made before sunset a brief address to those who remained. "Arm yourselves," he said, "and be valiant men; and see that ye be in readiness before the morning, that ye may fight with these nations that are assembled together to destroy us and our sanctuary. For it is better for us to die in battle than to behold the calamity of our people and our sanctuary. Nevertheless, as the will of God is in heaven, so let Him do."

So, with stern resolution to conquer or die, the Hebrews retired to their appointed places in the small camp till morning light should arouse them to the desperate conflict.



CHAPTER XVI.

BATTLE Of EMMAUS.

But the struggle was not to be deferred the morning.

Night had just spread her veil of darkness over earth, and Simon, prudently reserving his strength for the expected fatigues of the coming day, had wrapped himself in his mantle, and stretched himself on the ground to snatch some hours of repose, when he was roused by the touch of a hand on his shoulder. Opening his eyes, Simon saw, by the red light of a torch, which the armour-bearer of Judas was holding aloft, that Maccabeus was before him.

"Awake, arise, my brother; this is no time for sleep," said the leader. Simon was on his feet in a moment, an attentive listener, as Maccabeus continued: "A scout has just brought in tidings from the Syrian camp that Nicanor has detached five thousand of his foot-soldiers and a thousand chosen horsemen, under the command of Giorgias, to attack us this night, and take us by surprise."

"They will find us prepared," said Simon, as he girded on his sword.

"Nay; they will find their prey flown," replied Maccabeus, his features relaxing into a stern smile; "we will fall on the Syrian camp in their absence, teach the enemy his own lesson, and transfer the surprise to our foes."

"Well thought of!" exclaimed Simon; "darkness also will serve to hide the weakness of our force."

"Our brethren are now marshalling our warriors," said Judas; "all, under God, depends upon silence, promptitude, decision. We fight for our lives and our laws."

The leader turned to depart, but as he did so accidentally dropped something on the ground. He stooped to raise and twist it rapidly round his left arm, under the sleeve. The incident was so very trifling that it scarcely drew the notice of Simon, though the thought did flit across his mind that it was strange that his brother, on the eve of battle, could pause to pick up anything so utterly valueless as a slight skein of unbleached flax. It was valueless indeed, save from the associations which, in the mind of him who wore it, were entwined with every thread. That flax had been once used to tie together some flowers long since dead; the flowers had been dropped into a grave of martyrs; the light skein had fallen on the upturned sod unnoticed save by the eyes of one. Perhaps it was from remembrance of the dead, or perhaps it was because hopes regarding the living (hopes brighter and sweeter than the flowers had been) seemed now bound up in that flaxen strand, that Maccabeus fastened that skein round his arm as a precious thing, when he would not have stooped to pick up a chaplet of pearls.

By the exertions of the five Asmonean brethren, the little Hebrew army was rapidly put under arms, and prepared for the night attack. The whole force was united as one forlorn hope. As moves the dark cloud in the sky, so darkly and silently moved on the band of heroes, and, like that cloud, they bore the thunderbolt with them.

Most of the Syrians on that eventful night were sunk in sleep, but not all; in their camp some kept up their revels till late. All the luxuries which fancy could devise or wealth could purchase were gathered together at Emmaus to hide the grim front of war, so that the camp by daylight presented the motley appearance of a bazaar with the gay magnificence of a court. There sherbet sparkled in vases of silver, and the red wine was poured into golden cups, chased and embossed, in tents stretched out with silken cords. Garments bright with all the varied tints of the rainbow, rich productions of Oriental looms, robes from Tyre, shawls from Cashmere, blended with instruments of warfare, swords, spears, and bucklers, the battle-axe and the helmet. The sentry, pacing his rounds, paused to listen to wild bursts of merriment, the loud oath and light song from some gay pavilion, where young Syrian nobles were exchanging jests, and indulging in deep carousals. Yonder, in the glaring torch-light, sat a group of officers, engaged in some game of chance, and their stakes were the captives whom they were to drag at their chariot-wheels on the morrow. Each throw of the dice decided the fate of a Hebrew; at least, so deemed the merry gamesters.

