"Nay, nay, my Sara!" He shouted with a glad voice. "Thou art not unclean! Jesus of Nazareth hath cleansed thee already if in thy heart thou believest thou art clean. He hath bidden me bring thee to him, clean, clean."

"Thou hast come too late!" the wailing voice called back. "Thou canst do nothing for me."

"Nay. Nothing can I do. But he—Jesus of Nazareth—can do all things. He hath all power on sea and land, in air and sky, in heaven and hell! There is nothing this wonder worker can not do. Lift up thine arms as thou wilt lift them before his face when thou comest into his presence. Clap thy hands! Open thy mouth and shout! Shout, Sara!"

For a moment there was silence only broken by the running water of the Jordan. Then the stillness was again broken by a scream and the one word, "Jael!" The cry came from the bed of rushes and was in strong contrast to the rasping effort of the moment before. "Jael! Jael!" Again the sharp scream.

"What is it, my Sara?"

"My flesh is coming clean! What meaneth it?"

"Jesus of Nazareth is here. My eyes be holden that I can not see, yet I feel him."

"Jael! Jael!" Again it was a scream—a wild, glad, unearthly scream. "My strength is returning. It is pouring into me like sunshine. Jael! My knee! My legs! They are coming clean under my very eyes! Run to me. Hurry! Hurry else the miracle thou mayest not see! The flesh cometh clean fast. Fast! And the breath of healing bloweth over the running sores! See! They are drying! Look, like scales they are dropping away!"

Before Jael reached the bed Sara had risen on her knees.

"My Jesus!" he shouted in a voice that made the valley ring as he met her face to face. "Sara! Thou art made whole!"

Even as he spoke she lifted herself with a great shout and left the nest of rushes for the arms of Jael. For a moment he held her as if between the woman and destruction there remained nothing but his arms. Yet the lips of them both were dumb in the first moments of the miracle. Then he held her at arm's length and looked into her face.

"Thou art Jael—surely Jael," she said, "but am I Sara?"

"Yea, yea. And every whit made whole. Feel thou thy hair. Feel thou thy ruddy cheeks. Feel thou thy supple arms and strong young hands as when they tossed the nets," and he drew his fingers over her hair and face and arms.

Again she stood unable to speak. She looked back to the empty bed of rushes and into the face of Jael.

"Feel for thyself," and taking her hand he made it stroke her long hair.

"Let mine eyes bear me witness," and turning toward the still pool she ran fleet footed, and dropped on her hands and knees beside it. So long and carefully she bent above the water, Jael came beside her and looked in to see there her mirrored face. "Look, Jael," she whispered. "Seest thou a face?"

"Yea, thy face, clean and whole."

"Nay—not mine. There is one altogether fair and more beautiful than tongue can tell. It seemeth to look out from mine as though it had always been there, yet it is not mine, but another. My soul telleth me this mighty Jesus hath taken possession of thy Sara."

A moment they tarried by the pool of the Jordan. Then Sara sprang up exclaiming, "Jael—I love thee! I love thee! But there is another I love with a strong love that tongue can not speak. Come! Let us hasten with winged feet to Jesus of Nazareth. Before his face would I shout the joy of my salvation!"



CHAPTER XXI

ANOTHER PASSOVER

The year between the Passover feasts of 32 and 33 A. D. had been a busy and eventful one in the Bethany household where Jesus made his home during much of the time of his Judean teaching. Out of his frequent visits and the thoughtful ministrations of Mary and Martha had come an intimacy that had cemented the bands of love between them, while Lazarus and the young Rabbi, close as brothers, studied the Law and the Scriptures together.

Through the year Martha and Joel had been making preparations for their marriage which was to take place soon after the Passover and in this wedding Jesus was deeply interested. But the one great event of the year had been the death and resurrection of Lazarus. This strange event had not only been the miracle talk of the home, but it had been widely discussed in Jerusalem.

Passover guests were beginning to throng the highways leading to Jerusalem, and the home at Bethany was set in order for the coming of Joseph of Arimathea and Jesus of Galilee, who were again to be guests of Lazarus. Martha and Joel sat in the big window talking over their own affairs while Mary and Lazarus stood by the table looking over a scroll, all four meantime, listening for the approach of their guests.

"Is it not strange," Lazarus said, "that in the name of those who were stoned yesterday for being prophets, the prophets of to-morrow are stoned to-day."

"There are no good prophets but dead prophets," Mary answered.

"So it seemeth," and Lazarus turned to the scroll and began to read. "The ox knoweth—" The words were interrupted by a knocking at the door which both Mary and Lazarus hastened to answer.

"It is Joseph of Arimathea," said Lazarus.

"Perhaps Jesus cometh first," Mary replied, laughing.

The door was thrown open to Joseph who was greeted warmly, relieved of his cloak and seated for foot-washing.

"Aye, but we are glad to have thee," Lazarus said, shaking his hand.

"The year hath been long since we saw thee last," Mary said, and Martha added, "Thou dost honor us to be our Passover guest."

"The blessing of God be on thee, my daughters, and thou, Lazarus. And, Joel, it seemeth I saw thee here also at the last Passover."

"Yea, indeed," laughed Lazarus. "And art like to find him here next Passover, eh, Martha?" and his laughter called forth a response of merriment from the company.

Before the face of Lazarus had yet straightened into its accustomed good-natured lines, Joseph was looking intently upon it.

"Lazarus, my young friend," he said, stroking his long white beard, "for one that hath been dead thy voice beareth strange meaning. Yea, verily, my ears can not believe what my eyes behold. Of much people have I heard of thy coming from the tomb where thou hast lain four days. Now would I hear from thy lips of this miracle. Wast thou of a surety dead?"

"So sayest those who did entomb me."

"And yet do I see thee alive," and his hand came to a rest on his flowing beard as he studied Lazarus.

"So do I bear witness," Martha said, laughing. "Though it has been weeks since the strange thing came to pass, yet doth he devour food as doth the grasshopper that eateth clean the face of the earth."

"Ha! ha! Four days be a good fast to one not given to fasting," Lazarus replied to Martha.

"Herein is a marvel," and the hand of Joseph still lay quiet against his beard. "Thou sayest thou wert dead?"

"Nay. I said those who did entomb me so said."

"The Law doth teach," and Joseph moved his hand down his beard slowly, "that when the sword of death doth enter the soul of man from its cruel point doth a drop of corruption enter into the flesh, of which death maketh more corruption. The sword of death did enter thy soul, but not the drop of corruption?"

"Of this I bear testimony," Martha quickly answered. "I feared greatly to have the tomb opened lest the stench of corruption should sicken the mourners."

"And there was no stench?" said Joseph, turning to Martha.

"None save the odor of grave spices."

"Then of a fact there must be death from which there is an awakening."

"Yea, surely." It was Lazarus who answered. "In days of old did not the prophets make some to sneeze and sit up on their biers while others might not sneeze for all the prophets?"

"Much have I heard of prophets raising the dead. Yet had none turned to corruption."

"Even Jesus doth make no claim of bringing back to life those whose flesh hath turned black."

Joseph made no reply to the last speech of Lazarus, but turned to Mary and said, "What thinketh thou?"

"As my brother hath spoken," she replied. "There is one death, and there is another death. Into one hath corruption entered. Into the other it hath not. Hath not Jesus made this plain? Yet because of their ignorance do the people not understand. When he did enter the house of Jarius, synagogue ruler at Capernaum, to raise his daughter, did he not tell them plainly the damsel was not dead? Yet wept they and howled. And when he sought to quiet them by again saying, 'She sleepeth only,' did they laugh him to scorn. But when he did take the little damsel by the hand and bid her arise, she awakened. Then did the shout go up, 'A miracle! A miracle!' The Master doth thus teach there is a death from which the sleeper may be awakened. How cruel it is to seal such dead in the tomb!"

"Thou hast spoken, Mary," Joseph answered. "Fearful it is." Then he turned to Lazarus. "Canst tell how thy soul did feel as thou didst pass into the state of the dead?"

"Of feeling I had no knowledge. The incantations of the physician grew feeble as the buzzing of a bee. The pleading of Martha reached my ears like a child's call over a vast mountain, and the eyes of Mary, rimmed in tears, did sink into darkness like stars in a far sky and then go out. Yea, sight, sound, feeling, even knowledge of my own soul faded away—for how long I know not. They do tell me it was four days. Once as I lay asleep I did feel something like a cold flutter and faint touch across my cheek as in a dream, and from a great distance seemed to come the scent of spice. Then did something startle me. Aye, the blood in my veins which had refused to run, gave a mighty leap forward, there came a flood of air and a great burst of sunlight which did shine through my being, and I awoke and did walk from the tomb in obedience to the voice that called me forth—it was the voice of Jesus."

Joseph shook his head slowly saying, "I understand not. Herein lieth a mystery."

"Yea, a mystery," Lazarus repeated.

