"Come hither, my daughter," said Judith, in a voice of tender commiseration, as she looked on her agitated countenance; "come hither, and learn to take comfort from the Source where I have sought and found it. Your trial is heavy indeed: perhaps it is even harder for you to bear this affliction than for me; for I shall yet, by God's mercy, have an affectionate and beloved husband to share my sorrows; and you, my poor Claudia, you will, alas! be very desolate. Nevertheless, there is one Comforter who will never leave you. That 'Friend who sticketh closer than a brother' is ever near to support and strengthen you; and leaning on his Almighty arm, you may bear even the coming hour without repining."
Claudia threw herself into the arms of Judith, and exclaimed, "I have cast off that friend! Oh! my mother, I have been a traitor to Him, and he will sustain me no longer."
"My child," replied Judith, "grief has caused your reason to forsake you. Why do you utter such dreadful words? How can you have cast off the Lord, whose service is a delight to you?"
"I have done worse, Judith," said Claudia, shuddering, and fixing on her a look of such wild grief as terrified both her and Naomi. "Do not interrupt me; I will tell you all, and then you will curse me, and cast me from you, and earth and heaven will abhor me!"
"Cease, dearest Claudia," cried Naomi, approaching the unhappy girl, who shrunk from her as if she felt unworthy of the sympathy of one so pure and good as her friend appeared in her eyes; "compose yourself, for you are labouring under some painful delusion. Why did I let you leave us this morning, and not follow you and bring you back to Judith? I thought you were with my mother, and that her kind sympathy would soothe your mind."
"Why did I leave you, indeed, Naomi!" replied Claudia; "you would have saved me from this crime. Let me speak it all, for my heart will break if I do not confess my sin. I have written a letter to Theophilus, and ere this he has received and read it. I have implored him for my sake to deny his Redeemer,—for my sake to make a profession of returning to Judaism! I told him that he would be my murderer if he spoke the word that would seal his condemnation to-morrow. Oh! I said more than all that—I sought to make myself his idol, and to cause his love for one so despicable to stand between him and his God! He will not heed my guilty ravings, for he is too holy to be infected with such base weakness. But he will loathe me, and despise me as I deserve; and when he is a pure and blessed saint in heaven, I shall have lost the only consolation that could have remained to me—that of knowing that his heart was mine until it ceased to beat; and hoping that when mine was cold in death my spirit might soar above, and join him in those realms of peace which Jesus Christ has promised to those who arefaithful to the end."
Judith and Naomi were filled with horror and alarm at this passionate declaration of Claudia's. They grieved deeply that she should have fallen into such a snare of the evil one, and thus have added another and a most bitter trial to those which now surrounded Theophilus. They did not apprehend that his faith would be shaken in the slightest degree; but they knew that nothing could make death so dreadful to him as the belief that Claudia was wavering and unsteady in the religion which he had delighted to teach her, and that when he was no longer at her side, she might sink back into comparative darkness and unbelief. The depth and sincerity of her repentance were most evident to them; and all they now desired was to soothe and tranquillize her mind, and to find some means of conveying to Theophilus the assurance that she was not so unworthy of his affections as her recent conduct might lead him to suppose.
When by their affectionate efforts they had succeeded in calming the violent emotion of their self-condemned and humbled young friend, and convincing her that she had not sinned beyond hope of pardon either from God or man, they proceeded to consider how it would be possible for them to have any further communication with Theophilus. Many difficulties presented themselves; for his place of confinement was strictly guarded, and none could enter the building which contained his cell but the members of the council, or those who were furnished with an order from them. Zadok had received such an order, that he might have the opportunity of holding a controversy with his nephew, and persuading him to save his life: but no other person was permitted to visit him, and Zadok had already gone forth to seek the final and decisive interview. Javan had full power to enter the prison at all times, and to converse with the captives; but how would he ever be induced to convey such intelligence as they wished to communicate? He had absented himself from home almost entirely since the fatal night when his cousin was taken prisoner; and when he did join his family, his manner was so abstracted and reserved, that his presence only tended to increase their unhappiness, and add to their conviction that he was the author of all their sorrow. In spite of all this, Naomi resolved to make an appeal to him, and endeavour to obtain his consent to her having an interview with Theophilus previous to his appearance before the council on the following day.
While the three friends were engaged in this conversation, Amaziah entered the room. He had been absent for many hours, employed in seeking aid from his personal friends in an enterprise which he had determined to attempt, but had not yet confided to his wife. He feared to excite her hopes by telling her of a scheme which might probably end in disappointment; and though she knew that he was labouring to interest his friends in behalf of Theophilus, she believed it was merely with a hope that by their means a majority of the counsellors might be brought to give a favourable judgment. This was a very slender hope, and Judith put no confidence in such an improbable result. She almost regretted that her husband should expose himself so much to observation, and the chance of being apprehended, when no reasonable expectation of any advantage could attend his exertions. Each night when he returned home she greeted him with joy and gratitude that another day of peril had passed away and yet he was unharmed: and every morning when he left the house another burden of grief and anxiety was laid upon her heart; for she felt that he might also be betrayed into the hands of his enemies, and share the fate of her son, notwithstanding the precaution which he always took of being himself well armed, and attended by two or three faithful servants, also provided with weapons.
Amaziah looked thoroughly harassed and worn out with fatigue of mind and body when on this evening ha came home from his wanderings. But his countenance was more cheerful, and his voice more encouraging, as he met the greeting of his wife with affectionate cordiality, and replied to her anxious inquiries concerning his success, and also whether he had met with anything to excite alarm for his own personal safety.
"I have been somewhat cheered by the deep sympathy which is felt for us and our dear boy by all who knew him well; and many have promised to spare no efforts that can in any way assist our cause. But, Judith, do not hope much from this. The council is composed of men who are little disposed to listen to any voice but that of bigotry or selfishness, and the only member of that self-elected tribunal who is favourable to our cause is Isaac. He sees that Mary is resolved to abide by her declaration that the death of Theophilus shall be the rupture of her engagement with him, and therefore he will give his vote for mercy. But Javan will not listen either to him or me, and almost all the other counsellors are devoted to him. Let us not despair, neither let us cherish vain hopes, but say from our hearts, 'the will of the Lord be done!'"
"Yes, my dearest Amaziah, I have, by the help of the Lord, taught my troubled spirit to rest more peacefully on His decrees, and to feel that all is wisdom and all is love. I believe that I can resign my son to the Lord, and refrain from murmuring; and now my most anxious fears are for your safety. Tell me whether it is threatened, or whether the best and greatest earthly blessing that God has given to me is yet permitted to remain and comfort me in the loss of every other?"
"I hope and believe that it is the will of God, my beloved, that we may yet travel on through this wilderness together, to be a solace and delight to each other, as we have hitherto been. But I clearly perceive that this city is no longer a place of safety for us; and whatever it may cost us we must abandon it, and seek a distant refuge, as soon as nothing remains to be hoped or feared for our Theophilus. I have been warned by several friends on whom I can depend, and chiefly by the excellent Benjamin, that many of the Pharisees and counsellors have resolved to effect our ruin and destruction; and that when they have accomplished their cruel purposes against our son, and the rest of the victims whom they now design to glorify with the crown of martyrdom, their next step will be to draw us into the same fate, while they believe we are overwhelmed with sorrow, and may fall an easy prey to their malice. They know not the power of our blessed faith to enable us to triumph over every calamity; and to possess our souls in peace, even when the hand of the enemy is permitted to press heavily upon us."