But the destined slaves were coming to the market sooner than their expectant masters dreamed or desired, and the price for each Hebrew would be exacted, not in gold, but in blood. Suddenly the gamesters at their play, the revellers at the board, the slumberers on their couches, were startled by the blare of trumpets and a ringing war-cry, "The sword of the Lord and Maccabeus!" The full goblet was dashed from the lip, the dice from the hand; there were wild shouts and cries, and rushing to and fro, soldiers snatching up weapons, merchants flying hither and thither for safety, stumbling over tent-ropes in the darkness. There were confused noises of terror, trampling of feet, snorting of horses, calls to arms, clashing of weapons, with all the horrors of sudden panic spreading like an epidemic through the mighty host of Syria. The few remained to oppose the unseen assailants, the many took to flight; the ground was soon strewn with treasure, dropped by terrified fugitives, and weapons thrown down by warriors who had not the courage to use them. Tents were speedily blazing, and horses, terrified by the sudden glare and maddened by the scorching heat, prancing, plunging, rushing wildly through the camp, added to the fearful confusion. Maccabeus, with the sword of Apollonius in his hand, pressed on to victory over heaps of prostrate foes. Terror was sent as a herald before him, and success followed wherever he trode. It seemed as if the Lord of Hosts were fighting for Israel, as in the old days of Gideon.

Hot was the pursuit after the flying Syrians; Maccabeus and his warriors followed hard on their track to Gazora, Azotus, and Jamnia, and that southern part of Judaea lying between the Red Sea and Sodom, to which, from its having been colonized by Edomites, had been given the name of Idumea. For many a mile the track of the fugitives was marked by their dead.

But as the morning dawned after that terrible though glorious night, the trumpets of Maccabeus sounded to call his troops together. The leader had not forgotten—though some of his eager followers might have done so—that Giorgias, with an army of chosen warriors, doubling their own in number, and comparatively fresh, was yet to be encountered. With stern displeasure Maccabeus saw his own men, grim with blood and dust, loading themselves with the rich plunder which lay on the road; like fruit under orchard trees after a wild tornado.

"Be not greedy of the spoils," cried the leader, "inasmuch as there is a battle before us; but stand ye now against our enemies, and overcome them, and after this ye may boldly take the spoils."

It is a more difficult task to call hounds off the prey that they have run down, than to let them slip from the leashes when the quarry first is in sight. It needed such moral influence over his men as was possessed by Maccabeus to enforce instant obedience when wealth was at their feet, and needed but the gathering up.

It was speedily seen, however, that the warning of the Asmonean chief had not been unnecessary. But a few minutes elapsed after the utterance of that warning, when the vanguard of the forces of Giorgias appeared on the crest of a hill at some distance, the live-long night having been spent by them in a vain attempt to discover the camp of the Hebrews. After a long, tedious march, Giorgias found himself on a commanding height, from whence at dawn he had an extensive view of the surrounding country.

"The slaves have fled—they have made their escape to the mountains," exclaimed Giorgias, as he dismounted from his weary war-horse, when the first bar of golden light appeared in the orient sky.

"Then they have left marks of their handiwork behind them," said a horseman, pointing in the direction in which lay what had been the camp of Nicanor, now suddenly visible to the Syrians from the summit of the hill. "See you yon smoke arising from smouldering heaps? There has been a battle at Emmaus. The lion has broken through the toils. Maccabeus has not been sleeping through the night."

"Nay, my Lord Pollux; it is impossible. The Hebrews would never dare to attack a force so greatly outnumbering their own," exclaimed Giorgias, unwilling to believe the evidence of his own senses. But as the light more clearly revealed the tokens of flight and disaster in the far distance, where the smoke of ruin was rising into the calm morning air, conviction of the terrible truth forced itself on the general's mind, and, with mingled astonishment and dismay, he exclaimed, "Where are the hosts of Nicanor?"