"A mystery to those who understand not," Mary said. "But to the Master it seemeth to be no mystery. Once when I sat with him upon the house-top and marveled at the mystery of music, he did tell me that the soul of man is made of Waves of Being. Yet did I not understand until again he taught me. And this have I gathered of his wondrous wisdom—all Time and all Space, and all Power that moves therein is a Great Sea of Waves of Being. And the soul of man is like a tiny cupful of the Waves of Being, dipped from this sea that lieth between endless shores. And for a time these waves run to and fro in that which hath the form of a man. Then do they depart into another form that the eye beholdeth not. But whether these Waves of Being are making motion in the Great Sea of the Universe or the soul of man, they are one and the same waves, so that from a great force without is a great force within played upon, and we call it a mystery. Yet, when he had told all this I did not understand clearly, nor when he called the Great Sea by the name of 'God' and the soul of man a little God. But when he called this Universal Sea of Waves of Being by the name of 'Love,' then had he reached my understanding, for under the teaching of Jesus, the Master, hath my own soul come to know a love boundless as the Sea of Being itself. Since God is love, and God is life, it cometh that love is life and according as a man loveth, be it much or little, so doth he possess the powers of life. So all things are possible according as one hath the power of loving. Is it strange therefore that to him who loveth as Jesus doth, uncommon power be given? There is a mystery. It is the mystery of love."

"What eye is this that thou seest these things with, Mary?" Joseph asked, after a moment of silence.

"Sometimes," she answered, smiling, "methinks I have a third eye that hath long been sealed, but under the teaching of him whom we love, is opening to the light."

"Thou art a wise disciple."

"Much wisdom is required of those to whom much opportunity is given. Many of these things are grave yet simple, even as the fulfillment of the Law by casting the Law aside is grave, yet simple."

"Mary," said Joel, "thy speeches ofttimes sound simple, yet are thy words like a keen blade in a soft kid case. Thy talk would disturb my peace of mind had I time to think on it."

"What doth now threaten to disturb thy peace of mind, Joel?" Lazarus asked.

"In the setting aside of the Law I see great danger, yet Jesus is ever so doing. Lo, it hath come to my ears that he hath declared no writing of divorcement be given by a man, save for one reason."

"Even so, what matter?" Lazarus asked.

"Hath it not been since the days of Moses that a man be the rightful head of the woman, and to him is given power to put her away when his judgment sees fit?"

"Yea, for spoiling his mutton."

"And what man chooseth to dine on spoiled mutton?"

"Or scorching his porridge?"

"Scorched porridge maketh not a sweet temper for a man."

"Or speaking back with a sharp tongue?"

"Shouldst not a woman's tongue be meek in the presence of her husband?"

"And in thine own memory," Lazarus said to Joel as a climax, "hath not a Rabbi put away an old and faithful wife for a fresh and ruddy one, for no reason save her lack of freshness?"

"So doth the Law give man his right," Joel answered.

"And now cometh a Teacher who sayeth to this sort 'Nay!'" And Lazarus laughed, for concern was written on the face of Joel as he spoke again.

"Canst thou not see whereunto this liberty to women will lead? Aye, even there may come a time when women will be allowed to give a man a writing of divorcement."

"Even so,—ha! ha! If he doth beat her with a stick or refuse to feed her, let her do this to him."

"I look for the world to come to a speedy end when the Law and the traditions of the Elders are overturned," and Joel heaved a heavy sigh.

"The traditions of the Elders," Mary repeated. "Often hath the Master spoken of the Elders and their traditions. They claim to sit in the seat of Moses, knowing not that the seat of Moses did pass with the passing of Moses. As saw their fathers, so see they; as spoke their fathers, so speak they; as did their fathers, so try they to do, forgetting this, that as the times of their fathers have perished, so have perished their needs, and with the coming of new generations have come new needs. 'Harken not to these neither now nor in the days to come,' saith the Master. 'They be blind leaders of the blind. Beware thou that man who boasts of changing not.'"

"I perceive that closely thou hast learned of Jesus. Tell me now, wherein, thinkest thou, lieth the secret that shall bring the Kingdom of which he doth ever speak?"

The question was asked Mary by Joseph. She said, "Once was I standing in the far end of the garden where the soil had been made soft for a row of mustard trees. And the seed lay upon the palm of my hand when Jesus did come softly behind me saying, 'What hast thou?' For answer I held forth my hand black with seed like dust. 'Watch thou, Mary,' were his words. 'As the tree doth come from the seed, so cometh the Kingdom.' Then went he on a long journey. Returning he did ask of my garden. Again did we walk to the far end where the wall was hidden by branching mustard trees. And as we drew near the flutter of wings greeted us, and over the garden wall to the olive trees flew the fowls of the air that had gathered in the mustard tree to eat its bright fruit and lodge in its branches. Then again did he speak of the Kingdom saying, 'Lo, from the life of the tiny seed thou held in thine hand hath come this more abundant life. Even so shall the Kingdom come from the seed sowing of Truth. Truth is—'" The words of Mary who had been sitting in the window came to a sudden stop. A step outside had attracted her attention. She sprang up and hastened to put a fresh basin of water by the guest stool at the door. Then she went back to the window and piled cushions in a corner, making ready for a guest. Before she had finished Lazarus was laughing.

"When Mary's hand, without the goad of Martha's tongue, fall diligently to indoor labor, then know we who cometh."



CHAPTER XXII

BRIDAL CHAMBER TALK

Martha's approaching marriage was of more interest to her than even the solemnity and feasting of the Passover. So it was that on a night preceding the great celebration, the conversation of Mary and Martha turned from the events of the day to a new bridal garment. In the sleeping-room were two handsome carved chests. Beside one of these Martha knelt, while Mary sat at a dressing-table taking down her hair for the night.

"Is not my Persian shawl beautiful and my Arabian veil fair to the eye?" Martha asked proudly, taking them from the chest.

"Yea, but thy robe is more beautiful."

Martha replaced the shawl and veil carefully in the chest and took from it a robe. She rose, draped the garment over her arm and held it under the lamp that burned by Mary's table. "Ah, Mary," she said with pride, "hast thou seen anything more gorgeous? Look thou at the threads of gold and silver and the blue and purple flowers."

"Yea, thou hast a treasure. Fair wilt thou be as a bride, and proud will beat the heart of Joel. And there will be merry music with wine and oil for those who gather along the way to see the procession, and nuts and sweetmeats for the children."

"And there will be myrtle branches and wreaths of flowers and dancing maidens with flowing hair and laughing mouths. But Martha will be the center of all eyes, in snowy veil; and voices all along the way will cheer and hands will clap."

"Yea," laughed Mary, "hands will clap for among the Jews doth not everything give way to a wedding procession and everybody make merry?"

"They say," Martha answered, as she brushed a speck of dust from a flower on her robe, "it was because she oft clapped her hands at wedding that only the hands of Jezebel were left when the dogs ate her flesh."

"So the old women like to tell, but it is no more true than that God had a wedding for Adam and Eve with Michael and Gabriel for groomsmen."

"These sayings sound well, Mary. Why declarest thou they are not true?"

"The understanding of my head doth tell me so. In the days of our fathers there was no marriage save that a man did go out and find her whom his heart loved and take her. If one were not enough, he took two. If two did not suffice, he took three."

"And if three were not enough," Martha observed, laughing, "he took a score."

"Yea, a score. Then thinkest thou our fathers had naught to do but make great processions?"

"Much I like the procession, the veil, the flowers, the sweetmeats and all this that maketh marriage."

"But all this maketh not the marriage, Martha. Naught but love hath power to make the marriage."

"Ever thou maketh much of love, Mary."

"The blessing of the priest can not take the place of it when a man and a woman unite to abide under one roof."

"Maybe so," Martha assented, going back to the chest, "but see thou my girdle of jewels from the Far East. Come thou and look once again at my goodly store. A long time have I been getting my chest filled against the day I am the bride of Joel."

"And an outfit thou hast worthy an Asmonean princess, while my chest hath little in it save my alabaster vase of very precious perfume."

"Fragrant will it make thy wedding veil."

"For this hope I treasure it. And yet—"

The words were stayed by a knocking at the door and the voice of Lazarus shouting in excitement, "Mary! Mary! Open to me the door. I have great news!"

"Yea—yea, we open," Mary answered. "Even the tomb door doth open to thee, my brother."

"Aye, but I have great news—great news!" he exclaimed as he crossed the threshold.

"But thou bearest a sword," Mary said, drawing back. "A sword! What of this sword?"

"Yea, what of the sword?" Martha repeated. "And what is the news?"

"Israel hath a King!" The words were shouted rather than spoken and the hand of Lazarus trembled with excitement against the hilt of the sword he carried.

"Israel hath a King? What meanest thou?" and the tone of Mary's voice showed that she had caught the spirit of excitement from her brother.