"O my husband, how your piety and strength of mind support and comfort me, and put all my evil doubts and fears to shame!"
"And how they yet more abase and humble me!" added Claudia, in a trembling voice. "Judith, you will tell Amaziah of my sin and my repentance, and plead with him to pardon me, as you have already done."
Claudia's unhappy story was soon made known to Amaziah; and every extenuation of her fault that kindness could suggest was added by her friend, and received with equal consideration by him whose displeasure she expected and feared, though his regret at the misguided step she had taken was very great. He encouraged Naomi in her intention of seeking permission to see Theophilus, as the only means of removing the unhappy impression which Claudia's letter must undoubtedly produce on his upright and resolute mind; and also as the only opportunity which might be afforded them all of conveying to him their last assurance of undying love, and warm approbation of his faithful and courageous conduct. Naomi went to seek Javan, and found him just entering the vestibule, in company with Zadok. He listened to her request with a stern and somewhat suspicious countenance, and demanded for what purpose it was that she sought an interview with the prisoner.
"It is to carry a last message from my unhappy friend Claudia, and to give him his parents' blessing. They know that he will not purchase life at the expense of his conscience, and before he appears to hear his condemnation to-morrow they would wish to let him know their sentiments."
"They are already well known to others, as well as to Theophilus," muttered Javan; "and they may yet have further cause to rue their folly and imprudence. Why should they encourage their son in his obstinacy?" he added in a louder voice. "Why should they wish to urge him on to self-destruction, and compel me to be accessory to the death of my cousin? I would spare him if I could, but he will listen to no terms, and make no concessions."
"I never witnessed such firmness," said Zadok, and a tear glistened in his eye as he spoke. "That unhappy boy has made me love and respect him more than I ever did; even while he has grieved and angered me by his bold declaration of unshaken belief in the divinity of the Nazarene, and his determined opposition to all my arguments. Truly I believed that the sensible and feeling letter which poor Claudia addressed to him would have brought him to his senses, and shown him the folly of consigning his family to misery for the sake of his wild, unfounded notions. But no; he read it with tears, but they were tears of grief and disappointment, and not of natural sympathy. He showed me the letter; and as he put it in my hand he exclaimed, 'Here is the bitterness of death, when those who love me best prove false to the holy faith which supports me!' From that moment sorrow took possession of his countenance, and he would listen to nothing which I was prepared to urge. I was forced to leave him far more depressed than I have ever seen him; and if you, Naomi, can say ought to lighten the load on his spirit, I will join with you in requesting your brother to give you an order to visit him. He is resolved to die, but I cannot bear that his last moments should thus be clouded with fresh sorrow."
"Oh yes!" cried Naomi, "I can chase away those clouds, and make him calm again. Dear Javan, do not refuse my prayer, but grant to Theophilus the only comfort that can now avail to cheer him. If I could hope to move you to yet greater mercy, I would kneel to you, and weep till the fountain of my eyes was dried up; but I know it will be in vain."
"Speak not to me of pleading for an apostate," said Javan, "or you may lose the boon you have already asked. Were I weak enough to give way to my own feelings of compassion, my companions in the council would better know their duty to God and man than to join me. The life of Theophilus is justly forfeited; but whatever may make his doom more tolerable I will gladly consent to. Swear to me that you have no design for aiding his escape, and I will let you see him."
"I have no object, Javan, but to act as a messenger from his friends. Would to God that they also might visit him!"
"No, Naomi, I am acting contrary to the express orders of the council in permitting any of his relatives, except our revered father, to hold any intercourse with him. It would only add to their own danger to attempt it. If you wish to go to the prison this evening, you must not delay, for night is closing in, and in another hour the prison will be shut, and the gates will not be opened on any pretext until after sunrise."
Javan went to prepare the necessary order for Naomi; and she was hastening to communicate to her anxious friends the result of her errand, when Zadok recalled her.
"Here, my child," he said, "take this letter to Claudia, and tell her that Theophilus bade me say he would have written to her, but he did not possess the means. He told me to give her his most faithful love and dying benediction, and to say that he would try to forget she had written the letter which had caused him more sorrow than anything he had suffered since last he saw her. He said much more, but my own opinions forbid me to repeat the language which in his mistaken zeal he uttered. You will see him yourself; and I only pray that his present situation may act as a warning to you, Naomi, and deter you from persisting in a course which may lead to a repetition of such misery, and cause inexpressible sorrow to your dear mother and to me."
Naomi received the letter, and in silence withdrew, and hurried to the apartment where Claudia was waiting her return, with Amaziah and Judith. The agitated girl listened to the message which was sent by Theophilus, and took the ill-advised manuscript in her hand; but instantly threw it from her with abhorrence, and burst into an agony of tears.
"O Naomi!" she sobbed forth, "he does forgive me, then; but I know he despises me. Tell him my heart is breaking, and that the loss of his esteem was the last blow that was wanting to crush me to the earth."
"Dear Claudia," replied Naomi, "he will love you as sincerely and as fervently as ever when he knows how true your repentance is, and remembers that it was excess of love to him that led you to seek his preservation in a way that your own conscience condemned. I will go to him, and say all that you could wish. I strove to obtain permission for you and his parents to see him, but Javan would not hear of it. Farewell for one hour, and fear not but that Theophilus will be restored to peace by what I shall tell him."
Christian LadiesChristian Ladies
Theophilus sat lonely and sad in his gloomy cell. Death had not had power to shake his steadfast soul, but the fear that his beloved Claudia was not rooted and grounded in the faith had filled him with sorrow. He now doubly deplored his unhappy fate, which would so soon remove him from her, and leave her perhaps a prey to doubts and repinings. Had he been permitted to remain with her, he felt sure he could have brought her to a better and a more enduring state of mind. But, alas! what is the value of a faith that will not stand the test of trials and afflictions? If Claudia professed to be a follower of the Lord Jesus, because the story of his life and death interested her feelings and touched her heart; and believed she was his disciple because those she loved and esteemed were his devoted servants, would such a faith save her? Theophilus was now sorrowful indeed, and his resource was in prayer. He prayed for Claudia, that the Lord would bring her to himself in sincerity and truth, though it might be with many afflictions. And while he was thus engaged, and deeply absorbed in his own melancholy yet pious and confiding thoughts, a light shone into his dark cell through the iron grating in the door, and a noise was heard of footsteps approaching. The bolts and locks of the heavy door were unfastened, and to his inexpressible surprise and delight he beheld Naomi enter. The door was immediately closed, and she approached him. The greeting of the cousins was silent and very sorrowful; for all those feelings, which they had each hitherto to repress, were called forth at the sight of each other, and the remembrance of all that had occurred since the sad night when they stood together at the deathbed of Mary at Bethany. When they had recovered their composure Theophilus eagerly inquired about his parents and Claudia, and listened with deep interest to the recital of all their grief and all their faith and resignation. Still greater was the interest and the satisfaction which he felt at hearing of poor Claudia's penitence, and the sorrow which her error had occasioned her; and most grateful was he that his worst apprehensions were thus removed, and that he could leave the world in joyful confidence that she would follow him in the path of true religion, and join him in a better world, as one of those who have "washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb."
