CHAPTER XIII.AT THE FEET OF THE APOSTLES.To Anna, in the house of Mary, there had come peace.When she had awakened from the death-like swoon in which she had sunken at the feet of Caiaphas, to find herself alone, she scarce knew at first what had befallen her. But memory, too faithful, repeated to her shrinking soul the words which had struck at the very fountain of life; she turned them over dully in her mind, "As I would cut off my right hand, should it become polluted beyond cleansing, so also will I sever thee from my life.""How can that be," she thought, staring at the light branches of a rose tree that swayed from the trellis above her head; the sun struck vivid sparks of emerald fire from its translucent leaves, the breeze shook a full-blown blossom, and a handful of the odorous petals fell upon her face. She inhaled their fragrance as in a dream of pain."So I will sever thee from my life," she repeated, looking at the shattered rose. "Ah, it can never bloom again!"And with the thought came a sudden frightful realization of what had happened. She sprang up and looked wildly about her. "I must find him! It cannot, cannot be!" Then she sank feebly upon her knees beside the bench, and buried her face in her hands.Is it for naught that misery instinctively assumes this attitude? Nay, rather, it is a divine impulse of the suffering soul, a blind and voiceless feeling after a hand in the darkness. And the hand is always there.To Anna thus bowed there came at length the thought of God, of Jesus, the all-Comforter; of Stephen, his dark eyes full of loving light; of Mary, the mother of Jesus, like herself, desolate. And presently, though she scarce knew why, she grew quite calm and strong. She arose. "I will go," she said aloud, "to them; they will tell me what I must do."And so it was that she came to the house of John, the beloved disciple, where abode Mary, whom the dying Lord had given into his keeping, and with them Peter, and Andrew his brother, also Stephen."I am desolate," she said humbly, "for my husband hath cast me off, because I believe that the crucified Jesus is the Messiah of Israel.""Then art thou welcome here," said the master of the house, gravely. But Mary fell on her neck and kissed her, and she wept with her, because she knew that tears are healing, if only they be wiped away by the hand of God.And so, after many days, there came to her peace; nay, more, there came joy. Involuntarily songs broke from her lips, lips for many years silent; she smiled often even when alone, for a strange delight filled her soul, her deep eyes shone like stars.Stephen saw the change in her and he rejoiced."The Lord is with thee, mother of my Titus," he said, tenderly."I scarce know why I am so happy," she replied. "Is it meet that I should rejoice when my son is dead, and when I am more desolate than a widow?""It is the gift of him who sitteth at the right hand of the Father," said Stephen. "Did he not say, 'Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you. Not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.' And this good word of peace he left with his chosen ones on the very night before his death. The world cannot give peace in the midst of sorrow, but he can, and he hath given it unto thee, beloved. And thou dost rejoice, and thy joy shall no one take from thee.""But my husband?" said Anna eagerly."Ask the Lord that it may be granted unto him to see the truth. I will also ask, then shall it be done for us according to his promise which cannot fail.""And he will again love me?""Love is the fulfilling of the law," said Stephen, smiling. "He will again love thee, and the love that he hath had is as nothing to that God will give him, for God is love, and he is also the all-giver. All love is from God, and without it would the world fall from its place in the heavens into the darkness which is outside of love--if indeed there be any place where the light of God doth not penetrate." He paused, and looked thoughtfully away into the sunset, as if he would pierce with his longing gaze beyond the gold and the crimson to that place where dwelt the risen Lord.The days went swiftly in this new life, for none were idle. Indeed, there was never a company of folk since the world began into whose lives crowded more of service, of love, of joy. The sick, the unhappy, the poor from all the city and the country round about came for healing, cheering, help; nor was any turned away. The disciples were ever mindful of the word of their Lord, "Freely ye have received, freely give." They remembered also with awe how he had washed their feet on that last night before he was betrayed. So there was no service too lowly, no labor too arduous for them to undertake in the strength of their new joy."Did he not say unto us," said Peter, his face glowing with divine enthusiasm, "'As the Father hath sent me into the world, even so send I you?'"To be a Christian in these days meant simply to live as Christ had lived. And so the women were busy from dawn until evening in fashioning garments for them that had none; in preparing the simple food, which they ate from house to house with gladness and singleness of heart, every meal a memorial feast of him who had gone to prepare a place for them in the heavens. And the men, in proclaiming the amazing tidings of salvation from sin in a world given over to sin, of joy in a world wherein was weeping and pain and woe, of peace in the midst of strife, of a great light that had shined in the darkness. It was so real, so wonderful, so new. They had not read of these things in an ancient book. They had not heard them with cold dead ears 'as a tale that is told,' but they had seen the Lord living and walking among them; they had seen him upon the cross; they had seen him in the tomb dead--his hands and feet torn with the cruel nails. And they had also seen him alive again and received into the glories of a visible heaven. Upon their heads had the pentecostal flames rested, and they beheld their mortal bodies endowed with divine powers. Little wonder then that they rejoiced, little wonder that a holy fear came upon every soul and that they had favor with all the people. Yet for our comfort is it written that the Lord once said unto Thomas, "Because thou hast seen me thou hast believed; blessed are they that have not seen and yet have believed."Now because very many that were poor came to the disciples to be fed, and because the apostles