"Is the throne of David to be established?" and Martha tucked her jeweled girdle hastily into the chest as she asked the question.

"It is even so, Mary—Martha—and him whom we love hath been acclaimed King of the Jews!"

"Dost thou mean Jesus—our Jesus?" and Mary lay hold of her brother's sleeve with tight fingers.

"Jesus? The Galilean Rabbi that doth abide under our roof?" and Martha came hastily to the side of Lazarus.

"Yea—yea, verily. It is even this same Jesus!"

"My brother," and Mary stepped in front of him and looked into his eager smiling face, "what strange thing is this thou sayest? Ah, it is too strange that after the long, long years of Israel's bondage the King of the Jews hath come! And stranger far than this if it should be the Jesus we love."

"But I do swear to you I speak the truth. Thou shouldst have seen Jerusalem this day. Thou shouldst have heard the glad hosannahs to the King, shouted from ten thousand throats!"

"Thou makest my ears to burn!" Martha said, her face glowing with excitement.

"Nay, rather doth my heart burn with a fire of wondrous and holy joy," Mary said in trembling voice.

"And glad I am that our home hath been his stopping place and that I, Martha, have baked him sparrow pies."

"Rather thank Jehovah that we have been blessed with quiet hours of teaching ere all Israel doth make demands on his wisdom, as did our fathers on the wisdom of Solomon. But, Lazarus, what of the day? Last night he sat with us at meat and no word was spoken of a king. And this morning when thou and Jesus did turn thy faces to Jerusalem, was naught said of so grave a matter."

"Thou speakest the truth, Mary. This morning the Master had no thought of the near coming of the Kingdom, though twice had the people of Galilee called him to be King. But as we journeyed toward Jerusalem, as if it had been well planned, throngs came out from everywhere waving palms and tossing olive branches. Aye, it seemed a forest of olive branches moved along the road and children threw flowers, and mighty was the shouting. As we drew near the city, Jerusalem, hearing the glad shouting, came forth to meet us and as the great gate was neared did the men of Israel spread their garments along the way as when the army of Jehu made a carpet of its coats. With victorious shoutings entered the procession beneath the city gates and with wild waving of palms was the King of the Jews heralded. Not in a hundred years hath the City of Zion witnessed such a sight and the noise of shouting was at times like thunder. Near mine own ear did a zealot shout until methought the top of my skull was tumbling in. And with his shouting did he wave an old red rag which he shook fiercely, as he roared out, 'Thou art the King!' And with him was a woman, young and comely who likewise shouted saying, 'Hosannah! Praise his name!' keeping tight hold of the coat of the man, meantime, because of such a run of joyful tears as blinded her eyes. And these were but two of the multitude. Think ye, my sisters, that the Roman soldiers stood not aside when such a following did pass?"

"Aye, but I like the sound of thy speech," said Martha, smiling and clapping her hands.

"Wonderful!" exclaimed Mary. "But the sword, why the sword?"

"The King hath been acclaimed, but the throne hath yet to be established and swords shall the sons of Judah take up if there be need."

"The spears of Rome are sharp and held by matchless soldiery and Pilate is cruel as the grave and thirsting ever for the blood of Israel."

"Thou speakest, Mary. But when the people rise, even the legions of Rome stand back. Saw we not that this day? Just now the flower of Rome's strength in Palestine hath been sent to Assyria and ere the legions of the Imperial City could reach Jerusalem, will the Tower of Antonio and its stores be in possession of the Jews. With a handful of the following the Master had to-day a Maccabee would take Jerusalem from pagan hands. Shall the followers of him who is greater than David fall short? Rather let the arm of Israel be palsied than to fail when the Kingdom is in sight. Shout, my sisters, for the Kingdom is at hand!"

"Thrice glad am I my wedding garments are gorgeous enough for a king's court," Martha said.

"Talk of a king's court would be pleasant save for the glint of yonder sword. Lazarus, is there harm or danger for him we love in all this thou tellest?" and there was grave concern in Mary's face.

"There hath been dark mutterings and Pilate's wrath will be sore kindled by what hath taken place. But the sons of Judah are brave and the Lion of the Tribe shall prevail."

"Glad I am that ever I have given the Master of the best wine and richest sop!" Martha exclaimed.

"My heart doth rejoice that while he was yet poor, our home hath been his. Even as our fathers did entertain angels unawares, so have we given shelter to a King," Mary said.

"Hath not thy heart from the beginning taken him for a King, Mary?" Lazarus asked. "Yea, even thy King?"

"Since first I saw him in the portals of the Temple have I loved him whom thou sayest is to be King."

"So! So!" shouted Martha, laughing. "Even more than a friend may I be to the King of the Jews, for doth not the Master love our Mary?"

"Methought thou hast feigned blindness these months," Lazarus said to Martha.

"Blind was I in the beginning since I took not notice of signs. But, brother, when thou didst die, my eyes came open. After thou hadst been dead four days, and the Master came, methought he would ask straightway concerning thy sickness that did take thee to the tomb, and that he would speak comfort. But not so. Of Mary did he straightway ask and to Mary did he bid me hasten, saying he had come. Aye, even though half Jerusalem had gone to thy grave to mourn did he have eyes for none. And when Mary did come—ah, that thou might'st have seen! At the feet of him did she fall crying, 'Jesus—Jesus, if thou hadst been here my brother had not died!' Tears wet her cheeks as she held her face to his and her voice broke with sobs. Then beholding her, he too did weep. And the Jews which looked on said, 'Behold, how much did he love Lazarus.' Yet did I know he wept not for thee, my brother, but rather because the heart of Mary was nigh broken with sorrow. Thus did the scales drop from my eyes and I did see that the Master loveth our Mary more than us all. So it seemeth good that I may be sister of the King of the Jews."

Mary clasped her hands and lifted her eyes, "The Lord be good!" she said softly. "The Lord be praised! Our brother hath been restored from the tomb and the Master hath been acclaimed King of the Jews, even as good Elizabeth prophesied a year ago."

"And while thou dost lift thy voice in praise, forget not that this is the downfall of that crafty fox of an Idumean who hath climbed to the throne of the Jews by one murder following another murder until the name of Herod is but a hiss. But his days are numbered now!"

While Lazarus had been speaking Martha had turned back to the carved chest and taken out the jeweled girdle. She held it toward Lazarus saying, "Thou hast not yet seen this, my brother, nor my veil."

Lazarus took the jeweled belt and laughed. "It is fine. Anything else, for it doth seem my eyes must behold thy finery before the Kingdom be discussed."

"Look here! See this!" and Martha improved the chance to interest her brother by taking again from the chest the shawl and the robe.

When he had hastily passed approval of them he turned to Mary and said: "Where is thy finery? Open thou thy chest and bring forth thy treasures also."

In reply Mary opened her chest and took out an alabaster vase of rare design. She laughed as she showed it to him saying, "This, my alabaster box of very precious ointment thou gavest me, is all my chest contains, and the seal of it remains unbroken. Yet do I treasure it against the day when it shall make my wedding veil fragrant as a field of lilies. When I am spoken for I will fill my chest with wedding garments as hath Martha."

"And if thou art spoken for by the King of the Jews, like a queen must thou be decked. Glad am I, my sister, that thou art fair. Aye, just now will I deck thee in my wedding garments and see thee shine," and Martha took from the chest a golden scarf, a spangled veil and some strings of beads. With the gold and spangled cloth she draped Mary. The jeweled girdle was coiled about her head like a crown and her flowing hair was hung with strands of shining beads.

When Martha had finished, Lazarus, who stood by looking on with interest, said, "Thou lackest a scepter, Mary. Take thou the sword," and he rested it against her knee and stood back with Martha to get the effect.

"God of our fathers!" Martha exclaimed with smiling face. "Among all the daughters of Jerusalem none is more fair than our Mary."

"But I like it not. Behold! A sword hath been given me and he that hath been called to bring the Kingdom doth ever teach those are blessed who make not war, but who bring peace. Take thou the sword. It doth savor of Rome, of battle-fields, cries of pain, black wings over far fields of death and little children crying for fathers who will come no more. Take thou the sword."

"Not even in the raiment of a queen canst thou forget the words of the Master. Thou art queer, Mary," Lazarus said as he took the sword.

"Nor do I like the heavy weight of jewels on my brow nor pearls hanging down my hair. Aye, Lazarus, hath not thy lips just passed the word that the poor breathe curses against Herod because that of their nakedness he doth wear jewels, of their starvation doth he fatten with rich food, of their misery doth come his ease even as these things come to Pilate and to Caesar? Should one woman wear on her brow that for which the peasants of Galilee suffer and sweat and toil? Nay, nay. Not such a Kingdom preacheth the Master."

"Thou and the Master doth love peace. So did our father David. Yet was it not the will of God that he lift the sword most mightily? How can a Kingdom come without the sword?"