"Oh that I could once more have seen her!" he exclaimed, "that I might have told her how truly I pardon her for the pain which her well-meant but most mistaken effort to preserve my life has cost me. But as that cannot be, tell her, dear Naomi, that all is forgotten; and that the deep remorse she has felt for her temporary unfaithfulness to her Saviour, proves to me that she will never again forsake his fold or deny his name. She has experienced the bitter consequences of allowing any earthly object to interfere with her entire devotion to Him; and I pray that His grace may never again be taken from her, but keep her steadfast unto the end, even if she should be called to follow me by the same dark and dreadful road which I must so soon traverse."
"I do not fear for her resolution and her perseverance for the future, Theophilus. It is not personal suffering that would have driven her to forget her Lord and Master, and act as she has done this day. It was her fear for you that clouded her reason, and silenced the voice of conscience. To save your life seemed to her the first object; and, alas! she forgot that if she succeeded in tempting you to comply with the blasphemous conditions of your cruel judges, the life thus purchased would be embittered for ever, both to herself and you. Her eyes are opened now; and she sees and feels that it is better to lose you here, and meet you again in that blessed world where you will soon be united to the company of apostles and saints and martyrs. But, poor girl, it is a severe trial for one so young, and whose feelings are so strong as hers. May the Lord be her strength and her consolation!"
"Naomi," said Theophilus, "I love to hear you talk of her; but you must forbear, lest you make life too precious to me. Pray with me, dear cousin, and help me thus to regain the calmness and the courage which I felt until poor Claudia's letter came to disturb my soul, and revive the struggle between the flesh and the spirit. Your ardent piety and perfect trust in God have often been my example and my comfort in other days, less sorrowful than this, and now you are come as an angel to bring peace to my troubled heart. Let us kneel together."
Naomi with great difficulty commanded her emotion, and complied with the request of Theophilus. They prayed to that Father who is never slow to hear and answer the supplications of his children; and when they rose from their knees it was with feelings of entire resignation, and almost of joy. Their discourse was soon interrupted by the entrance of the keeper of the prison, who desired Naomi to accompany him immediately, as the gates were about to be closed. A few parting words were all that could be uttered; and Naomi followed her guide through the long and gloomy passages that led to the entrance of the prison, while the tears which she had struggled to repress while in the presence of her cousin, now flowed unchecked. Her admiration of his faith and his humility, his tender regard for the feelings of his friends, and his heroic resolution to bear the cross which was laid upon him, only made her regret still more deeply that he should be thus cut off in the flower of his days, and taken away from those who loved him so dearly, and to whom his life was in every way so valuable. It was one of those mysterious dispensations of an All-wise Providence which our understandings cannot fathom, and in which it becomes us in humble faith to say with the Psalmist, "I was dumb, I opened not my mouth, for it was thy doing."
Zadok had accompanied his daughter to the prison, and with several of his attendants he now waited for her in the porch. The state of the city was not such as to admit of any person traversing the streets alone and unprotected, after the shades of night had spread a veil over the sin and violence that continually defiled that once holy place; and Zadok also felt a vague apprehension that the same persons who had so successfully conspired against Theophilus, might also seek to rob him of his beloved child. He therefore had watched and guarded her with redoubled care ever since her conversion to Christianity had become more generally known; and both he and Salome lived in constant dread of a calamity which they felt would be the death-blow to all their earthly happiness.
Naomi leaned on her father's arm, and they slowly descended the steep and narrow street that led from the eminence on which the prison stood. From that situation they had an extended view of the lower city, now clearly visible in the moonlight, and looking so calm and so beautiful, that it was difficult to believe how much of vice and misery and crime was lurking amid the silent streets beneath them. The sight of a vast assemblage of human habitations without the sounds of human life has always something in it that is melancholy, and Naomi especially felt it so on this occasion, when her own spirits depressed and exhausted by the effort which she had made to sustain them during her trying interview with Theophilus. The city of Zion seemed sunk in sleep; and she thought with sadness how profoundly her inhabitants were also buried in the sleep of sin and false security, and how, by their impiety and hardness of heart, and by the oppression and murder of the innocent they were daily filling up the measure of their guilt, and provoking their long-suffering God to bring upon them the fierceness of his threatened wrath. Her father did not interrupt her reflections, for he sympathised in her feelings at parting with Theophilus; and his own mind was occupied with sad thoughts also, though they differed greatly from those of his daughter, and were unmixed with the holy consolations and triumphant hopes that cheered her while she contemplated her cousin's approaching fate.
The silence was broken suddenly and fearfully. The wild deep voice of the son of Ananus made Naomi start, and a sensation of terror ran through her frame as she saw his unearthly form approaching with his usual rapid strides, and heard his yet more unearthly cry, "Woe, woe to the city! woe to Jerusalem!"
She shrunk back, and would have drawn her father into the shade of a deep archway by which they were passing; but the mysterious prophet had fixed his glaring eye upon them, and came directly towards the spot where they stood.
"Woe to thee, Zadok, thou son of Aaron!" he cried. "Woe to all thine house! and woe to thee also gentle maid of Zion. Thy star shall set—but it shall rise again." He turned away, and would have passed on, but Zadok caught him by his loose and tattered garment, and addressed him in a voice of kindness:
"Come home with me, thou son of Ananus; and let me give thee clothes and food. You utter unceasing woes against our city and our families; but I will return thy curses with blessings, for it pains my heart to behold a fellow creature so desolate and so miserable. Hunger and fatigue have made you mad. Come home with me, and cease to terrify the women and children, and scare away their sleep by night with such doleful sounds."
The prophet looked at Zadok, and his haggard countenance relaxed from its usual severity and abstraction; but it was pity for him who offered him kindness and shelter that made him pause, and not a thought of relaxing his almost miraculous exertions, or giving repose to his worn-out frame.
"Seek not to detain me," he exclaimed; "I have yet more woes to proclaim. I must tell it in the ears of every inhabitant of Zion that woe is coming! I see the gathering clouds—I hear the distant thunders of Jehovah's wrath—and I must forewarn my countrymen of the coming storm. Save yourselves, oh ye that be wise! But it is too late—the decree is gone forth! I hear it now—A voice from the east! A voice from the west! A voice from the four winds—crying, Woe, woe, to Jerusalem!"
He broke from Zadok's grasp with the unnatural strength of a maniac, and wildly fled up the street till he reached the prison walls, when again he took up his fearful note, and woke the inmates of the gloomy pile from their temporary forgetfulness of care and sorrow. This encounter did not cheer the spirits of Naomi: she remembered the denunciations which the son of Ananus had addressed so pointedly to Claudia, and felt how the woes which he had prophesied had been fulfilled; and she could not banish from her mind the impression that further sorrows were hanging over her father and her family. Claudia was anxiously waiting to receive her on her return, and with Amaziah and Judith she was cheered, though deeply affected, at the account of Theophilus's peace and resignation. His message of forgiveness and love to poor Claudia awoke all her sorrow, though it relieved her heart of a heavy burden, and animated her to resolutions of future devotion to the cause for which Theophilus was about to resign his life.
The morning dawned, and found the anxious party still assembled together and still conversing on the same deeply interesting subject. The final appearance of the prisoner before his hard-hearted judges was to take place at noon; and long before that hour Amaziah left the house, telling Judith that he was going to make the last effort for the preservation of their son, but warning her to cherish no hopes of his success. Zadok also went forth with Javan and Isaac, to be present at the meeting of the council, which was to be held in a large hall adjoining the prison; and Mary once more declared to her affianced husband, privately and solemnly, that if he did not return to announce the acquittal of Theophilus, she would never see him more. She had lately begun to doubt the sincerity of his affection, and she resolved that he should give her this proof of his devotion to her wishes, or lose the prize he so eagerly coveted.