"Yonder are those who can give an account of them," said Pollux, turning to the south, where in a valley the Hebrews might be seen marshalled around their loader. "There, I ween, is the insolent outlaw who has been making a shambles of our camp. See you the glitter of the spears? Maccabeus is setting his men in battle array. There is but a handful of them. Shall we charge down upon them, and sweep them from the face of the earth?"

Giorgias glanced again northward at Emmaus and the smoking ruins of the Syrian camp; then southward, where the little compact force in the valley was clustering round the standard of Maccabeus. Though the troops under the command of Giorgias doubled the Hebrews in number, he dared not try the issue of battle with those who had so lately discomfited Nicanor's formidable hosts. Had the Syrian leader been animated by such a fearless spirit as characterized his opponent, in all human probability the victory of the night might have been, to Judas and his gallant little band, succeeded by the defeat of the morning. But Giorgias showed an unusual amount of caution on the present occasion; and Pollux, though he assumed a tone of defiance, was secretly by no means desirous to measure swords with Maccabeus.

The Hebrews were weary with conquering and pursuing. Their spirit was unbroken, but their strength was exhausted. It was with some anxiety that the eagle eye of Judas watched the movements of the enemy on the heights, momentarily expecting an attack which he knew that his band of heroes was so little able to sustain.

"They will be down upon us soon," said Simon, as he leaned wearily on his spear.

"Nay; behold, they are vanishing over the crest of the mountain!" triumphantly exclaimed Eleazar. "The cowards! only brave over the wine-bowl! Not a stain on their swords! not a dint on their shields! They are fleeing when no man pursues! Oh, that we had but strength to follow, and chase the dastards even up to the walls of Jerusalem!"

"God hath put fear into their hearts. To Him be the glory!" said Maccabeus, as he sheathed his heavy sword.

And after this—to transcribe the words of the ancient Hebrew historian, describing the triumphs of his countrymen—"they went home, and sung a song of thanksgiving, and praised the Lord in heaven, because He is good, because His mercy endureth for ever."



CHAPTER XVII.

DEPARTED.

When Zarah, trembling and pale, after her interview with Lycidas, fled to the apartment of Hadassah, she left her water-jar behind her at the spring. The sight of her grandmother, stretched on her low couch, with her eyes closed, and her lips parched and dry, recalled to the remembrance of the poor young maiden the errand for which she had quitted her side.

"The water! the water!" exclaimed Zarah, striking her brow. "She must have it. But oh! I dare not—I dare not go back; for nothing on earth could I go through that terrible struggle again!"

As Zarah stood on the threshold, in a state of painful indecision, to her great relief she heard the voice of Anna below, and called to her to bring up the jar of water which she would find at the fountain. Anna quickly obeyed, and came up the stairs laden, not only with the cooling fluid, but with ripe fruit and vegetables, which she had brought from Jerusalem—the white mulberry and the nebeb, with early figs, cucumbers, and a melon.

Very grateful was the supply to Hadassah; but more refreshing by far than the draught of cold water were the tidings which Anna had brought from the city. The Jewess was full of eagerness to a impart her glorious news.

"I saw them myself—Giorgias and his horsemen—jaded, crestfallen, as they rode through the streets," cried Anna. "I marvel that they dared show their faces: they had not so much as crossed weapons with our conquering heroes!"

"Or they had not lived to tell the tale," exclaimed Hadassah, to whom the news of the victory at Emmaus seemed to give new energy and life.

"We dared not clap our hands and shout," continued the Jewish servant; "but there is not a Hebrew child that is not wild with joy. We blessed the name of Maccabeus, though we could only breathe it in whispers."

"But a day is coming when the welkin shall ring with that name, and the walls of Jerusalem echo back the sound," cried Hadassah. "Oh, my child!" she continued, glancing joyfully at Zarah, "there will be a thankful celebration of the Passover to-morrow. The Lord is giving deliverance to His chosen, even as He once did from the power of the haughty Pharaoh."