had now no time for fishing, being made fishers of men as the Lord had promised, and for the reason that then as now no one can live in the world without money, they asked of the Lord concerning this thing, as indeed they still asked about all things just as when he was on the earth. And it became very clear to them what they must do. And they did it in all simplicity and singleness of heart. They that had lands or houses sold them, and brought the price of the things that were sold and laid them down at the apostles' feet, and distribution was made unto every man according as he had need, so that there should no longer be among them any that was rich, for had not the Lord said to the young ruler, "Go sell what thou hast and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven," and also, "How hardly shall they that have riches enter into the kingdom of God." And because they thought much about heaven in those days and because they longed to enter into the kingdom, it was not hard for some of the rich to do this. Their possessions were as nothing to them compared with the riches which God was giving so freely."He is the same yesterday, to-day and forever." And alas! humanity is the same yesterday and to-day, but thank God for the to-morrow, which shall also be forever, when we shall be like him!There was in Jerusalem a certain man named Ananias, and he was married to a woman called Sapphira. They had heard the preaching of Peter and they believed, and came and joined themselves to the church. They were rich people and owned land outside the city. Now when others who had possessions sold them and brought the money to lay at the apostles' feet, they were ill pleased."Why should this be?" said Ananias to his wife. "If we give a tithe of what is ours is not that all that the law demands?""It is unjust," declared Sapphira, "we also shall be beggars if we do this thing, besides it hath been told me that the scribes and elders have the intent to crush these apostles as well as all that believe; for myself I have no mind to be stoned.""Let us withdraw then.""Nay, not so, for God is with these men as also thou hast seen," said Sapphira. "And if the Master presently come back from heaven--as indeed they all expect--he will establish a kingdom here in Jerusalem, and it must not chance that we be found on the wrong side when that shall come to pass.""They do not demand that we sell our lands," said Ananias, knitting his brows thoughtfully. "Let us be prudent and reserve our possessions till we shall see what is going to befall.""Only this morning Joses brought money and laid it down at the apostles' feet," said Sapphira. "He hath sold every cubit of his farm in the hill country. They know that we also have lands," she added fretfully, "and they expect that we will do the same. There are already five thousand persons in the church, and very few among them own earth enough to be buried in.""It is a hard case," whined Ananias, "if honest, industrious folk must give up all that they have to beggars. They will devour it up like grasshoppers; as for us who have given it, what shall we have for a time of adversity, or for our old age?""What indeed?" echoed his wife. "But we must do something or we shall be talked about. What if--" and she lowered her voice to a whisper--"we sell the land, and also freely tell of the matter, but of the price that is received we will give a part only, the remainder we will bestow in safety till we shall ourselves have need of it.""Thou art a prudent woman!" cried her husband. "I know a man who will give me a good price for the land.""Go then and sell, but let no one know of the amount which thou receivest. That shall be secret betwixt the two of us. The man Peter shall suppose that we have given all, even as did Joses."So Ananias went and sold the land and he received for it a goodly sum. Which the two took secretly and buried in the earth, keeping out a part only; this the woman laid in her lap."It is a great sum," she said, looking regretfully at the pieces of silver. "With it we might buy fine raiment for ourselves; or I might put them upon a string for my neck, I have no necklace.""Spoken like a woman, and therefore foolishly," said Ananias, lifting a handful of the coins and letting them slip through his fingers one by one. "For my part I should buy a vineyard. One could then have an abundance of wine.""Neither of these things can be," said Sapphira with a sigh. "We must give it, else when the Messiah shall come, the man Peter will say, 'These people having land sold it, but gave no part to us;' then the Messiah will give us neither place nor power.""Suppose he comes not?" said the man doggedly."We shall at least stand well with the apostles and the rest. They be all prating of the generosity of Joses to-day. 'Such a man! So holy!' they cry. To-morrow they shall speak of us also; what we shall give will be much more than his paltry bit of silver." And the woman tossed her head."Well, I will give it.""But do not let them know about the other," whispered Sapphira."Thou mayest trust me for that!" said the man with a harsh laugh.On the morrow, when all were gathered together according to their custom, came Ananias bringing the money--Sapphira remaining at home to guard the buried treasure; and he laid down the silver at the feet of Peter, saying, "I have sold my lands for the service of the Lord, and here is all the price of them."And the people looked at the money which he had laid down, and they marvelled at his generosity, saying one to another, "Joses truly was righteous, but this man hath brought a greater sum than he."But Peter fixed his inspired eyes upon the giver. He read his soul. And he said to him: "Ananias, why hath Satan filled thine heart to lie to the Holy Spirit, and keep back part of the price of the land? Whilst it remained was it not thine own? And after it was sold, was it not in thine own power? Why hast thou conceived this thing in thine heart? Thou hast not lied unto men, but unto God."And when Ananias heard these words, it was as though the light of God had been flashed into his soul. A fierce agony fell upon him. He saw clearly what he was, and what God was; and because this may not be endured by a mortal, he fell down at the feet of the apostle dead. He had passed into the presence of that Love which is also a consuming fire.And the young men arose, wound up his body in grave clothes, and carried it away. And