The council assembled, and having gone through the preliminary forms which they had themselves instituted, the president commanded the Nazarene prisoner to be brought forth. Zadok almost regretted that he had entered the hall when he saw his noble and undaunted kinsman appear, for his feelings of pity and admiration were painfully excited; and he knew that it was all in vain to raise his single voice in his favour. Isaac demanded of the prisoner whether the mercy of the court in allowing him time for repentance had been effectual: and whether he was now prepared to abjure his errors, and publicly to acknowledge that Jesus of Nazareth was an impostor, who had suffered the due reward of his crimes and seditions.
A holy indignation sparkled in the eyes of Theophilus at this blasphemous question. He paused a moment to subdue his rising spirit; and then, with a calmness and dignity that impressed even his enemies who thirsted for his blood, he replied:—
"Isaac, may God forgive you and your accomplices in this day's guilt, for the insult you have dared to utter. By his grace I declare that Jesus of Nazareth is the Son of the Most High God, the expected Messiah, and the Saviour of the world. His death was the sacrifice appointed by his Father before the foundation of the world, to expiate the sins of all mankind: and it was brought about by the pride, cruelty, and unbelief of the Jews, who with wicked hands did crucify and slay him. I have given myself to Him who died for me, to be saved and pardoned and glorified by his grace; and shall death affright me from him? Oh no; his love is present with me now, and dearer is that love to me than all this world can offer!"
"Is this your final declaration, Theophilus?" asked Javan, with a look of great anxiety: "are you so resolved to perish both in body and soul, and to be cut off eternally from the portion of Israel?"
"O Javan!" replied the prisoner, "I will say to you, are you still thus hardened against the truth, and determined to despise the salvation of the Lord? The drowning man, who has grasped a powerful arm to save him from destruction, does not wantonly abandon his hope; and I have found an Almighty arm, to which I cling for salvation from my sins, and from their eternal punishment. Shall I idly loose my hold, and fall back into the billows and deep waters out of which I have been rescued? No, Javan, no! heaven is before me and I will not look back. The final step is fearful to flesh and blood; but His rod and His staff shall comfort me. All the favour that I now crave at your hands is, that I may be disturbed no more by questions or arguments, but left alone with my God and Saviour, until ye come to liberate my soul, and send it forth to meet Him in a purer state. From my heart I forgive you all; and my farewell to you is a prayer, that when you come to face death as nearly as I now do, you may have found the same all-powerful and all-merciful Guide who now leads me on, and gives me strength and victory."
A murmur ran round the court, and some voices were heard expressing pity and admiration for the young and ardent prisoner. Zadok boldly pleaded for his release, and Isaac leaned strongly to the side of mercy; but they could urge nothing to change the stern decree of the council, that every convicted follower of Jesus should be put to death. The very eloquence and bold confession of Theophilus only spoke his own condemnation, and proved how dangerous and zealous a disciple of the Nazarene they had it in their power to destroy.
A division took place, and loud and angry words were heard, while Theophilus looked calmly on, for he saw that his fate was decided. Suddenly the doors of the hall were thrown open with violence, and Amaziah appeared at the head of a numerous and well-armed band: he looked eagerly round the apartment, and instantly broke through every obstacle, and springing to the spot where his beloved son was standing, caught him in his arms, crying, "I will save you or die, my son!"
The tumult became general, for Isaac, without openly joining the party of Amaziah, used every effort to increase the confusion, and give him a better chance of success. Zadok forgot his priestly character, and all his former prejudices against the Nazarenes, in the hope of rescuing his nephew; and he with his arm and his voice encouraged those who surrounded and defended him. It was a moment of intense feeling for Theophilus; all the ties of nature and affection resumed their hold on his heart, and hope once more revived that life and liberty might be granted.
Before Javan left his home that morning, one of Mary's servants had requested to speak with him in private. It was Reuben, the same who had revealed to Isaac the conversation which he had overheard in the garden between Naomi and Claudia, and which had led to much sin and sorrow, he had now come on a similar errand of treachery, to betray to Javan the plans that were in agitation for the rescue of his cousin: he told him that Isaac had conferred with Amaziah several days ago, and had promised to befriend his son in every way that was consistent with his own character, though he found it hopeless to persuade his coadjutors to pronounce hie pardon. Trusting to his promises, which were secured by self-interest, Amaziah eagerly concerted with him a scheme, which appeared to give the only chance of saving Theophilus, though at the same time it involved considerable danger to his father. Several of his friends were induced to lend their aid; and though fear for their own safety prevented their joining in the enterprise, yet they placed their domestics and armed retainers at the disposal of Amaziah, and he entered the hall with a force quite sufficient to effect his purpose.
But treason had counteracted all his plans. Javan had taken advantage of the information which Reuben had deceitfully obtained, and had placed a strong body of troops in ambush among the walls of the prison, ready to rush in and attack Amaziah and his followers in the rear. Reuben was at hand to summon them, and when Javan saw that all his uncle's men had entered the hall, he made a sign to him, and in a few moments the troops were at the door. Their numbers were greatly superior to those of Amaziah's party, and the contest was soon ended. The prisoner was secured, and borne away again by a private entrance to his dungeon, before his distracted father was aware that all hope was gone. His indignation and grief then broke forth with violence, and he reproached the council with their injustice and cruelty, in language that was not likely to pass unnoticed or unrevenged. Zadok feared for his brother's safety; and as nothing further could now be hoped for the unfortunate Theophilus, he led, or rather forced him from the hall, while the exasperated members of the council regarded him with looks of rage, which they were only deterred from openly demonstrating by respect for Zadok, and fear of offending Javan. When the brothers had left the hall, followed by all the band who had accompanied Amaziah, Isaac desired that the business of the day might be resumed, and that the rest of the Nazarene prisoners (whose fate had been delayed until Theophilus could be added to their number) might be brought up for final condemnation. The President had been astonished at the sudden and unexpected appearance of the troops, whose services Javan had so promptly obtained, and having also observed the dark countenance of Reuben among the servants who kept the door, he began to suspect that the enterprise of Amaziah had been betrayed, and that his own share in it might also be known by his brethren in the council. Such a discovery would infallibly destroy all his political power, and deprive him of the confidence and esteem of Javan, which was founded on his character for religious zeal and firmness of purpose. To obviate all injurious impressions which might have been made by the reports of Reuben, he now resolved to show a determined severity towards the ill-fated prisoners who were to hear their condemnation from his lips; and rather to risk the loss of Mary's favour than subject himself to the suspicion of being a friend to Theophilus, or any convicted Nazarene.
The entrances to the prison and the hall were carefully closed and guarded before the prisoners were summoned, to prevent the possibility of a rescue being again attempted; and the officers and keepers of the prison soon appeared leading the unoffending victims, bound with chains and fetters. They were eight in number, besides Theophilus, of different ages, both male and female,—some in the bloom of youth and some bowed down with age and infirmity and suffering, but all inspired with one feeling and strengthened by one hope. They had already declared their firm and unalterable belief in the divinity of Jesus of Nazareth, and no further examination now took place, except a formal offer of pardon if they would renounce this belief, which was decidedly rejected by each in turn. The sentence of death was pronounced by Isaac; and the prisoners were informed that no delay would be allowed, and that they must prepare for execution at the dawn of day on the morrow. They were condemned to be beheaded in prison; and at the suggestion of Javan a clause was added that their bodies should be exposed on the walls of the building, and then carried to the valley of Hinnom, and burnt in the fires which were kept constantly burning there to consume the filth and rubbish of the city.