"I know not the manner of its coming, my brother. But the Kingdom the Master doth preach cometh first within the heart of man. And if the members of a man's life lift up the sword of disagreement between themselves, will the Kingdom be destroyed and not built up."

"I understand not the meaning of thy speech, my sister, and reason telleth me the Kingdom cometh by the sword."

"Great is the mystery of the coming of the Kingdom," Mary assented. "Yet there are hearts that understand what reason never knew or hath forgotten. But go thou now to rest. The day hath been full of wonders—and of weariness, as my eye can see in thy face though it doth glow with joy."

"Yea, the day hath been full of wonders and the morrow will be big with an event which shall be known throughout the earth. In thy dreams to-night, my gentle Mary, shout praises to the King, that thy lips may be shaped for great rejoicing when the new day cometh!"



CHAPTER XXIII

YE GENERATION OF VIPERS

For several days before the Passover celebration every highway leading to Jerusalem had been ground to fine dust by the hoofs of flocks and herds, and of slow asses laden with coops of doves and by the wheels of carts heavy with lambs—all moving toward the sacrificial knives of the Temple. By the morning of the day preceding that of the Great Feast, at an early hour all was life and excitement in the Outer Court of the Temple. Here booths and stalls had been erected for traffic in everything from oil and wine to graven earrings, and although such was forbidden, yet for more than half a century had the House of Annas grown rich from the tax on Temple traffic and no man had dared speak openly against it.

Not only was this income great, but there were yet greater returns from the tables of the money-changers. From all portions of the world came devout Jews to the Passover each contributing his compulsory half shekel tribute money. As this tax money must by law be paid in Hebrew coin, the money-changing business was established and the favored ones who were allowed to operate in the Temple took the best places which they filled with chests and sacks of Hebrew money, mostly mites and farthings, and with unfilled boxes and bags in which to store the foreign coin taken in at an exorbitant exchange profit. While the tradesmen and stock drivers had begun early to prepare for a season of unusual profit making, the money-changers had not forgotten their interests. Indeed, this aristocracy of profit makers had held council but the night before and agreed on the price of exchange and the extra soldiery necessary for handling such troublesome strangers as might raise objections should a spurious coin lodge in an honest palm. Among the money-lenders none was more keenly alive to his own interests than Zador Ben Amon who by gift-giving and cunning had secured a place for his long table near the steps leading from the Outer Court up to the Beautiful Gate. In addition to this choice place of business, Ben Amon had a gold and silver shop on the other side of the Outer Court and half a dozen more scattered through the city. In each of these places he had trusted salesmen and trusted watchers all of whom he himself watched.

It was early on the morning following the day he had been publicly proclaimed King with such a mighty demonstration, that Jesus made his way over Olivet from Bethany to Jerusalem. As was his pleasure oftentimes, he walked alone. The greater number who had followed him the day before were Galileans and those who camped with them beyond the city walls. These would not have business in the Temple until a later hour nor did he expect recognition that would give him any publicity from strangers or the busy tradesmen. Before the Golden Gate he paused and lifted his eyes. On each side were handsome pillars said to have been brought to Solomon by the Queen of Sheba. But he was not thinking of these. Perhaps he heard the glad hosannahs ringing as they had sounded but a day before. Perhaps it was the bleating of young lambs he heard; perhaps the voice of a woman as she bade him not be late at the day's dinner where he was to be an honored guest.

Standing but a moment he passed under the gate and through the city streets to the Temple. As he entered the portals of Solomon's Porch the babel of many tongues, the ring of hammers and the hoarse shouting of cattle drivers reached his ear and prepared his eye for the picture of activity it would behold in the Outer Court. With every step he took, the noise and confusion grew. Wishing to study the crowd without himself being seen, he climbed on to the marble balustrade of the Outer Court where it ran between two pillars and in the niche thus made concealed himself.

Directly across from where he stood was the table of Zador Ben Amon with two servants already in charge and a watcher to keep his eye on the chests and bags under the table. At this stand business had already begun. A Roman Jew had just left with his good Hebrew coin, and an Egyptian had come up, when a woman with two men stopped in front of the Galilean so that he could no longer see the money-changing going on. The woman wore the garb of a widow. One of the men was a scribe. The other man was a Pharisee. The face of the woman was much troubled and she plead with the scribe and the Pharisee. And when they would have left her she clung to them and passed on thus into the crowd. Very shortly after the three had passed the Galilean, he saw this same scribe at the money table across the way. He seemed to be buying a bag of coins, most likely mites for alms giving.

For half an hour the Galilean Rabbi watched the moving people from where he stood. Then he left the place and went into the Woman's Court. As there could be no traffic carried on here, there were few people and less noise, and he had not gone far when he heard some one weeping. He soon found it to be the widow he had seen a short time before. Without hesitation he approached her. "Why weepest thou?" he asked.

"The inheritance of my father hath been taken from me. The mother of six small men children I am and my husband hath died. And now no place of shelter have I."

"Who hath taken thy home?"

"The scribe took it not—so sayeth he. The Pharisee took it not—so sayeth he. But the two of them have taken my shelter to satisfy the Law—so say they."

"A scribe and a Pharisee. They are wolves in sheep's clothing!"

"Yea—but doth this get back for me my inheritance? Canst thou help me? My husband hath died and I am defrauded of all I possess."

"Silver and gold have I none—yet shall there be a reckoning!"

"My shelter is taken! My husband is dead and there is none to defend me!" and the woman turned her face again to the wall and wept bitterly.

The Galilean stood for a moment. Then he turned back and crossed the Outer Court coming into the porch. Here the sound of a trumpet attracted his attention. It was a Pharisee announcing his time of prayer. And when a crowd had gathered the Pharisee threw back his head and beat his breast until his frontlet dangled, and he thanked God he was not as other men. And lo, it was the one who had robbed the widow. The Galilean felt the flush of anger heat his cheek and he clenched his fist as in childhood days he had done when some injustice demanded relief at his hands. With rising indignation he watched the Pharisee until a part of his long and carefully worded prayer had been told into the ear of the public.

As Jesus passed down the steps at no great distance he heard shouting and scuffling. Here he saw the scribe who had purchased coins from the table of Zador Ben Amon. A crowd of beggars had gathered and when the lawyer threw out the coins there was a great scramble and shoving and cursing. Those who picked up a coin shouted. Those who found none, fought. As a coin rolled toward the young Rabbi he picked it up and a look of surprise showed on his face as he examined it. Then again rose his anger and indignation, for the coin was spurious, as he soon found others to be.

Again he clenched his fist and the impulse came to strike, but he put it away and leaving the Temple turned his feet toward a narrow back street where the poverty-stricken swarmed. Here the pallid faces of the hungry, and the maimed bodies of many men told something of the suffering inflicted on these poor by the late wars. As he made his way through this district, the heart of Jesus was bowed under a great weight which was growing heavier and heavier as he acquainted himself with the mass suffering. Following a narrow street to a side gate he went beyond the city walls into a place of stony valleys and gloomy ravines that made the quarries and pools of Jerusalem. In this place, fed by waters running through a subterranean passage from a fountain, was the Pool of Siloam. Gathered here on the broad stone steps that ran to the water's edge, was the outcast poor and the crippled. For a time the Galilean looked upon the scene of helplessness and pain with eyes of infinite compassion and pity, then turning his back on the basin of Siloam's misery, he lifted his eyes to Zion on the Mount and with a long deep sigh exclaimed: "Jerusalem! Jerusalem!"

Retracing his steps, Kedron came into view and again he paused. As he looked into the valley the stream ran brown. To-morrow it would carry clots of rosy foam under which the current would be dark and ruddy. Even as he looked upon it, the lambs were bleating in the stalls. The picture of the bloody sacrifice came before him—the awe-inspiring congregation of two hundred thousand of 'God's chosen ones.' At the ninth hour three blasts of the silver trumpet would start the surging chant of five thousand Levites and signal the beginning of the slaughter. And in the next six hours two hundred thousand lambs must be slain and carried away from the gate.

"What availeth all this?" he said to himself.

When Jesus reentered the Temple, several hours had passed. The noise in the Outer Court had now grown to a deafening roar. Cattle were lowing and lambs bleating. Men shouted and cursed when an affrighted animal broke its tether. The voices of other men were heard calling their wares at shop entrances and booths, and the air was heavy with the stench of goats and cattle dung. Making his way through the crowd he found the niche between the pillars and again stepped into it to look for a few moments upon the scene of uproar and confusion. There was nothing to indicate a place of worship. Rather was it a great bazaar of shops with competition so keen at times as to give promise of the use of fists. In addition to the stalls of lambs and pigeons and the booths of oil and wine and wheat required for the sacrifices, there were stands for vase sellers, brass and copper dealers, dealers in ovens, dishes and bottles, silk merchants and jewelers and traffickers in imported goods.