it was about the space of three hours after when his wife, not knowing what was done, came in. And Peter said to her, "Tell me whether ye sold the land for fifty shekels?"And she said, "Yes, for fifty shekels."Then Peter said unto her, "How is it that ye have agreed together to tempt the Spirit of the Lord? Behold! the feet of them which buried thy husband are at the door, and shall carry thee out."Then fell she down straightway at his feet and expired, and the young men came in and found her dead, and carrying her forth, buried her by her husband. And great fear came upon all the church, and upon as many as heard these things.CHAPTER XIV.A CUP OF COLD WATER."Then the beast is not thine own?""I have said that it belongs to Abu Ben Hesed, who dwells in the wilderness of Shur. For this journey alone was it ours. I must return it to its owner after that I have accomplished mine errand in yonder city."The man looked at the boy steadily for a full minute; a slight smile curled the corners of his lips, but he turned his head so that the lad should not see it. "And thy business in Jerusalem, what might it be? Thou art perhaps a merchant seeking goodly pearls, or a purchaser of slaves, or perhaps a pilgrim?""My business is naught to thee; I have asked of thee a question, wilt thou care for the beast till I shall return? I will pay thee for it."The man ran his eyes once more over the white dromedary, she shook herself and all the silver bells of the bridle rang merrily. "I will take care of her," he said, nodding his head once or twice and smiling again broadly; "and when wilt thou be pleased to return?""This very day at evening, if I shall find the man I would see. His name is Jesus. Canst thou tell me where to find him?""There be half a score of that name in the city. Dost thou mean Jesus Barabbas?" and the man laughed aloud, as if his thoughts afforded him secret pleasure."Is he a magician?" asked the lad eagerly."A magician? Dost thou mean a man whom the gods granted to be born under a lucky star?""Assuredly!""Then he is the man.""What is thy name?" broke in a clear sweet voice."My name?" said the man looking startled, "Oh, 'tis thou, maiden. My name is Gestas, my pretty one. Why dost thou ask?""That we may find thee when we shall return from the city. Can this Jesus Barabbas of whom thou hast spoken heal blindness?""Art thou blind?""Yes I am blind; I would be healed, and I have heard that a man named Jesus can heal blindness."The man looked soberly for a moment at her blank eyes, he opened his lips as if to speak, then scratching his shaggy head reflectively, he again glanced at the white dromedary. "Go into the city," he said at length, "and ask for the man, some one will tell thee; I will care for the beast whilst thou art gone.""Come, Anat, let us make haste," cried the lad joyfully. "We must find him at once."So the two went away towards Jerusalem, which lay not far distant, its walls and towers gleaming as whitely as though no lurid shadow of destruction hung from the avenging heavens above it.As for the man whose name was Gestas, he laughed aloud as he seized the stately Mirah by the bridle. "Truly the gods love me," he said. "This beast will bring a goodly sum," and he struck the white dromedary across the face with his staff in order to let her know that she had a new master."Yonder is a venerable man," said Seth to the blind girl, when the two had entered within the gate, and he ran forward and plucked the man by the sleeve."Canst thou tell me where to find the man Jesus, who can heal blindness?"The old man turned upon the lad with blazing eyes. "Beggar!" he cried, "get thee gone! How dost thou dare pollute mine ears with that name?"Seth stared at him in amaze as he strode onward, muttering angrily to himself, his snowy beard blowing over his shoulder in the light breeze."By the sacred Nile!" he exclaimed, "in what have I offended? Praise be to the gods, they have no such customs in Memphis. Well, I must even ask another."Taking the blind girl once more by the hand, they walked a little further on. It was as yet early in the day, but the streets were alive with people hurrying to and fro. Merchants sitting comfortably at their stalls cried lustily to the passers-by to come buy of their goods; beggars whined out their piteous tales of woe, and displayed their gruesome deformities to the averted eyes of the hurrying crowd; water-carriers clinked their brazen cups and bawled loudly of the cooling draughts which they carried in the goat-skins upon their backs. Once the two adventurers had to squeeze themselves back into an angle of the wall, while a platoon of Roman soldiers marched by, the sun glittering in dazzling splendor on their burnished shields.Seth's heart had suddenly grown heavy within him, though he could scarce have told the reason. He almost feared to ask the question which hovered upon his lips of any of these busy, indifferent-looking people. Presently his eyes fell upon a blind man, feeling his way slowly along with a staff and whining out a dolorous cry for alms as he went. His heart sank lower still. "If there is a great magician who can heal blindness in this place," he thought, "why is not this man seeking him?"Darting forward, he touched him upon the sleeve. "Canst thou tell me," he said timidly, "if there is a man called Jesus anywhere about--a man who can heal blindness?"The beggar stopped short and turned his head. "There was such a man," he said, "but he is dead--crucified, three months since. I never found him," he added bitterly; "I came too late." Then he went on his way, and the boy heard his shrill voice rising and falling dismally adown the street. He stood still in the place where he was, staring stupidly after the man, the words "too late" still echoing in his ears."Curses upon thy stupid head! Why dost thou block the roadway?" And a smart blow across his cheek from the whip of a muleteer served to bring him to his senses. At the same moment he heard a cry from Anat; looking quickly around he saw her fall to the ground beneath the hoofs of the laden ass which the man was driving.With a shrill cry of fear the lad sprang forward, and dragged the girl out from among the confused tangle of men and animals, the muleteer shrieking curses upon him, the other passers-by merely pausing an instant to stare curiously at the scene. No one offered to help him, and cold with fear he lifted the slender form in his arms.There was a