This appeared a wanton indignity; but Javan urged that it was necessary, in order to prevent the friends of the criminals obtaining possession of their carcasses and performing their idolatrous rites at their burial. A shudder of disgust and dread might have been perceived to run through the line of prisoners as they heard their hasty doom announced, and thought of the loathsome place to which their bodies would so soon be consigned; but they spoke not to plead for a reversal of this cruel decree. They knew that their fate was decided, and they did not wish their crown of martyrdom to be delayed, or to be kept longer from the place of their rest. Theophilus turned his calm and steadfast eye on Javan when he heard him propose that one of his own kinsmen should be treated with an indignity which would not have been offered to the meanest Jewish beggar; and he met the gaze of his cousin fixed on him with an expression of concern and interest that only surprised him the more. Javan had attained the object for which he had been labouring and intriguing so long; and now that Theophilus was in his power, he almost regretted that his principles compelled him to complete his revenge. He hastily desired that the prisoners might be removed, and all placed in separate cells. No sooner was this order obeyed, than the fierceness of his countenance returned; and rising from his seat he began to denounce Isaac as a traitor to his religion and his party, and proceeded to state all the particulars which he had heard from Reuben of his double-dealing and his conspiracy with Amaziah for the rescue of an accursed apostate. Javan spoke with violence, as if to work up his own feelings of anger against Theophilus and all who wished to save his life; and he succeeded in exciting those of his colleagues. Isaac would have denied the charge brought against him; but Javan compelled his informer unwillingly to appear and swear to the truth of his statement, when he detailed so minutely the conversation which he had overheard between Amaziah and the President, and also the orders which he had himself received from Isaac to procure the services of some men on whom he could depend, and conduct them to Amaziah on the appointed morning, that no doubt remained of his guilt. He saw that his reputation and influence were gone, and after a sharp altercation with Javan, he left his seat and hurried from the hall. A short time he was shut up in a private room in his own house, while his servants guarded the door, and then he delivered a letter to his most confidential attendant, and gave orders for the removal of all his valuable goods to a place of security which he pointed out. This done, he armed himself completely, and, followed by such of his domestics as had consented to accompany him, he left the house, and pursued the most obscure and unfrequented paths that led to the temple. In this holy edifice the Zealots and Idumeans were still established and fortified, and at the outer gate he presented himself, and demanded to speak with John of Gischala, the valiant leader of the party.
He was speedily admitted to the presence of the wily John, but his attendants were detained in an outer court until the will of the chief should be made known. Isaac's story was listened to with great satisfaction by John; and his offers of alliance were gladly received, for he was known to be a man of power and abilities, and his desertion of the popular party, as it was then called, was an event of considerable importance. The bitterness with which he spoke of his former friends was a guarantee to John that an impassable gulf had now separated them, and his quick discernment enabled him to discover and profit by the irritated feelings of his new ally. He had brought with him all the portable wealth which he possessed, and which was very considerable; so that in all respects he was a most welcome ally.
His desertion to the opposing party was soon known to Javan and his colleagues, and they immediately pronounced him a traitor, and confiscated his house and property to the use of the state—as they styled their own self-constituted authority—but they found little of value remaining in the building. The servants had removed everything that they could carry, not to place it in security for their master, but to appropriate to their own use; and the house was left desolate and empty. The letter which Isaac had entrusted to his favourite domestic was faithfully delivered to Mary, his affianced bride, but it failed to produce the effect which he had designed. It contained a vehement entreaty that she would follow him to the temple, and in that sacred place unite herself to him for ever. He urged that his love for her, and desire to comply with her wishes, had been the sole cause of his present distress; but that if she would keep her plighted faith and join him with all her riches, he doubted not they could find means to escape together from Jerusalem, and enjoy wealth and happiness in some more favoured clime.
Mary of Bethezob had agreed to unite herself to Isaac when he was in power and a high station, but she had no regard for him that was strong enough to tempt her to take such a step as he proposed. She replied to his letter with a decided rejection of all his plans, and a declaration that she should adhere to her resolution of seeing him no more, since he had failed to procure the liberty of Theophilus. Her letter was delivered to his servant, who immediately followed his master to the temple, and attached himself to the party which he had espoused. Javan's indignation at the conduct of Isaac was very great: he had placed considerable confidence in him; and had revealed to him many particulars of his secret intercourse with Simon, and his intentions of inviting him into the city as soon as he could sufficiently prepare the way for his reception by the popular party. All these designs he knew would now be disclosed to his bitter enemy, John of Gischala, who might, by his craft or his power, be enabled to frustrate them; and he resolved to hasten their execution as much as possible, that he might bring Simon and his forces within the walls of the city before the wily and intriguing John could have time to concert any plans of opposition. But he wished that Amaziah should depart from Jerusalem before the son of Gioras was raised to the sovereign command. His bigotry and his revenge were sated by the capture and condemnation of Theophilus; and the conduct of his cousin had convinced him that threats and sufferings were ineffectual to make the Nazarenes forsake their opinions. He did not therefore wish to apprehend his uncle, and have to witness the same exhibition of fortitude and faith which had excited his admiration in Theophilus, and the same grief and horror which his exertions for the honour of Judaism had already caused to his parents and relatives. What a strange mixture of good and evil was Javan! and how entirely did his narrow and prejudiced views of religion mar his own happiness, and extinguish all the better feelings and more noble propensities of his heart!
Zadok and his unhappy brother had returned to their home, after the fruitless effort for the preservation of the prisoner. A crowd of persons were assembled round the door of the prison, and the cause of the disturbance which was heard within the walls soon reached them, and excited a great feeling of indignation against Amaziah. The Nazarenes were held in entire abhorrence by the populace; and the rumour that an attempt had been made to rescue a convicted heretic and others, to deprive them of the savage joy with which they always hailed the execution of such victims, filled them with rage. But when they beheld Amaziah come forth from the porch leaning on the arm of the holy and respected Zadok, the tide of feeling was divided. Some of those who knew and esteemed the character of the afflicted father, were touched by his profound but manly grief; while others loudly assailed him with insulting epithets, as the father of an apostate, and even as being suspected of sharing the guilt of his son. The presence and protection of Zadok, and the commanding manner in which by his voice and gestures he forbade the approach of the angry multitude, were hardly sufficient to prevent their rushing on Amaziah, and inflicting summary vengeance on this unoffending and almost broken-hearted man But those who pitied his sorrow united with his own attendants and followers, and formed a strong guard around the noble brothers, and in this manner conducted them safely to their own dwelling, amidst the cries and insults and curses of the infuriated mob.
The anxious inmates of Zadok's house, who sat trembling and weeping while expecting the return of their relatives from the trial, were startled by the shouts of the approaching multitude; and for a moment their hopes were excited that these might be cries of joy and triumph, to announce the acquittal of the prisoner. But as the crowd came nearer, they heard the curses and blasphemies that were uttered in a loud and threatening tone; and while they felt that no hope remained of Theophilus being free, they also feared for the safety of those who were equally dear to them. They hastened to the housetop, from whence they could look down on the street below, and they were terrified at the tumult they beheld, and at the danger which seemed to menace both Amaziah and Zadok; for the priest himself had become an object of temporary wrath, from his connexion with the denounced and hated Nazarenes, and his determined efforts to protect his brother.