The crowd was made up mostly of tradespeople and strangers with a sprinkling of Temple Guards and here and there scribes and Pharisees. The gleam of spear points of the Legion told that an extra guard had been sent in from the Tower of Antonio, and Jesus noticed that this guard was well established around the tables of the money-changers. His eye turned again to the table directly in front of him and now for the first time he saw its owner. He smiled at the memory of a startled face looking at him in the dark from over a water-jar. But Zador Ben Amon did not look his way now. He was busy passing on the value of coins and in seeing that any who complained were well pushed out of the way by soldiers, to be swallowed up by the crowd. For a time Jesus watched the game. The last victim of the unscrupulous money-changer was a Galilean peasant, whose travel-stained and shabby body covering, bent shoulders and knotted hands bespoke poverty. When the change was pressed into his hand he refused to accept it. There were words. The peasant was ordered by Zador Ben Amon to move on. This he refused to do. Guards were summoned and when the man, who had been robbed of his one coin, still clamored for his money, he was cruelly beaten and dragged away to the stocks.

The Galilean watching from the balustrade felt again the fierce anger sweeping over him and he left his place of watching with his face turned in the direction of the money-changers. As he crossed the court he stopped at a goat pen. A dozen goats were just being brought in on the shoulders of as many men. As the animals were pushed into the pen the thongs that bound their legs were cast aside. Selecting a handful of these Jesus pressed on. When he reached the table of Zador Ben Amon, this mighty Sadducee was not in sight. But business was going on and, quite near at hand, the Galilean watched the money-changing while his quick fingers plaited a scourge, and the muscles of his arm called him to action. He spoke no word and no man noticed the flush on his face nor the fire in his eye until the hiss of the thong sang over the heads of those about the table of Ben Amon and its stinging force fell across those who bent over the money bags. There was a yell, and another hissing of the thongs. Then the words rang out in a shout of mighty condemnation, "Ye have made my Father's house a den of thieves!" And the thong writhed and hissed and struck and stung and the coin-laden tables were overturned with the ease and fury of an enraged man brushing straw aside. Seeing the uproar about his table, Zador Ben Amon pushed his way through the confusion just in time to see two well filled money bags kicked open by a fellow money-changer trying to escape the scourge. With a shout and a curse he sprang forward. As he did so the hiss of the burning thongs sounded in his ears and the next instant he was blinded by the stinging pain of the scourge as blood ran across his cheeks and into his well oiled beard.

With incredible swiftness the money-changers had been driven out and the cleanser of the Temple had mounted the steps of the Beautiful Gate, and thong in hand was looking out on a scene unparalleled. Servants of money-changers were creeping about the floor; thieves were quickly at work stealing from those who had stolen, and the money-changers themselves, Zador Ben Amon with bloody face among them, were struggling desperately to get possession of their bags before their contents should be wholly appropriated by itching fingers. Running in and out among the affrighted people were animals yet more affrighted whose bleating and bellowing mingled with the outcries of men, while over the heads of them all flocks of frightened doves with swift wing sought escape to the open.

There was a call for guards, but the man pausing on the steps for a passing moment only smiled as he saw them search for one who so boldly stood before them. But if the guards knew not where to look for him, there were those who saw, and in the commotion, when the question was asked, "Who did this thing?" the answer was, "Jesus, the Prophet of Nazareth of Galilee who hath been acclaimed King of the Jews. He hath taken charge of the Temple! Let us see what cometh."

The first development from the confusion was the appearance of a number of scribes, Pharisees and Chief Priests who made their way in a body to the foot of the steps where he who had wrought the confusion stood. Fear, surprise and anger in varying degree marked the faces of these Temple officials. But their wrath was as nothing beside the righteous indignation of him who stood, thong in hand, awaiting their coming. They stopped at the foot of the steps—beyond reach of the weapon in his hand. And from this safe distance they challenged his right and his authority.

A moment he regarded them in silent scorn, then he twisted the whip into a loose roll and flung it at their feet saying, "Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! Ye shut up the Kingdom of Heaven against men! Woe unto you, hypocrites! Ye devour widows' houses and for a pretense make long prayers. Therefore ye shall receive the greater damnation! Woe unto ye, blind guides! Ye pay the tithe of mint and anise and cummin and omit the weightier matters of the Law,—judgment, mercy and faith. Ye blind guides which strain at a gnat and swallow a camel! Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! Ye make clean the outside of the cup and of the platter, but within they are full of extortion and excess! Woe, woe unto you! Ye are like whited sepulchres which indeed appear beautiful outward but within are full of dead men's bones! Woe unto you, scribes, Pharisees, hypocrites! Ye build tombs for the prophets and garnish the sepulchres of the righteous while ye yourselves be children of them which killed the prophets! Fill ye up then the measure of your fathers! Ye serpents! How can ye escape the damnation of hell? Ye generation of vipers!"

A murmur was heard from the crowd which threatened to grow into a mighty demonstration, when, beginning on the outer edge, it died suddenly. In its place was heard the measured tramp of feet and the clanking of arms. As if a magic wand had been extended over the people, the mass separated in the middle, forming an aisle through which came the High Priest's guard of Roman spearmen. Tongues stopped wagging. Something was going to happen. The tinkle of golden bells told that the High Priest himself approached, and every eye was turned to look upon him. Imperious in the splendor of his exalted office he made his way. His robe of blue and purple and scarlet, his gorgeous colored coat, his purple mitre and above all the sacred breast-plate sparkling with its twelve emblematic jewels as it hung in place on blue cords through gold rings, were in strong contrast to the plain and worn garment of the man who waited under the high arch of the Beautiful Gate with arms folded across his breast. An intense stillness fell over the gathering—such a hush as marked the circus arena in Rome when gladiatorial combatants came together in the death-struggle. As Annas, the All-Powerful head of God's elect priesthood, neared the end of the open path cut through the throng, the Galilean lifted his eyes from the surrounding scene and entered into some high place of communion. The flush of anger left his face. The calm of the Eternal took its place, and the High Priest with his Roman spearmen lined behind him stood without recognition for a moment. When the Galilean turned his eyes on Annas he looked down as if from some vast height.

The lips of the High Priest moved, but something in the majestic mien and unfathomable eye of the one before him stopped the words half-formed. A second and third time his tongue raised itself to shape words, but the silent one before him gave unuttered command for silence. The conflict was on. Not a conflict of gleaming blades; not a conflict of cunning, neither of Senatorial oratory, nor contention of the wise gone mad. In the arena of the occult was the conflict on between such forces as move constellations and give birth to worlds. And the one force was white and the one was black. The one was the will of God leading by way of man's reason to Liberty and Life. The other was perversion leading by way of servile obedience to Bondage and Death. The one was Reality; the other but the Passing Show. So intense was the conflict of these unseen forces that it drew the multitude into its silent circle and held it spellbound. On the face of Annas alone was the progress of the fierce and deadly conflict written in terms of such hatred as made him appear almost inhuman. Yet the destructive force of the terrible vibration he sent out touched not the poise and calm of the Galilean, but after the law of like force it followed the arc of its own circle back into the breast that wore the twelve-jeweled breast-plate.

The nerve strain that seemed tearing the soul of the High Priest was communicating itself to the congregation when the tense and awful stillness was broken by a shout. "Thou art the King!" a mighty voice called above the heads of the people. "Jesus of Nazareth, thou art the King!"

With an involuntary sigh of relief the people turned from the silent actors in the drama taking place under the Beautiful Gate, to learn who had spoken. A third time the shout rang out: "Thou art the King!" Now the people saw. It was a fisherman supported above the crowd on the shoulders of two Galileans. He shook a dingy red head-cloth as he shouted. The suppressed feeling of the crowd now gave way to a great murmur like that of a sea with a tide turning in, but before there was a demonstration a wild cry sounded through the court.

A soldier standing beneath the shouting fisherman had bent his body backward, as he gave command for silence, that he might the better face him who did the unlawful act. Casting his eye down as the soldier prodded him on the leg, the fisherman saw something that changed the shout on his lips to a curse. The next instant, as if it had been hurled from the heavens, the keen, two-edged blade of a fishing knife had lodged its point in the heart of the Roman. While the dying cries of the spearman yet moved the multitude to frenzied curiosity, Jael the fisherman, the High Priest and Jesus of Nazareth, each according to his own way, left the Temple.



CHAPTER XXIV

BY THIS WITNESS

At the Bethany home on the following afternoon Joseph of Arimathea and Lazarus discussed the great drama that had taken place in the Temple and the danger coming out of it that would be added to the peril the Galilean was already in, because of his triumphal entry into Jerusalem. While the men discussed the day's excitement, Martha told Mary of her visit to Jerusalem, as they sat in the garden on the edge of the stone basin, from which place Martha could watch the gate for the arrival of Eli from market.