projecting arch near by, with a great doorway sunken deep into the wall of masonry, in the shelter of this he laid his burden down, and looked into the beloved face in a very agony of terror."Anat! Anat!" he cried, bending over her. But there was no answer; the peach-like bloom of the brown cheeks had changed to a curious dusky pallor, the fringed lids had fallen over the sightless eyes, the slender hands were cold."Anat! Anat!" he repeated in a frenzy. "Awake!" and he shook her by the arm, scarce knowing what he did. "My God! if she is dead!"Just then with a harsh sound of rusty hinges the great door behind them swung open, and a turbaned head peered cautiously out. The lad started to his feet with sudden hope. "Kind sir!" he said beseechingly. "My sister hath been grievously hurt; nay, I know not if she be alive. Wilt thou give me a cup of water that I may try and bring back her soul?"The man looked at him coldly. "This is the house of God," he said. "'Tis not meet that its threshold be defiled with that which is dead, 'tis an abomination in the sight of Jehovah. Get thee hence, the hour for prayer draweth nigh.""Nay, but I beseech thee, by the love of Isis! Give me but a cup--a small cup of water!""Get thee hence!" said the man with a gesture of abhorrence. "There is naught here for such as thou," and he made as though he would have pushed the senseless form of the blind girl into the street with his foot.Seth's eyes blazed. "The curses of Sechet light upon thee!" he cried fiercely; "thou hast the withered heart of a mummy a thousand years dead!" Then he caught up his burden once more and fled away, the furious imprecations of the Jew sounding in his ears.Hurrying blindly forward, he neither knew nor cared whither he was going, but he became conscious after a few moments that he had come into a quieter place. With a dim sense of relief he once more laid the limp figure down upon the pavement; this time, to his great joy, he heard a faint sound. She was trying to speak. He kneeled at her side and lifted her head to his knees. "Water! Water!" she moaned feebly.He looked distractedly about him. The long narrow street was suffocatingly hot, on either side of it stretched blank walls of rough-hewn masonry, pierced occasionally with a deep-set door; two or three dogs skulked in the black shadow of an archway near by, and a flock of swallows swooped back and forth in the dazzling sunshine, crying out to each other with wild sweetness, but there was no human being in sight. He could hear the distant cries of the venders, and the shouts of the muleteers from the busy street which he had just left. It seemed to him presently, as he listened, that somewhere near by he could hear the cool tinkle of a fountain; he looked up, from the top of the wall above his head there fluttered a glimmer of green leaves. There must be--there was a garden there, and water, he was sure of it. He sprang up, and laying Anat's head carefully down, pulled impatiently at the bell which hung at the side of one of the sunken doorways. After a long delay, every minute of which seemed a separate eternity to the boy, a panel in the door swung open, and the head of a man was thrust out."What wilt thou?" he said in a surly tone, as his eye fell upon the boy."Water! for the love of all the gods, water! my----""What dost thou mean, fellow," interrupted the man, scowling, "by coming to the palace of the High Priest for water? The public fountains are for such as thou." And without further ado he shut the door with a decisive clap.Seth stood for a moment as if stunned, then he threw himself down upon the hot stones with a smothered cry of despair, and bowed his head upon his knees. After what seemed a long time a touch upon his shoulder aroused him, he looked up dully, his eyes red with weeping."What aileth thee, lad?"He stared at the face of his questioner without answering. It was like no other face he had ever seen, and yet, strangely enough, something in the dark eyes brought back to him the dim memory of his mother. The young man--for it was a young man who had spoken--repeated his question, and this time the lad answered."My sister hath been trampled upon by a beast of burden. She is dying for water, no one will help me, my bottle is empty, and I know not where to find a fountain."But the stranger did not wait to hear all, he was already sprinkling the face of the girl, who had again lapsed into unconsciousness."She is not much hurt," he said at length. "See, she is reviving already." And indeed under his skilful ministrations the color had begun to return to the cheeks and lips of the injured girl."But she is blind," said Seth, looking up wistfully into the face of the young man, "and we have come from Egypt, seeking for the man Jesus who can heal such. A beggar told me that he was dead, but it is not true?"The face of the stranger glowed with a smile so angelic that the lad involuntarily cried out with wonder."Nay," he cried, "he is not dead, he liveth forever more at the right hand of God."Then he fixed his eyes upon the lad. "Tell me," he said gravely, "all that hath befallen thee, and how it is that ye seek Jesus in this far country."So the lad told him all. How that their parents had passed into the regions of the dead, leaving them alone; and how for many years he had cared for his blind sister; of the man who would have sold them into bondage, and how fleeing from before his face they had first heard of the man who could heal blindness; of their awful journey in the wilderness; of their deliverance from the vultures, and their escape from the hand of Pagiel. When he ceased from speaking, the young man was silent for a space."Of a surety," he said at length, "the Lord hath led thee." Then raising his head he looked up into the dazzling blue of the sky."Thou who hast said, 'Lo, I am with thee alway even unto the end of the world,' look now upon this child who hath sought thee for healing, through weariness, and thirst, and pain, lo, these many days; and heal her, I beseech thee, by the hand of thy servant, according to her great faith."Then stooping, while the lad held his breath with awe, he laid his hand lightly, tenderly, upon the sightless eyes of Anat. "In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth," he murmured, "receive thy sight."And into the dark eyes of the maiden, erstwhile as irresponsive as soulless jewels, there flashed a look of intelligence. She gazed