Salome and her companions watched the still increasing crowd, until the objects of their anxiety had reached the strong gates that gave entrance into the court of the house; and when they were assured that they had passed through, and were safe from the assaults of their pursuers, they descended to meet them in the vestibule, and to hear all their apprehensions most fatally confirmed with regard to their beloved Theophilus. They had persuaded themselves that they were prepared for this result; but yet the shock was so severe, that it proved how much more of hope had lingered in every breast than had been acknowledged to each other, or even to themselves. Claudia was entirely unable to command herself, and she retired with Naomi to indulge her grief, and listen to the consolations which her pious and highly-gifted friend was enabled to bestow. When they had left the apartment, Zadok endeavoured to change the sad current of his own thoughts and those of his family, by urging on Amaziah the necessity for his immediately quitting the city. He represented to him the extreme danger to which he exposed himself, and those who were dearest to him, by remaining any longer in a place where he had become the object of so much resentment, both among the higher and lower classes; and as his further stay could now be of no advantage to his unhappy son, he earnestly entreated him to commence his journey on the following morning, and thus escape from impending destruction, and remove himself and his family to a distance from the cruel scene which would take place at noon on that day. The feelings of Amaziah were harrowed by this appeal; and yet consideration for his family would have induced him to comply with his brother's advice, however painful it would be to him to leave the city while his son was yet alive, to suffer shame and death; but Judith would not listen to the proposal.
"No," she exclaimed, "nothing shall tear me hence until I know that my child is dead. If danger is to be encountered, I will not flee from it, till he is set free for ever from all pain and all peril. Then, when his ransomed and purified spirit is in the mansions of peace and joy, I will go forth with my husband, and seek a shelter in some spot where virtue and piety are not the mark for insult and murder."
"Dear Judith," replied Zadok, "I feel for your sorrow; and I would to God that I could have power to remove it. Your errors and those of my brother have not destroyed my love for you, deeply as I deplore them; and anxiety for your safety is my only motive for urging you to leave my house. While you remain, which must be as short a time as possible, I will protect you even with my own life; and when you consent to seek a safer refuge, I will go with you and guard you on your way as far as Joppa. Though we have now, alas! no longer the same object in attending you there which first induced me to consent to take the journey, yet I feel that I can be a protection to you; and also that our poor afflicted Claudia will be soothed and supported by Naomi's presence."
"You have never been unkind, Zadok, even when most displeased with us," said Judith; "and this is a proof of your affection which I gratefully accept. Your society and that of our dear Naomi will be the greatest consolation that we can enjoy during our melancholy journey. I will make the best return that is in my power for your kindness, by remaining beneath your roof no longer than until the sun has set to-morrow. Oh! how that word to-morrow makes my heart sink away and fail within me! But I will be strong in the help of the Lord, and try to conquer such faithless fear and dread. I will promise to be ready to leave this most melancholy and yet most beloved place when to-morrow's light is fading away, and we may then reach Joppa the following evening. I will go now and give orders to our servants, that everything may be prepared, for I may not be so well able to exert myself to-morrow. Come, dear sister Salome, and give me your aid and your kind sympathy."
The necessity for exertion was useful to Judith and to Salome, who called up unwonted firmness, and commanded her feelings, that she might be able to assist those whose sorrow was so much deeper than her own. When Claudia was informed of the determination to leave Jerusalem on the morrow, she seemed to be overwhelmed with fresh grief, and earnestly besought that she might not be torn away so soon, and even that she might remain altogether with Naomi, and enjoy the melancholy pleasure of recalling all her past happiness, and dwelling in the same place where she had conversed with him, and learned from his lips the way of everlasting life. Kindly and gently Naomi reasoned with her, and showed her the danger and impropriety of her wish being gratified. She spoke of Judith's solitude when deprived of her son, and also of her whom she already looked upon as a daughter, and that argument made its way to Claudia's affectionate heart, and changed her inclinations. She resolved to follow her adopted mother wherever she and Amaziah should go, and to devote herself to the task of cheering them, and supplying the place of their only child: and this resolution roused and supported her, and gave her an object for which she felt content to live and to bear her sorrow, so long as the Lord should appoint her days on earth.
The hours passed away, though slowly and sadly. Even Mary of Bethezob, whose spirits were usually unfailing, was buried in silence and sorrow: and little David, the life and amusement of all the house in happier days, was unnoticed and neglected. Night brought no cessation of the misery of that family, for sleep did not visit them, and they met on the fatal morning with countenances that showed deep traces of watchfulness and tears.
Tombs of the KingsTombs of the Kings
The sun approached his meridian height, and as he mounted higher and higher the feelings of the sad and watching group became more intensely excited, until at the sixth hour, when his burning rays fell vertically on the terrace into which the apartment opened, a distant noise of the voices of many people reached their ears. It was a savage shout of joy and exultation; and it sunk into the hearts of the mourners as a death-knell. At that moment the headless bodies of the nine victims were thrown over the prison walls, and suspended there to be the objects of insult and mockery to the barbarous multitude. Javan's order that the executions should take place in the cells of the prison, and not publicly, had occasioned great discontent among the populace, who had expected to indulge their cruel and bloodthirsty inclinations by witnessing the last sufferings of the Nazarenes; and to gratify them the bodies were thus exposed until sunset; while wine and food were liberally distributed among the crowd at the command of Javan and his colleagues, who feared to excite the displeasure of the lawless rabble at such a time of sedition and insubordination.
A servant of Zadok's had been privately sent by him to await the exhibition of the dreadful spectacle, and to bring the intelligence to him when all was over. The man had known Theophilus well, and had loved him; and when he returned to his master's house, and Zadok met him in the vestibule, he was trembling with horror and distress. The heads of the unhappy victims had not been exposed, but he had recognised the body of Theophilus by the garments which he well-remembered, and particularly a vest which Claudia had embroidered, and which he had worn on the evening when he left the house to return no more. Zadok rejoined his family, and they saw too plainly by his agitated countenance that all was over.
"The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away, and blessed be the name of the Lord!" said he solemnly, as he entered the room; and a burst of uncontrollable grief was the only reply. But Amaziah did not long give way to this natural emotion; he knelt down in the midst of the group, who all followed his example; and in a tone of calmness, that astonished Zadok and Salome, he offered up fervent praises and thanksgivings that his dear son had now fought the good fight and finished his course, and had received the crown of glory laid up for him in heaven.
This done, he called his brother aside, and spoke to him on the subject that now weighed heaviest on his heart. The suggestion of Javan that the bodies of the prisoners should be burnt in the fires of Hinnom had been made known to him, and had occasioned additional misery both to him and Judith; and he requested Zadok to use all his influence with Javan and the other members of the council to obtain an order for the body of Theophilus to be restored to them, that they might have the satisfaction of burying it before they left the city. Zadok feared that his efforts to procure this indulgence would not be successful, but he readily promised to make the attempt; and immediately left the house in search of his son, who had not appeared to his family since the fatal sentence had been pronounced on the preceding day. He found him at the house of one of his colleagues; and the air of satisfaction that reigned on his countenance gave a bitter pang to the heart of his father.
"Javan," he said, in a tone which showed his own emotions, "the dreadful scene is over, and I can no longer plead for the life of our kinsman. He has paid the debt which perhaps was due to his offended country and violated religion; and I would to God that he were yet living to forsake his errors and redeem his character. It is passed—and henceforth never let us speak on this subject again. My object in now coming to you is to request, as a favour to myself, that the body of one who is so nearly connected to me may not be exposed to the indignity which forms part of the sentence pronounced upon him. You were the proposer of that additional cruelty, and doubtless you can obtain the reversion of the sentence, if not for all the criminals, yet at least in this single instance."