"To-day while in Jerusalem," said Martha, "did Anna and Debora and I seek to make our way into the Temple, yet we got no farther than Solomon's Porch for here a thick crowd did stay our steps. As we pressed around one of the great pillars, we heard a voice. 'It is thy friend Rabbi Jesus,' said Anna. And by squeezing and struggling we pressed close until our eyes fell upon him in the midst of his disciples and a throng of strangers. When I did cast my eye from him to the other side, it fell upon a beautiful woman wearing a dull mantle and a veil about her head. Beside her stood a massive slave with a scar on his cheek like the cut of a thrashing scythe. And the face of the woman and the face of the slave were set toward the Master. As she stood, a passer-by brushed her veil from her head, when, from under her dull cloak she did reach a hand as resplendent with jewels as the breast-plate of the High Priest. Then her arm appeared, and, lo, it was banded with gold and with chains of jewels, and also where the dull garment did part I saw the sheen of rare silk and fringes of silver and gold that glistened. Anna also saw and whispered 'Who is she?' Yet neither the woman nor the slave saw aught but Jesus. And as they listened to his words, tears gathered in the dark eyes of the great slave and like rivers of water crossing a deep gorge did pass the bold scar and drop over its edge. And as his tears fell Jesus turned to the scarred face, and Mary—what thinkest thou? It were as though I could read the look Jesus gave, which was writ in the light that did break over that scarred face, making it shine like the sun. And, too, his eye did find the woman of rich robes well concealed, and did rest on her face, and her face gave back an answer which was none other than that she loved him. It passed in a moment and the woman spoke to the scarred slave who wiped the tears from that cruelly marked face, as slowly they turned away, the slave following the woman at a distance because of those who pushed between. And when the slave was passing the place where Jesus stood, the Master moved near him and spoke a few words which again did bring such a light as was a miracle on so ugly a countenance. While he paused, the woman looked back and seeing who spoke with her slave, waited. Then did Anna and Debora and thy sister Martha follow them to the portico."

"Thou hast forgotten something, Martha. Of importance, it is," Mary said.

"What is of importance?"

"The words of the Master. What said he that did hold together the crowd, that did bring tears to the scarred face of the slave and that did drive them away again with a glad light?"

"I know not. My eyes were too busy to give my ears a chance. At the portico a chariot and horses were waiting, such as the Romans drive. Mighty were their necks, and gorgeous were their trappings. Before the chariot the woman removed her dull coat and gave place to one like her jewels; and the scarred slave did show her great homage, as if she were a queen. When she was seated in the chariot he questioned her, and Mary—my sister Mary—who thinkest thou this gorgeous woman is?"

"Of the many gorgeous ones in Jerusalem, why asketh thou?"

"There is but one such in Jerusalem."

"Who is the woman?"

"The words she did speak, I will tell thee. Then wilt thou know. To the scarred slave she said, 'Drive thou to the Praetorium. Thy Lord Pilate awaits thy mistress Claudia.'"

"Thou hast seen Pilate's wife!" and Mary's voice was alive with interest.

"Yea, the wife of that vile heathen who sticketh spears into Israelites, as a bold child picks wings from flies—for no reason save to see them kick."

"And the wife of Pilate hath looked on the face of Jesus. Her ear hath heard the words of him who speaks as never man hath spoken."

"Yea, and she doth love him."

"Oh, that thou hadst heard his words, Martha."

"Rather that I might possess a chain of beads such as hung from her shoulder. But look thee down the roadway. There cometh Eli toiling up the path with no more speed than if he were not already two hours late."

When Martha and Mary entered the house, Eli, loaded with bundles, was coming in the door from the roadway.

"Thou art much loaded," Lazarus said, looking up.

"And thou art much late," Martha added.

"Behind a tomb black and stale have I tarried."

"Hast thou been near a tomb with thy meat?" Martha asked in alarm.

"I touched not the unclean thing though close was I driven. Yet did my tongue shake for fear of the plot."

"Plot?" quickly exclaimed Lazarus.

"What plot?" Joseph as quickly asked.

"The tombs throw not shadows while the sun yet hangs high. Methinks the man hath the plot in his own head," Martha said.

"The sun tarrieth not for the Passover rabble to finish its haggling over locusts and fish and oil. Ugh! The mob! And as I struggled for a place at the fish stand the sun passed over the mountain and left the valley grim. And lo, as I did travel, my fish and my sparrows slipped from me and to escape the hoofs and dust of a party of pilgrims I took my way behind an ancient tomb a long time used of sheep, to bind up my bundles. And no sooner had I sat me on the green than I heard a voice. Yet saw I no man. Again I heard the voice like a whisper. Then did fear lay hold of me lest the tomb be a den of ghosts and glad I was that the wall on the back was thick. Near this thick wall I put my back. Then the ghostly voice sounded nearer and I found my ear against a crack and I listened, for, though great my fear, my curiosity to hear the speech of ghosts overcame it. And when my ear lay close the voice was no longer that of a ghost but of a man who hatched a plot which another who is not a ghost listened to."

"What is the plot?" Lazarus asked again.

"That I learned not though my ears did itch."

"A plot thou hast heard—a plot that hath made thine ears itch, yet neither dost thou know the plotter nor the plot. The ears of an ass are thine."

Eli gathered up his bundles. "If the plot shall come to pass then will thy eyes drop water-jars of tears and thy head know all are not fools who carry bundles," and he turned toward the court.

"Stay," said Lazarus. "Of a plot thou knowest, yet knowest not. Of a plotter thou knowest, but knowest not. What dost thou know?"

"Little—save him they whispered against. . . Him I know, and that the one who hatched the evil did come from the Temple."

"From the Temple!" It was Joseph who spoke and his words were an exclamation.

"Yea. And the evil one he whispered with is one who knoweth thy friend Jesus."

"Jesus!" exclaimed Lazarus and Mary in a breath. "Dost thou speak of our Jesus?"

"A plot against Jesus?" Lazarus asked. "Put thy goods down, thou fool, and tell what thou knowest."

"Already have I told that for which I was called a fool."

"What hast thou heard? Out with it!" and Lazarus helped Eli unload his bundles again.

With the party gathered closely about him Eli said, "There is naught to tell save that some one who hath been much about the Temple did make an offer of money for knowledge of the hiding-place of Jesus when he is not at Bethany. To do him harm was the purpose of the evil one, who did much thick-lipped whispering."

"What harm would this enemy of the Master do to him?" and Mary waited before Eli for an answer.

"Plotters plot death," he answered shortly, taking up his bundles.

"God of our fathers!" Mary cried. "What doth this mean? Lazarus, my brother Lazarus, Joseph, Father Joseph—let not harm come to him we love! Promise me—promise me!" and she held out her hands.

Taking her hands in his Joseph said, "Let not fear take possession of thy heart but rather thank thy God that thy servant did hide behind the tomb. Knowledge is better than swords. The young man hath life in his veins. He hath a great work to do. He courts not death. With knowledge aforetime of a plot, escape will be easy. But what is this plot? Who is this enemy? Is it of Rome, or the Great Sanhedrin?"

Lazarus, who had been walking the floor while Joseph spoke, stopped before Mary. "Yea, Mary," he said, "thank Jehovah that this hath been revealed, for while the source and manner of the plot doth not appear, yet there is safety in the warning. Soon will he be with us to hear the news. From the fox that hath oft crossed his path on Galilean hills hath he learned how to hide. From the hare that he hath seen running before the wolf hath he learned the wisdom of flight. Until the Passover is done must his whereabouts be kept dark. After this, a far journey."

Eli, with both hands full of packages, had gone as far as the door and stopped. He seemed waiting for something, and when Lazarus had finished he said, "That which an enemy of thy friend dropped, was picked up by the hand of Eli."

"What picked thou up? Money?" Lazarus asked.

"Nay—yet did I think that which he dropped and muttered curses over was money else would my feet have made wider space between the tomb and the place of his standing. An old and open tomb was it around which the smell of sheep hung heavy, and a bush of thorns grew at its corner and sent branches across the entrance. And when the enemy of thy friend would have held the branches down to walk over them, a thorn pierced his hand and he did curse. When he let go his hold of the branches, they did leap up and catch his garment. And again did he curse, saying he had suffered a loss. When he had gone and was well hid in the distance, then did Eli go by the thorn bush to find what had been lost, and there on the sharp thorn stuck a bit of the garment of this cursing enemy. So I tore it loose to bring to Martha for I saw it had pleasant threads woven in it. And when I stooped to pick up my bundles at my feet, I found a treasure which I did bring Mary. Put thy hand in my wallet and take out that which doth shine but is not money."

With hurried fingers Mary opened the wallet while the others stood about looking eagerly on. When she had drawn out that which was not money, and before those standing by had seen what it was, she dropped it to the floor and sprang back, screaming.

"Hast thou been stung by an adder?" Lazarus cried.