"It must be a very quiet keeping of the Feast," observed Anna, shaking her head. "It is said that King Antiochus is raging like a bear robbed of her whelps at the flight of Nicanor and the disgraceful retreat of Giorgias. A courier has ridden off, post-haste, bearer of despatches from the king to Lycias, the regent of the western provinces."

"Is it known what the despatches contain?" asked Hadassah.

"It is reported in the city," said Anna, "that Lycias is to raise a more mighty and terrible army than any that has swept the country before—more mighty than those led by Apollonius, Seron, or Nicanor. King Antiochus has sworn by all his false gods that he will destroy the Asmoneans root and branch."

"What God hath planted, who shall root up? what God prospers, who shall destroy?" cried Hadassah. "Thinks Antiochus Epiphanes that he hath power to strive against the Lord?"

"He has terrible power to use against man," said Anna, who had a less courageous spirit than her mistress. "Sharper measures than ever, it is said, are to be taken to put down our secret worship. Woe unto them who are found keeping the Passover to-morrow! It will be done unto them, as it was done to Solomona and her sons."

"Would that God would give me strength to attend the holy Feast!" cried Hadassah, on whom the idea of danger following its celebration appeared to act as a stimulant; "no fear of man should keep me away. But He who withholds the power accepts the will of His servant."

"I will go with my uncle Abishai," said Zarah.

"To rejoice and give thanks," cried Hadassah.

But Zarah's sinking heart could not respond to any accents of joy. She bowed her head on he clasped hands, and faintly murmured,—

"To pray for you, for myself, and—"

No human ear could catch the word which pale lips inaudibly framed.

"Go to our young Greek guest, Anna," Hadassah. "Bear to him some of this ripe, cooling fruit, and tell him of the triumphs of Judas. Though Lycidas be but a heathen," she added, as her handmaiden quitted the apartment to do her bidding, "he has a soul to admire, if he cannot emulate, the lofty deeds of our heroes."

In a brief space of time Anna returned to the upper room, with alarm and surprise depicted on her face.

"I can nowhere find the Greek lord," she exclaimed. "He has made his escape from the house. There is nothing left but his mantle, and that had fallen near the spring."

Hadassah glanced inquiringly at Zarah. But the maiden betrayed no surprise, uttered no word. She only trembled a little, as if from cold; for the sultry heat of Nisan seemed to her suddenly to have changed to the chill of winter. Hadassah made little observation on the flight of Lycidas until Anna had again quitted the apartment, when the widow lady said abruptly,—

"It was strange to leave without a word of farewell, a word of thanks, after having been for months treated as a guest, almost as a son!"

Zarah, with her cold, nervous fingers, was unconsciously engaged in tearing the edge of her veil into a fringe.

"If I were not uneasy regarding the safety of Abishai," resumed Hadassah—

But here, for the first time in her life, Zarah, with an appearance of impatience, interrupted the speech of her revered relative.

"Have no fear for Abishai," cried the maiden, raising her head, and throwing back the long tresses which, from her drooping position, had fallen over her pallid face. "Have no fear for Abishai," she repeated. "The Greek will never repay your generous hospitality by revenging his private injuries upon your son. I can answer for his forbearance."

"You are right, my child," said Hadassah, tenderly. "I did Lycidas a wrong by expressing a doubt. Abishai is secure in his silence; and, such being the case, I believe—nay, I feel assured—that, it is better that we harbour the stranger here no longer. I am thankful that Lycidas has left us though his manner of departing seem somewhat churlish."

Was Zarah thankful also? Perhaps she was, though a miserable void seemed to be left in young heart, which she felt that nothing could ever fill up. More an orphan than the fatherless and motherless, more desolate than the widow, loving and beloved, yet—save for one sick and aged woman—alone in the world, it seemed to Zarah that a slight tie bound her to life, and that even that tie was gradually breaking. On the eve of that day of sore trial, the spring behind the dwelling had quite dried up: not a single drop gushed forth from the hill to revive the fading oleanders.