"My father," replied Javan, "I see that you also wrong me, and attribute to me a wanton cruelty that is not in my nature. I did not wish my cousin's death; it was his restoration to virtue and piety that I desired; and that being hopeless, no course remained but to allow the laws of our holy religion to be executed. I have but discharged my duty in removing the unclean thing from the camp of Israel, and sparing not my own flesh and blood when the honour of Jehovah required the sacrifice. I had expected that you, my revered father, would have applauded my zeal, and joined with me in purging out this dreadful heresy, whatever might be the cost. But since you blame me, I must stand alone, and my conscience bears me witness that I stand guiltless. As to your request for the body of my misguided cousin, it grieves me to deny it; but I have no power to change the sentence. It was passed by the assembled council, as a preventive to sacrilege and profaneness; and I cannot from personal considerations, demand the reversion of so wise and necessary a decree."
Zadok's brow grew dark. He had condescended to ask a favour from his son, instead of laying on him a command, which would have been more in accordance with Jewish manners, but which in Javan's case had long been found ineffectual. He had thrown off the paternal yoke whenever the obedience which was required was in opposition to his own views and principles; and though he respected and loved his father, he considered himself much more competent than Zadok to judge what line of conduct it was right to adopt. He saw that his father was frequently influenced by his kind and generous feelings to depart from the severe principles of his sect, and to lay aside the narrow views which generally governed the proud Pharisees of that period; while he prided himself on making every feeling and every interest give way to party spirit and religious bigotry. He had therefore learnt to treat his excellent and high-minded father as an equal, instead of looking up to him as the guide and example which in his earlier years it was his highest aim to follow and imitate. Zadok knew and felt all this, and he perceived that his son was now acting from motives which he did not entirely disclose, and which probably he thought his father would neither share nor duly estimate. He was convinced that Javan was not to be shaken by persuasion, and he spared himself the pain of a second refusal; but for Claudia's sake he made another request, which he felt sure could not be denied. He desired that Javan would send for the vest in which the corpse of Theophilus was still attired, and allow him to carry it back to his unhappy young friend, as a last relic of him whom she had loved so fervently. To this Javan readily consented, and requested his father to tarry in the house of his friend until he should return with the embroidered garment, as he imagined that he would not willingly go to gaze on the mangled remains of his beloved nephew. He was not long absent, and when he returned he placed in Zadok's hand the vest, which was stained with the blood of the noble victim. The priest looked at it with deep emotion, and then returned to his own now gloomy dwelling.
Claudia had not been informed of the degradation which was designed for the remains of the heroic band of prisoners, and therefore she knew nothing of the object for which Zadok had gone forth. But when he gave her the well-remembered vest which she had worked with so much delight, and which Theophilus had loved so much to wear, she thanked him with her tears for his kind consideration in procuring it for her, and pressed the sad relic to her heart, with a feeling that all her earthly hopes had flown away with the life-blood that stained it.
Javan did not come home that day. He knew from Reuben of everything that was going on in his father's house; but to the surprise of that artful and cold-blooded villain, he took no steps to prevent the departure of his uncle, and secure another victim to tyranny and fanaticism. Reuben marvelled at his employer's apathy; and had not Javan read his countenance, and suspected designs, he would have hurried away and betrayed Amaziah's movements to others of the council, who would not have scrupled to take advantage of such information, and perhaps to waylay and apprehend him. His destruction and that of his family had long been determined on by these men, who were so zealous for the law; and they hoped to execute their purpose at an early opportunity, never suspecting that Amaziah would leave the city so immediately after the catastrophe which had befallen him. Javan was, of course, not ignorant of these intentions; and he secretly rejoiced that they would be frustrated. Indeed it was owing to his contrivances that the warnings had been given to his uncle to lose no time; and he had said enough in his father's hearing to make him urge the instant departure of his relatives; and to prevent the possibility of Reuben's busy and intriguing spirit being exerted to thwart his private wishes for his uncle's escape, he kept him in his sight the whole of the day, and did not suffer him to speak to any person out of his hearing.
Thus, though Amaziah and his family knew it not, the same Javan who had caused all their anguish and woe was now engaged in securing their safety; and it was owing to his precautions, that when the last rays of the sun were gleaming on the summit of Mount Olivet, they passed quietly and undisturbed through the water-gate, and entered the valley of Jehosaphat, that ran along the eastern wall of the city, watered by the brook of Kedron, and filled with blooming gardens and fruitful orchards. This was not the way by which the travellers would naturally have quitted Jerusalem to proceed towards Joppa, as that city lay to the north-west; but they were unwilling to traverse the streets in order to reach the gate of the Upper Fountain, for they feared to expose themselves to observation. Therefore they passed along the valley until they came to the Tower of the Corner, when they took the road to Rama and Emmaus. They were a sad and silent party, and all were deeply absorbed in their own melancholy reflections. Even the servants and armed attendants felt so much respect and sympathy for their sorrow, that they spoke not, save in a whisper; and no sound was heard to break the stillness of the evening, except the measured tread of the mules that carried the litters and the baggage, and the horses on which Zadok and Amaziah rode. Naomi and Claudia travelled in the same conveyance; but Judith preferred being alone, that she might lift up her soul to God in freedom, and pour her griefs into the compassionate bosom of her Redeemer. It had been a severe trial to her, as well as to her husband and Claudia, to leave the place where all that remained of their beloved Theophilus yet rested; and when she found herself enclosed in the curtains of the litter, and hidden from every eye but that of her Heavenly Father, she gave a vent to her sorrow, which relieved her bursting heart. Salome had offered to accompany her to Joppa, with Zadok and Naomi, but Judith would not allow her to do so. Her health was delicate, and the late trying scenes had so powerfully affected her, that she was not equal to the journey, and she therefore remained at home with Mary and her lovely little boy, who were to abide in her house until the return of Zadok and her daughter. Javan too would be her protector and occasional companion, though his presence had ceased to give his mother the pleasure that once it did, since he had been the means of changing her happy home into a scene of anxious care and sorrow.
While Amaziah and his company were passing forth from Zadok's house, and descending the steep street that led to the water-gate, they heard the distant sound of rumbling wheels on the bridge that crossed the brook of Siloam above the pool, and led to the road that opened into the valley of Hinnom. Zadok and Amaziah turned a quick and anxious gaze behind them, and saw afar off two heavy carts, attended by armed guards, and followed by a vast concourse of persons. The distance and the fading light prevented their distinguishing what burden the vehicles bore, but they knew that they contained the relics of the good, the brave, and the dearly-loved, and they shuddered as they thought of their destination.