steadfastly into the eyes of the stranger."Art thou the man Jesus?" she whispered softly."Nay, my child," he answered, "I am but his servant Stephen."CHAPTER XV.IN PURSUIT OF THE FUGITIVES.To Abu Ben Hesed, sitting, as was his wont at the sunset hour, in the door of his tent, came Pagiel. It was the evening of the fourth day after he had seen the two children disappear from out his sight on the back of the white dromedary. He had not made haste to return; he needed time to think, for he was slow-witted, and the matter in hand was weighty."There is no place like the solitude of the wilderness for meditation," quoth Pagiel. So he abode quietly in the place where he was for one full day. Not so the son of Kish the herdsman; he was impatient."Let me return, I beseech thee," he said to Pagiel, "I would fain look upon the face of my bride.""What art thou saying, man?" cried Pagiel hotly. "Dost thou think that now I shall give to thee my daughter? Our matter is ended."But Ben Kish loved the daughter of Pagiel; he was therefore bold and determined. Moreover, he saw that the man was afraid to return. "My father is wroth," he said, "because the two Egyptians have fled away with the beast. I will return to my lord and I will tell him what they have done. Surely it was meet that such should be sold into slavery and that their value be given the daughter of Pagiel for her dowry.""Nay, thou shalt not return!" cried Pagiel. "If the thing be told Ben Hesed then should I be cut off from among my kinsfolk and brethren."Ben Kish smiled. "Is it better for thee to be thus cut off," he said, "or to have for thy son the son of Kish? For of these two things, one shall assuredly come to pass.""Swear to me that thou wilt keep the thing secret," said Pagiel, "and I will give thee my daughter, even as I have said.""Swear to me that thou wilt give me thy daughter," replied Ben Kish, "and I will keep the thing secret."So they both sware a great oath; and they builded that day of the stones of the place a memorial, in token that as the stones which endure without change, even so must their compact remain. Then they gat them up and made haste to return, and the son of Kish laughed within himself because he had prevailed; but Pagiel was so busy inventing a tale which should explain the loss of the white dromedary, that he thought no more of the matter."Ben Hesed is a hard man," he thought. "If I say thieves came and stole the beast while we were returning, he will say, 'Why then didst thou not pursue and slay them? Thou hast no wounds.' If I say the beast fled away from us into the desert, he will laugh me to scorn. Nay, I will tell him the truth; it is after all best; moreover, God loveth a truthful man. I will say this; the Egyptian brats rose up whilst we were asleep in the midst of the day, and they took the beast and fled. We pursued them also till the going down of the sun, but could not overtake them."So he told Ben Hesed this, and when he had done speaking he waited to hear what his lord should say. For a long time he said nothing, because he was very angry, and it was his wont to refrain from speaking when he was thus disquieted."Shall a man rage like a wild beast?" he would say. "Nay, for in so doing he is no longer a man; let him rather remain silent, remembering that God made him in his own image. The heavens are voiceless even when the earth beneath runs red with blood. Men blaspheme the name of Jehovah, yet is there no answering bolt of wrath to slay them. Let us then be patient as befits them that are but a little lower than the angels, created in the likeness of the Eternal One."On this occasion Ben Hesed was silent so long that Pagiel was frightened; he had bowed himself to the earth, and he still remained in this humble posture that he might escape the lightnings which leapt up in his lord's eyes as he heard the tale.After a time he became very uncomfortable, the sand on which his forehead rested was hot, his knees shook beneath him. "Why do I abase myself before this man," he said within himself. At the thought he too grew angry, and because anger is stronger than fear, he leapt up and stood before Ben Hesed.Ben Hesed also arose. "I will myself pursue these Egyptians," he said, "and I will bring them again into the wilderness; the wilderness shall avenge me."Then he made haste and gat him gone within the hour, but Pagiel remained behind; he had now the matter of the marriage in hand. Remembering this as he went to his own tent, he again tore his beard and cried aloud to God to help him in his extremity. But for the life of him he could think of no other word save that which the psalmist David wrote,"The wicked plotteth against the justAnd gnasheth upon him with his teeth,But the Lord shall laugh at him,For he seeth that his day is coming."And in this there was so little comfort that he prayed no more.Ben Hesed arrived at the borders of Judæa after a journey which consumed but half the usual time, for he tarried not to rest at noontide nor at night. Once beyond the river he began to make inquiry among the people concerning the white dromedary, and because beasts of that sort and color not often passed that way he soon found them that had seen her. In this place had the runaways stayed for a night; in another had they bartered a coin from the girl's necklace for provender for the beast."At least they have not abused the animal," said Ben Hesed to himself, and insensibly his anger cooled day by day."I shall hear what the lad hath to say before I pass judgment upon him," he said to his son who accompanied him. "It is best to look at both sides of a matter--yea, and within it also. When a man hath done this to the best of his ability how far short doth he fall of the complete knowledge of God, who made the soul and to whom it lieth open like a parchment that is unrolled; therefore should man leave punishments to God. I will not lift my hand against the two as I at first purposed in my heart; and in this thou seest, my son, how wise it is to make haste slowly in matters that pertain to revenge. The hours that pass cool the angry heart even as drops of rain quench the glowing coals. This is good; a year from now I shall think little of the loss of the beast, and if I shew mercy it will endure in my heart for many years as a sweet savor. Look always at a present calamity as if it had happened many moons since, then shalt thou be able to judge whether it be worth thy while to be