Just before sunset a laden mule was driven to the door of Hadassah's humble retreat. It was led by Joab, a Jew who had in former years been servant to the lady, and who had been one of those who had bravely assisted in digging the grave of the martyrs. His presence, therefore, in that unfrequented spot excited no alarm.

"Anna," said he, addressing the handmaid who stood in the doorway (for he knew her by name), "help me to unload my mule; and do you bear what I bring to your mistress."

"From whence comes all this?" asked Anna, with no small curiosity.

"I met to-day," replied Joab, "the same stranger whom we caught lurking amidst the olives on the night of the burial of Solomona—(that was nigh being his last night upon earth!) He looked ghastly, as if himself new risen from the grave, and scarcely able to drag his steps along. I helped to raise him on my mule, and it bore him to a house in the city which he mentioned. I doubt whether the Gentile recognized me—his mind seemed to be strangely wandering—till I asked him where he had been since we had met by moonlight under a tree; and then he started, and looked fixedly into my face. He knew me, and did not forget that I had been one to spare his life by stepping over the spear," continued the muleteer, with a grim smile. "The Gentile is not ungrateful. I suppose that he remembered that he owed a debt in another quarter also, for he bade me return in a few hours; and when I did so, charged me to bear these things to the dwelling of the Lady Hadassah—ay, and gave me this purse of silver for her handmaid."

"The Lord Lycidas has a noble heart! Would that he were a son of Abraham!" exclaimed the delighted Anna, as she received the gift of the Greek. With mingled curiosity and pleasure Anna then carried up what Joab had brought to the housetop, on which the Hebrew ladies were then sitting, for the sake of the cooling breeze of even. At the bidding of Hadassah, Anna removed the outer wrappings which enclosed what Lycidas had sent, and drew forth a store of goodly gifts, selected with exquisite taste—graceful ornaments, embroidery in gold, the lamp of delicate workmanship, the mirror of polished steel. Anna could not forbear uttering exclamations of admiration; but Hadassah and her grand-daughter looked on in grave silence, until a scroll was handed to the former, which she opened and read aloud.

"With these worthless tokens of remembrance, accept the deep gratitude of one who has learned in a few too brief months under your roof more than he could elsewhere have learned in a life-time, of the loftiness of faith and the heroism of virtue."



CHAPTER XVIII.

THE PASSOVER FEAST.

Very different was the celebration of the Feast of Unleavened Bread in the days of Antiochus Epiphanes from what it had been in the palmy times when the children of Israel were swayed by their own native kings. There was now no mighty gathering together of the people from Dan to Beersheba; herdsmen driving their lowing cattle, shepherds leading their bleating flocks from the slopes of Carmel, and the pastures beneath the snow-capt heights of Lebanon. Fishermen left not their nets by the shores of the inland lakes, nor their boats drawn up on the coast by the sea, to go up, as their fathers had gone, to worship the Lord in Zion. There were no pilgrims from Sharon's plains or the mountains of Gilead. Jerusalem was not crowded with joyful worshippers, and her streets made almost impassable by the droves and flocks collected for sacrifice, as when Josiah held his never-to-be-forgotten Passover Feast. There were no loud bursts of joyful music, as when the singers, the sons of Asaph, ranged in their appointed places, led the chorus of glad thanksgiving. Groups of Hebrews, by twos and threes, stealthily made their way, as if bound on some secret and dangerous errand, to the few houses in which the owners were bold enough or pious enough to prepare the Paschal feast.

Amongst these dwellings was that of the elder Salathiel, a man who, in despite of threatened persecution, still dared to worship God according to the law as given through Moses. In an upper room in his house all was set ready for the celebration of the feast, in order as seemly as circumstances would permit. The Paschal lamb had been roasted whole in a circular pit in the ground; it had been roasted transfixed on two spits thrust through it, one lengthwise and one transversely, so as to form a cross. The wild and bitter herbs, with which it was to be eaten, had been carefully washed and prepared. On the table had been placed plates containing unleavened bread, and four cups filled with red wine mingled with water.