The valley of Hinnom lay to the south of the city, between Solomon's Pool and the Potter's Field. A stream ran through it, which flowed into the Kedron, and by the side of this rapid stream the smoke of constant fires was ever rising, and a hot and sickly vapour filled the air and rose to the hills on which the southern wall of Zion was built. In the shadow of that wall Javan was pacing to and fro, followed by Reuben, whom he still retained near him, until he could feel certain that his uncle was beyond the reach of his enemies. It would be difficult to say why Javan had chosen to resort to that spot at such a time. The loathsome valley was generally shunned by all who were not compelled by necessity to pass that way; and Javan had seldom visited the elevated terrace that overlooked it, and which but for this circumstance would have been a favourite and frequented walk. The view which this site commanded was noble and extensive, reaching over the varied and fertile plain to the Dead Sea and the mountains of Arabia Petræa, which form its eastern boundary, and embracing also the Hills of Judgment and Mount Olivet to the left. But it was not the beauty of this prospect that drew Javan thither on the present occasion. It was rather a strange desire to see the conclusion of a scene of horror and of woe, which had occupied his mind and filled him with gloomy and anxious thoughts for so many days and weeks. He had accomplished all his schemes against his unhappy cousin; but he was not happy—for with all his efforts he could not stifle his natural feelings so entirely as to be insensible to the sorrow which he had brought upon his family. He dreaded returning home to encounter the silent reproach of their tears; and almost unconsciously he wandered towards the valley of Hinnom, to excite still more his feelings of horror, by witnessing the last indignity that could be offered to the remains of the victims of fanaticism.
The heavy carts rolled slowly along the valley, and paused as they reached each smouldering fire. The filth and rubbish which composed the daily fuel of these fires were nearly exhausted: but fresh combustibles were cast on them to make the funeral-piles of the martyrs, and then the bodies were flung, naked and headless, to be reduced to ashes. Javan watched them one by one, and by the light of the lurid flames he saw nine livid corpses thrown from the carts. His heart sickened, but he could not leave the spot, and there he stood, gazing down on the dreadful spectacle until all was over. The forms of the degraded criminals whose loathsome office it was to attend to these fires, were seen moving about amid the smoke and vapour, and appeared fitting inhabitants of this Gehenna, or place of Hell-fire, as it was commonly called. To Javan's excited imagination the altars once erected on this spot to Chemosh, Moloch, and Ashtaroth, were present again, reeking with their human sacrifices; and the cries of the innocent children who were offered up by hundreds to the gods of cruelty and murder sounded in his ears. The savage mob that had followed the dead-carts stood round to enjoy the spectacle, and as the flames burst forth afresh, and the bodies consumed away, they expressed their exultation and joy by loud discordant shouts, that only added to the infernal character of the scene. Among this rabble were some who came from other motives, and who trembled with stifled emotion, while to escape observation they endeavoured to join in the cries of the surrounding crowd. These were the friends and relatives of the martyred Nazarenes, and they came to wait until vengeance had been satiated on the bodies of those they loved, and the valley should be abandoned to the dogs and the vultures that lurked around to snatch their horrid meal.
One by one the fires went out, and darkness overspread the valley. The crowd dispersed, and the criminals left their daily employment to seek a short repose in some wretched huts at a little distance from the place of their appointed labours. Then, when all was silent, Javan saw a number of men and women approach one of the fires which yet continued smouldering, and light their torches at the embers. Carefully they searched among the ashes for the bones of their relatives which yet were unconsumed, and having collected them from every fire, they enclosed the precious relics altogether in a casket, and noiselessly moved away down the valley toward Solomon's Pool.
"Shall I follow them?" whispered Reuben; and Javan started at the sound of his harsh voice, for he had forgotten that the menial was still waiting near him, and watching all that occurred in the valley with an interest equal to his own, but of a different nature. "Shall I follow them?" he repeated, "for they must surely be some of those accursed Nazarenes, who thus came to seek the remains of the malefactors. They cannot enter the city to-night, and I can watch where they hide. And then if your guards are let out on them in their lurking-place, we shall easily secure the prey, and ere long we shall have another such day as this!"
"Silence, villain!" cried Javan, disgusted at the coarse brutality of the menial, who believed that his employer shared his own feelings of gratification in the actual cruelties of that day, and thought that, like him, he would rejoice in the prospect of a repetition of them.
"Follow me to the city," he continued, "and you shall receive to-morrow the reward of your services. When I require them again I shall summon you; and meanwhile I command you to exert your powers of observation, and inform me if anything occurs which way be of consequence to my affairs; but see that you confide in no one else at your peril. Especially keep watch whether Isaac or any of his emissaries attempt to hold intercourse with your noble mistress, for we must preserve her and her property from his hands."
Reuben obeyed, and followed Javan, wondering at his apathy in neglecting so good an opportunity of replenishing the prison with fresh Nazarene captives, and regretting the reward which he might have received for his information from others of the Pharisees or chief-priests. But he did not dare to dispute Javan's commands, and accompanied him to the gate, where they were readily admitted, as the young Pharisee was well known to the officer on guard there. They proceeded to the house of one of Javan's friends, and passed the night there; and in the morning returned to the dwelling of Zadok, where they soon learnt from Deborah that the priest, with his brother and all his family, had left the city on the preceding evening. Hannah had also accompanied them, with several others of their domestics who were suspected of partaking in their heretical opinions; and none remained who could be objects of persecution on account of their faith.
This was satisfactory news to Javan, and he immediately dismissed Reuben with a liberal present; and having paid his mother a short visit, which was equally painful to them both, he occupied himself in prosecuting his political plans, and forwarding his arrangements for the reception of Simon.
Meanwhile the travellers had proceeded without interruption through Rama to Emmaus, where they paused to rest and refresh themselves, and then resumed their journey. At Lydda, where they arrived at an early hour the following day, they made inquiries, and found that a band of Roman soldiers had come thither from Joppa for several days preceding, and had diligently sought for a party of travellers from Jerusalem, but had returned each evening greatly disappointed at not meeting them. It was hardly safe for Amaziah's company to advance further on their way, without a stronger guard than his own and Zadok's armed servants. They were about to leave the province of Judea, and enter that of Samaria, which was almost entirely in the hands of the Romans; and without being under the protection of some of the conquerors, they might be exposed to insult and danger. But it was uncertain whether Rufus would send his men again to meet them; and it was even possible that he might not wait any longer at Joppa, but return to the Roman army at Cæsarea, under the impression that his daughter's plans were changed, and that she would not now join him there. These considerations induced Zadok and Amaziah to decide on proceeding to Joppa without delay. They had traversed more than half the distance which divided the two cities, when they saw a band of soldiers approaching towards them, whose martial bearing and well-appointed accoutrements declared them to belong to the invincible army of Rome. Whether they came as friends or foes could not be discovered, and therefore Amaziah marshalled his men, and prepared for resistance if necessary.
The fears of his party were however speedily removed, by seeing the officer who commanded the troop put his horse into a gallop and advance alone to meet them. It was Marcellus; and though so many years had elapsed since Zadok and Amaziah had seen him, they immediately recognised his noble, ingenuous expression of countenance; and the warmth of feeling that beamed in his bright eye when he extended his hand to greet them, showed them that his long absence had not deadened his affections or obliterated the remembrance of early friendship.
His own eagerness prevented him at the first moment from observing that his friends did not receive him with the same joyful feelings that filled his own heart, and he was going to hurry past them towards the litters that followed at some distance, exclaiming,—
"Where is my dear sister, and where is Naomi? Theophilus, too, I do not see him; but no doubt he is in close attendance on Claudia. He is a happy man! I wish my prospects in life were as smiling as his."
Amaziah turned away in anguish at this playful observation; and Zadok caught the hand of Marcellus, who now perceived that all was not so full of happiness as he supposed.
"Is anything the matter?" he cried. "Is Naomi safe and well?" his fears making him recur first to her who was uppermost in his thoughts and affections.
"It is not for her, my son," replied Zadok, "that your sympathy will be excited; our poor Claudia will want all your affectionate consolations."
"What has befallen my own dear sister?" interrupted Marcellus hastily, yet with a feeling of relief that his fears for Naomi were groundless.