angry and to avenge thyself."Beguiling the way with good words of the like, and at the same time keeping a wary eye out for the white dromedary, the worthy man journeyed on towards Jerusalem, for it was there that he confidently expected to find the fugitives.When at length they came within sight of the holy city, lying fair and white amid the green and gentle mountain slopes, the travelers were amazed to see the numbers of folk who were going into it by every road."What may this mean?" said Ben Hesed. "It is not feast time." Presently they passed one of these companies, and they saw that in the midst was a sick man on his litter; he was groaning dismally as his bed shook beneath him with the unevenness of the way."Why dost thou fetch this man into Jerusalem?" asked Ben Hesed of the bearers."To be healed," they answered him. "Happy shall we be if we get him there alive; already this is the third day since we started with him, and death pursueth after us faster than we can journey."Ben Hesed marvelled at their answer, but he forbore to question them further, for he saw that they had no mind to talk. Presently he came upon a woman sitting by the wayside and weeping bitterly."Why dost thou weep, woman?" he asked of her, for he was not of those who reckoned it a defilement to speak to a woman."I weep," she answered him, "because, although I am in sight of the Holy City, I can go no further and my child must, after all, perish."She thrust out her feet from beneath her robe, and Ben Hesed saw that they were horribly bruised, cut and blistered, as if she had walked a long way. As for the child, it lay waxen-faced and silent in her arms, the purple eyelids half dropped over the dull eyes. Ben Hesed shook his head gravely as he looked at it; it seemed to him that it was beyond help."Thou shalt ride upon my beast," he said, "and thus reach the city speedily. I will walk beside thee."The woman smiled through her tears. "Now may the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob bless thee!" she cried; then she looked down at her babe, and her face whitened. "It may be too late," she murmured."From whence hast thou come?" asked Ben Hesed gently."From beyond Jordan, in the hill country. I heard of what was being done in Jerusalem, and so when my babe sickened I rose up with him and hastened to come hither, but the sickness hath increased by the way. I fear----""The man Jesus is of great power," interrupted Ben Hesed hastily. "It hath been said of him that he hath even raised the dead."The woman looked startled. "Thou art, then, a stranger in these parts," she said, "and have not heard what hath come to pass of late in Jerusalem?""I am from the wilderness; what is it that hath come to pass?""The man Jesus hath been slain--crucified!" said the woman, her heavy eyes blazing with indignation.Ben Hesed was silent for a moment, "Why did they slay him?" he asked at length."Nay, I know not," said the woman wearily, folding the child close to her bosom. "I saw him once in my own village. He did there many mighty works of healing, and of the things which he said, I remember much even to this day. He was a great prophet, and now is his power fallen on his disciples, even as the mantle of Elijah fell upon Elisha when he ascended in the chariot of fire and had, therefore, no further need of a mantle."Ben Hesed looked once more at the city to which they were now drawing very near. "Thus saith the Lord God," he murmured, "This is Jerusalem; I have set it in the midst of the nations and countries that are round about her. The end is at hand, behold it watcheth for thee, O thou that dwellest in the land! The time is come, the day of trouble is near. Now will I shortly pour out my fury upon thee and accomplish my anger upon thee. And I will judge thee according to thy ways, and will recompense thee for all thine abominations, for the land is full of bloody crimes, and the city is full of violence."And when they were now come to the gates, they had much ado to enter in, because of the great multitude of the sick, lame and blind which were coming from every quarter. The streets were filled with them, and with the noise of their groaning and wailing. Ben Hesed, his son and his two servants, together with the woman, who still held the quiet child close to her bosom, followed on with the others.After a time it became impossible to proceed further, so they waited where they were. Near them two men were holding a demoniac, who bellowed loudly from time to time, and tore at his clothes, which were already in ribbons, and at the hair and faces of his guardians. A little further on, the keen eye of Ben Hesed descried a palsied man lying on his bed, his emaciated face the color of death. Beyond him were a group of blind men, waiting with the hopeless apathy of accustomed misery for something, they scarce knew what. Save for the moans and cries of the sick ones there was scarcely a sound; the sun beat fiercely down from above, the yellow dust rose in stifling clouds from beneath, and still they waited.At length from somewhere afar off there rose a cry--a wild, jubilant, inarticulate sound; a deep answering murmur arose from the ghastly throng of sufferers about them. This strange pean of joy rose and fell, now swelling loudly, now dying away, but always drawing nearer. Ben Hesed looked at the woman; she was fumbling wildly at the wrappings which swathed her babe; she bent her head as if to listen at his tiny chest."My God!" she cried, "it is too late; he is dead." Then she dropped back breathless and waxen as the little form which she still held close in her arms.Ben Hesed caught her as she fell; he looked about him for help."Here is water," said a voice at his side, and looking up he saw, to his intense astonishment, Seth, the Egyptian lad. At the same moment the boy recognized him, and started back with a little cry."This is no time to speak of what concerneth thee and me," said Ben Hesed sternly. "Give me the water!" And he fell to sprinkling the face of the woman with no sparing hand."They are coming!" shouted the lad. "Stay! I will bring him hither," and he darted away into the throng.Ben Hesed looked after him quietly. "The wicked flee when no man pursueth," he said under his breath, "yet shall sure wrath overtake him, neither shall a swift foot deliver him. Come!" he added, turning to his son, "let us bear this woman hence; there is now no further need to wait for them that heal."