"Yea—yea. There it is!" and she pointed to a shining gold circlet lying at the hem of Joseph's robe. Lazarus picked it up. A bit of blue border with a purple stripe and a red pomegranate, whose ragged edges showed that it had been torn from a garment, was twisted in one side of it. Every eye in the room was on the circlet when Lazarus placed it on the table, and they all gathered close around except Mary, who stood back watching the faces of Lazarus and Joseph. Martha took the bit of blue wool from the circlet, while Lazarus lifted up the gold itself, and the two looked at each other in speechless questioning. Then Lazarus turned to Mary.

"What is the mystery of this that our servant Eli hath found at the mouth of a sheep ridden tomb?"

"Mary seeth little of mystery but much of danger in that which thy hand holdeth," she answered.

"Thou gavest Zador Ben Amon back his betrothal anklet?"

"Yea, by putting it, unbeknown to him, in the border of his coat."

"Where it was tightly sewn the next day and hath remained in the dark until torn out by the sharp thorn, methinks," said Martha.

As Joseph, standing by, heard this brief conversation, his face took on a puzzled expression, seeing which Lazarus said, "Thou dost not understand. Here is that which seemeth to uncover to us the enemy of our friend Jesus. He is Zador Ben Amon, a Sadducee of power and a money-lender of great wealth. The man did have his heart set on Mary and did bring this anklet as a betrothal gift. But my sister loved him not, nor listened to his proposal for marriage and this gift she gave to him again."

"Yea, by putting it in the border of his cloak where methought he would find it on the morrow."

Joseph looked at the anklet. Then he raised his eyes to the face of Mary. "Thou didst not love the money-changer?"

"Nay! Nay!"

"Thy heart hath taken its way wisely. By this witness," and he tapped the shining ring with his long forefinger, "he is," and the aged Rabbi bent his shoulders until his face was even with that of Mary, "he is a murderer!"

"Yea, yea—a murderer he is—by this witness," Mary promptly answered.

"Is this Jew whose sensuous advances thou hast repulsed, acquainted with thy friendship for the Galilean?"

"I know not."

Joseph considered the matter a moment. When he spoke again it was to Lazarus. "There is a reason the money-changer is an enemy of our friend Jesus. It may be the woman. But in the money-changer's balances where gold doth weigh heavy, women weigh light. It is more likely this cometh of the swift and terrible scourging suffered by the money-changers at the hand of our brave friend. If so, a third source of danger ariseth. The wrath of Pilate is the wrath of Rome—a political danger—ever deadly. The wrath of the High Priest Annas is a religious wrath, cunning, and cruel as the grave. But the wrath of Zador Ben Amon is both these and more, for hath not the Master himself said, 'The love of money is the root of all evil'? Protected must our friend be against this threefold danger until he can escape, and God forbid that he fall into the hands of the enemy!"

"Yea—God forbid," Mary repeated with trembling voice. "Thinkest thou harm hath befallen him so soon? See—the sun is sinking, yet he cometh not!" Choking back a sob Mary went into the court and to the place at the wall where she could watch down the roadway.

"Mary hath gone to watch for the Master," Martha said.

"She loveth him much," Joseph answered thoughtfully.

"Even so. Yet it is not seemly for a Jewish woman to let a man know she loveth him as doth Mary."

"Would that I knew," said Joseph without answering Martha's remark, "whether the voice in the tomb were the voice of the Great Sanhedrin. The spirit of murder brooded over the meeting I did attend to-day—murder in the name of Moses and the prophets."

"Murder thou sayest!" Lazarus exclaimed in astonishment.

"Yea—murder. Such is the spirit brooding over the priests."

The silence following this declaration was broken by a sharp cry coming from Mary in the garden. "Martha! Lazarus! Father Joseph!" and her voice was tense with excitement.

"What? What?" they cried, rushing to the door.

"The God of our fathers be praised!'"

"Yea—yea—but for what?"

"He is safe! He is safe! The Master cometh!"



CHAPTER XXV

IN THE GARDEN

The Passover moon was shedding its soft light over the garden of Lazarus, when Mary and Martha came from the house and sat down on the broad rim of the fountain basin. The day had been a busy one, and the day to follow was to be crowded yet fuller with work and pleasure for it was the day of the Great Feast.

"Anna's father doth give a feast to-morrow for his Passover guests, and for Jesus, who will be gone with the sunrise on the third day that he may escape danger. Joel hath been bidden with Lazarus, and Anna doth desire that we come to help her with the serving," Martha said as a beginning to her comment on the hospitality of Simon.

While they discussed the feast to be given by their neighbor, Lazarus joined them and said to Martha, "I am going to Simon's and Anna doth desire that thou come to plan with her for the feast to-morrow. Wilt thou also go, Mary?"

"Who goeth?"

"Joel goeth. Joseph hath gone to the roof and Jesus doth rest on the couch in the window."

"I go with thee," and Martha rose and turned to Mary, who said, "Nay, I go not. I will stay and gather lilies."

"Hast thou not yet learned the heart of man doth delight in meat and drink—not in lilies?"

"Thou forgettest the Master, my sister. The guest of honor will he be before his long going away, and thinkest thou he will not know whose hand plucked the lilies?"

"Mary hath the last word on thee, Martha," Lazarus said, laughing. "Let us be going," and they crossed the garden to the gate that opened into the court of Simon.

After they had gone, Mary went the length of the garden to her lily beds. While she was gathering the blossoms, Jesus came from the house and looked about him, and as he passed into the shade of the big olive tree, he discovered Mary. He stopped and watched her, as with her arms full of lilies she came toward the pool. In the silver light of the moon her soft white garments and silky veil lent spirit-like appearance to her slender body, and her face was beautiful with a rare beauty not born of flesh. When she reached the pool she knelt and placed the lily stems in the water. Rising, she hesitated a moment, then turned into the walk leading to the old stone wall where she often stood to watch down the roadway for expected guests. For a few moments she leaned against the vine-grown stones gazing away into the moonlit distance. Then she dropped her head on her arms which lay folded across the top of the wall.

In a little while the stillness of the garden was broken by a voice which said, "Mary." She looked up with a start. Again she heard her name, "Mary."

Recognizing the voice she ran to the shade of the olive tree exclaiming, "Master! Master!"

She found Jesus sitting on the old stone bench and knelt beside him on a foot-stone. "Rest thou beside me," he said to her.

"Nay. Nay. At thy feet have the hours most precious to my heart been spent."

"Hath my teaching meant this to thee, Mary?"

"Yea. It hath meant all in life worth living for."

"Yet didst thou stand at the wall with bowed head."

"Yea. As the olive branches crossing the moon's light throw shadows over thy shoulders, so doth fear ofttimes coming across my faith, throw shadows on my heart. As I stood by the wall looking down the pathway thou dost often tread, the words of our servant Eli came to me, and fear for thy safety like a burden fell upon me. At other times the continual changing, maketh my heart sick and my soul to long for that which changeth not. To-night thou, Jesus, and I, Mary, sit beneath the olive shade. Strong is thy step and in thy voice is mastery. Abundant is my hair and dark, and my body is supple and full of life. Yet will Time make of thy strength, weakness, and the frost of many winters will thin my hair and whiten it. In that day the keepers will tremble, the silver cord be loosened and the pitcher be broken at the fountain. Strange feet will tread the paths of Olivet and strange eyes look back on Jerusalem. Yet to-night we are here, thou, Jesus, and I, Mary. To-morrow—and then we shall be no more. Like feet ever fearful of the way and reaching for the solid rock, so the heart reaches for that which changeth not. Ever thou teachest 'God is love.' Doth love change?"

"Nay, Mary. Love remaineth the same, yesterday, to-day and forever. Yet the manner of its expression oft changeth. This knowest thou. The child that presseth its lips to her breast and fondleth her cheek, doth the mother love. So also doth she love the man that the child groweth into. And though he be hanged on the highest tree of Calvary, will she stand by and cover the hisses of the rabble with her sobs, for she doth love him though he is no longer at her breast. The lover doth love his love in life's springtime with wild passion. Then her form is round and her cheek fair and his strength is in the making. When life's evening cometh—the flame hath given way to the soft glow. Then her shoulders stoop and her cheek is pale and his strength is in the garner, yet he doth not love the woman less, but differently. Love is the soul of the Universe and showing itself in service doth fulfill all law. My Father worketh hitherto, and I work also."

"Aye, my Master, I know thou lovest. In a tone akin to reverence hast thou oft spoken of thy love for thy mother. With great tenderness lovest thou little children, and thy fellow man—aye, have I not oft heard from thy lips that to do away with the kingdom of swords and hunger and want and bitterness—aye, to bring in the Kingdom of man's Brotherhood, thou wouldst be willing to lay down thy life? Strong and fearless, even tender is thy love as thou art a man. Yet because thou art a man, there is a love thou knowest not?"

"There is a love my heart doth not divine?"

"Yea, so my wisdom telleth me. Yet when I saw thee first a mother's love shone in thy face."