CHAPTER XIII.
AT THE FEET OF THE APOSTLES.
To Anna, in the house of Mary, there had come peace.
When she had awakened from the death-like swoon in which she had sunken at the feet of Caiaphas, to find herself alone, she scarce knew at first what had befallen her. But memory, too faithful, repeated to her shrinking soul the words which had struck at the very fountain of life; she turned them over dully in her mind, "As I would cut off my right hand, should it become polluted beyond cleansing, so also will I sever thee from my life."
"How can that be," she thought, staring at the light branches of a rose tree that swayed from the trellis above her head; the sun struck vivid sparks of emerald fire from its translucent leaves, the breeze shook a full-blown blossom, and a handful of the odorous petals fell upon her face. She inhaled their fragrance as in a dream of pain.
"So I will sever thee from my life," she repeated, looking at the shattered rose. "Ah, it can never bloom again!"
And with the thought came a sudden frightful realization of what had happened. She sprang up and looked wildly about her. "I must find him! It cannot, cannot be!" Then she sank feebly upon her knees beside the bench, and buried her face in her hands.
Is it for naught that misery instinctively assumes this attitude? Nay, rather, it is a divine impulse of the suffering soul, a blind and voiceless feeling after a hand in the darkness. And the hand is always there.
To Anna thus bowed there came at length the thought of God, of Jesus, the all-Comforter; of Stephen, his dark eyes full of loving light; of Mary, the mother of Jesus, like herself, desolate. And presently, though she scarce knew why, she grew quite calm and strong. She arose. "I will go," she said aloud, "to them; they will tell me what I must do."
And so it was that she came to the house of John, the beloved disciple, where abode Mary, whom the dying Lord had given into his keeping, and with them Peter, and Andrew his brother, also Stephen.
"I am desolate," she said humbly, "for my husband hath cast me off, because I believe that the crucified Jesus is the Messiah of Israel."
"Then art thou welcome here," said the master of the house, gravely. But Mary fell on her neck and kissed her, and she wept with her, because she knew that tears are healing, if only they be wiped away by the hand of God.
And so, after many days, there came to her peace; nay, more, there came joy. Involuntarily songs broke from her lips, lips for many years silent; she smiled often even when alone, for a strange delight filled her soul, her deep eyes shone like stars.
Stephen saw the change in her and he rejoiced.
"The Lord is with thee, mother of my Titus," he said, tenderly.
"I scarce know why I am so happy," she replied. "Is it meet that I should rejoice when my son is dead, and when I am more desolate than a widow?"
"It is the gift of him who sitteth at the right hand of the Father," said Stephen. "Did he not say, 'Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you. Not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.' And this good word of peace he left with his chosen ones on the very night before his death. The world cannot give peace in the midst of sorrow, but he can, and he hath given it unto thee, beloved. And thou dost rejoice, and thy joy shall no one take from thee."
"But my husband?" said Anna eagerly.
"Ask the Lord that it may be granted unto him to see the truth. I will also ask, then shall it be done for us according to his promise which cannot fail."
"And he will again love me?"
"Love is the fulfilling of the law," said Stephen, smiling. "He will again love thee, and the love that he hath had is as nothing to that God will give him, for God is love, and he is also the all-giver. All love is from God, and without it would the world fall from its place in the heavens into the darkness which is outside of love--if indeed there be any place where the light of God doth not penetrate." He paused, and looked thoughtfully away into the sunset, as if he would pierce with his longing gaze beyond the gold and the crimson to that place where dwelt the risen Lord.