"And is there a love greater than a mother's love, Mary?"

"Yea, my Master. There is the love of which this mother-love is born."

"What manner of love is this?" and he leaned toward her as he waited for her answer.

"Before cometh mother-love, cometh woman's love for a man," she said after a brief hesitation.

"The mystery thou divinest. Thou art a woman. Tell me—what is the love of a woman for a man?"

"Thou dost ask me concerning the love in the heart of a woman that doth make it hunger for one man alone—apart from all the world, and in her dreams feel his arms about her, and beside a cradle look with him upon bone of their bone and flesh of their flesh? Dost thou ask me this?"

"I do ask thee, woman."

"And I do answer thee. A woman's love is a white flame on a deathless altar burning for the High Priest of her heart, where, over their united love the Shekinah doth hover as holy incense. And when the flame doth burn and the ear be ever listening for the priest in snowy raiment that cometh not, then doth the flame be ever consuming itself and the heart groweth sick, for woman's love desireth to give all."

"And doth thy ear listen for the footsteps of thy sacred altar's one High Priest?"

"Ask me not, my Master—ask me not. From my heart I have already lifted the veil too far aside for it is not given woman to speak of her love, though it is her life. Yet love is strange—love is holy!"

"Thou sayest well 'Love is strange—love is holy.' Love is the breath of God which corruption hath not power to touch. And as it hath been ordered of the Creator that woman desire to give all, so hath it been given to man's love, to ask all—aye, Mary, to take all. So there are not two loves different. A man's love and a woman's love are but the two parts of that love which is both center and circumference of all that is. And among mankind it is the love that moves the woman and the man each to forsake all others and cleave one to the other. And thinkest thou I know not this love? Knowest thou not the fathers of Israel are a race of lovers? Did not our Father Jacob toil seven years for her whom his soul loved? It were not a female he would take unto himself, as a beast doth mate, else Leah would have served as well as Rachael. But for the love of Rachael did he toil yet other seven years. Nor did his body rest in the tomb until her bones lay beside him. And of the love of Boaz—were not Israel's kings begotten of this love? Aye, it was a lover of Israel that did sing 'Love is strong as death!' Of this race that has lived and loved and written of love and died loving come I. In my veins doth run the blood of a nation of lovers. Rise, Mary, and sit thou beside me. My heart hath that to say which my lips have not yet spoken."

When Mary had moved from the stone at his feet to a place beside him, Jesus said, "Sit thou close to me, aye, so close that not the shadow of a silver olive leaf can come between our souls—thy soul and mine, for since mine eyes first beheld thee on the Temple porch thou hast been more to me than thou canst ever know. Weary have I oft come to thy home and thou hast rested me. Faint-hearted have I come, and thou hast strengthened me. Disappointed, and thou hast cheered me; discouraged with those dull of comprehension and thou hast understood, and while thou hast sat at my feet to learn, much have I learned of thee. Yea, thou hast been my friend, my counselor, my comrade, my disciple—all things thou hast been to me save one and without this, all other were but the hunger thy heart doth feel—were but the High Priest waiting where there were no altar fire. Mary, thou art my Rachael. Thou art my Ruth. Thou are my Rose of Sharon and my Lily of the Valley. As a rose among thorns, so to my heart art thou among the daughters of Zion. Thou art my soul's beloved! Woman—woman—I love thee! Lovest thou me with the love that is one with mine?"

"Love I thee? Aye, Lord, thou knowest that I love thee. Love I thee with all my soul, mind, strength and body. Yea, I love thee—not for a moon—not for a harvest—not for a jubilee of years—nay, not for the long centuries that make dust of our fathers' tombs. But until the Jordan forsaketh its course—until the moon droppeth forever behind Moab's hills—aye, beloved, until the mother forsaketh her son hanging on the highest tree, will I love thee—and after that forever! For is not our God love? And is not God eternal?"

"Ah, Mary! Mary! The mystery of Love! Love is Life. He hath not known life who hath not felt the creative energy of the universe throbbing, breathing in his soul which love bringeth—aye, love of a woman. And yet—yet there be some, eunuchs which were so born: there be eunuchs which were made eunuchs of men: and there be eunuchs which have made themselves eunuchs for the Kingdom of Heaven's sake." The last words were spoken by the young Rabbi as if to himself. He lifted his face to the moonlight for the moment and something like a sigh escaped his half closed lips. Then he turned again to the woman.

"Mary—beloved, there is a cup which each of us must drink. The cup that Life hath given me to drink hath ofttimes been filled with the bitterness of want, with loneliness and heart hunger. But knowledge of thy love doth overrun it with exceeding sweetness so that all suffering seems as naught. Blessed be the God that hath turned thy heart to me."

Again they sat silent in the shadows of the olive tree for a few moments. Then Mary spoke slowly and softly.

"To be here—just here alone with thee! Better than heaven it is to hear thy voice, to feel the pressure of thy hand and to know that the throbbing of thy heart is for Mary. Thou makest my soul to dwell in groves of myrrh; to wander on mountains of frankincense and to feed in valleys of lilies. Though every drop of water in the fountain, though every silver leaf on Olivet were the tongue of a Levite shouting praise, this were faint singing beside the hosannahs of my heart because I am my beloved's and he is mine! This were enough—enough! Let the cup of Life be what it may! Henceforth thy cup be my cup."

"Knowest thou what thou sayest, woman? Doth thy heart know?"

"Yea, my heart knoweth. Where thou goest I will go. Thy lot shall be my lot. Thy dwelling shall be my dwelling whether cave or palace. Thy pillow shall be my pillow whether crimson wool or stone. Thy joy shall be my joy. Thy poverty shall be my poverty and my riches, thy riches. Thy danger shall be mine. Thy suffering shall be mine and whether come victory or defeat, this shall be ours together!"

"If victory cometh by way of that which men call 'death,' couldst thou see victory in this?"

"Speak not of death, my beloved," Mary said quickly, "when life hath just begun."

"Thou hast great faith, Mary, yea and great love. Yet do shadows sometimes fall across thy heart. So also doth fear cast over my heart shadows. Last night in the stillness, words I heard spoken in Jerusalem did come to me until from the darkness that hung roundabout, a cross did seem to lift itself and afar I seemed to hear my own voice calling faintly for water."

"Nay, nay," and there was fear and the burden of a sob in Mary's voice. "Tell me not this evil thing! It doth make the shadow of the cross to fall upon my heart, dark and heavy."

"Be not burdened with it for from my heart all shadow fled with the coming of the new day. And to-night, this blessed night, do I feel life never held so much. Love maketh it doubly sweet."

"Thou art right. The cross were but a troubled dream. For malefactors and thieves and slaves of Rome is the cross. But not for a Prophet—a Rabbi—a Teacher—aye, a King."

"Not for a King sayest thou? Herein lieth my danger. Pilate's ear is never closed nor his lust for blood ever satisfied, neither his greed for the approval of Caesar, and Pilate's crosses are ever ready for those who stir up the people. But weep not nor let thy heart be troubled. The uplifted cross of the dream I take as warning. Daily I teach in the Temple and none dare take me for my following. At night I abide without the city, where, none know save those who are my friends. When the Passover is done, I will go away for a season."

"Wilt thou be with us to-morrow? Ah, wilt thou come again to me when the moon doth rise after to-morrow's busy day?"

"On the morrow we sit at meat with Simon. The Passover supper I eat with my disciples in the city, for so have I given my promise. If all go well I will return to thee when the moon cometh. If I am late, wait thou until the crowing of the cock, for where my treasure is, there is my heart also, and thither will my feet turn though the hour is late."

The crowing of a cock beyond the garden wall told the man and woman on the old stone bench that the hour was late. They arose and stood together just at the edge of the wavering shadows cast by the ancient tree.

"Alone on Olivet!" Jesus said in subdued voice. "How calm—how holy is the garden, and the new day that the crowing of the cock doth bring to us . . . . . . . . . . . . From the little town of Bethany lieth the road to the City of Zion, whither our feet tend. But between this calm and holy place and the towers of snow and gold that shine in glory from the City of God, lieth Kedron. Quiet with the hush of long silenced tongues, and dark with the shadow of tombs, lieth Kedron. . . . . . . . . . . . Mary, if it be that for a little time I should go on ahead of thee, even to the battlements of the New Jerusalem where the saved of Levi send their glad songs ringing over all earth's valley, will I watch for thee, my beloved. And if through the Valley of the Shadow thou shouldst be called to go alone, remember that I am with thee."

"Remember will I? Yea, ever will I remember that there is not in the universe that which can destroy love. But thou wilt come again on the morrow night. I feel it in my heart, and may the Lord watch between thee and me while we are absent one from the other."

"It shall be even so for what God hath joined together none can put asunder. The peace of God that passeth understanding and His Everlasting Arms of Strength, tender as those about a bride, protect thee. Farewell, my Mary. Woman, fare thee well."