The days went swiftly in this new life, for none were idle. Indeed, there was never a company of folk since the world began into whose lives crowded more of service, of love, of joy. The sick, the unhappy, the poor from all the city and the country round about came for healing, cheering, help; nor was any turned away. The disciples were ever mindful of the word of their Lord, "Freely ye have received, freely give." They remembered also with awe how he had washed their feet on that last night before he was betrayed. So there was no service too lowly, no labor too arduous for them to undertake in the strength of their new joy.
"Did he not say unto us," said Peter, his face glowing with divine enthusiasm, "'As the Father hath sent me into the world, even so send I you?'"
To be a Christian in these days meant simply to live as Christ had lived. And so the women were busy from dawn until evening in fashioning garments for them that had none; in preparing the simple food, which they ate from house to house with gladness and singleness of heart, every meal a memorial feast of him who had gone to prepare a place for them in the heavens. And the men, in proclaiming the amazing tidings of salvation from sin in a world given over to sin, of joy in a world wherein was weeping and pain and woe, of peace in the midst of strife, of a great light that had shined in the darkness. It was so real, so wonderful, so new. They had not read of these things in an ancient book. They had not heard them with cold dead ears 'as a tale that is told,' but they had seen the Lord living and walking among them; they had seen him upon the cross; they had seen him in the tomb dead--his hands and feet torn with the cruel nails. And they had also seen him alive again and received into the glories of a visible heaven. Upon their heads had the pentecostal flames rested, and they beheld their mortal bodies endowed with divine powers. Little wonder then that they rejoiced, little wonder that a holy fear came upon every soul and that they had favor with all the people. Yet for our comfort is it written that the Lord once said unto Thomas, "Because thou hast seen me thou hast believed; blessed are they that have not seen and yet have believed."
Now because very many that were poor came to the disciples to be fed, and because the apostles had now no time for fishing, being made fishers of men as the Lord had promised, and for the reason that then as now no one can live in the world without money, they asked of the Lord concerning this thing, as indeed they still asked about all things just as when he was on the earth. And it became very clear to them what they must do. And they did it in all simplicity and singleness of heart. They that had lands or houses sold them, and brought the price of the things that were sold and laid them down at the apostles' feet, and distribution was made unto every man according as he had need, so that there should no longer be among them any that was rich, for had not the Lord said to the young ruler, "Go sell what thou hast and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven," and also, "How hardly shall they that have riches enter into the kingdom of God." And because they thought much about heaven in those days and because they longed to enter into the kingdom, it was not hard for some of the rich to do this. Their possessions were as nothing to them compared with the riches which God was giving so freely.
"He is the same yesterday, to-day and forever." And alas! humanity is the same yesterday and to-day, but thank God for the to-morrow, which shall also be forever, when we shall be like him!
There was in Jerusalem a certain man named Ananias, and he was married to a woman called Sapphira. They had heard the preaching of Peter and they believed, and came and joined themselves to the church. They were rich people and owned land outside the city. Now when others who had possessions sold them and brought the money to lay at the apostles' feet, they were ill pleased.
"Why should this be?" said Ananias to his wife. "If we give a tithe of what is ours is not that all that the law demands?"
"It is unjust," declared Sapphira, "we also shall be beggars if we do this thing, besides it hath been told me that the scribes and elders have the intent to crush these apostles as well as all that believe; for myself I have no mind to be stoned."
"Let us withdraw then."
"Nay, not so, for God is with these men as also thou hast seen," said Sapphira. "And if the Master presently come back from heaven--as indeed they all expect--he will establish a kingdom here in Jerusalem, and it must not chance that we be found on the wrong side when that shall come to pass."
"They do not demand that we sell our lands," said Ananias, knitting his brows thoughtfully. "Let us be prudent and reserve our possessions till we shall see what is going to befall."
"Only this morning Joses brought money and laid it down at the apostles' feet," said Sapphira. "He hath sold every cubit of his farm in the hill country. They know that we also have lands," she added fretfully, "and they expect that we will do the same. There are already five thousand persons in the church, and very few among them own earth enough to be buried in."
"It is a hard case," whined Ananias, "if honest, industrious folk must give up all that they have to beggars. They will devour it up like grasshoppers; as for us who have given it, what shall we have for a time of adversity, or for our old age?"
"What indeed?" echoed his wife. "But we must do something or we shall be talked about. What if--" and she lowered her voice to a whisper--"we sell the land, and also freely tell of the matter, but of the price that is received we will give a part only, the remainder we will bestow in safety till we shall ourselves have need of it."
"Thou art a prudent woman!" cried her husband. "I know a man who will give me a good price for the land."
"Go then and sell, but let no one know of the amount which thou receivest. That shall be secret betwixt the two of us. The man Peter shall suppose that we have given all, even as did Joses."
So Ananias went and sold the land and he received for it a goodly sum. Which the two took secretly and buried in the earth, keeping out a part only; this the woman laid in her lap.
"It is a great sum," she said, looking regretfully at the pieces of silver. "With it we might buy fine raiment for ourselves; or I might put them upon a string for my neck, I have no necklace."
"Spoken like a woman, and therefore foolishly," said Ananias, lifting a handful of the coins and letting them slip through his fingers one by one. "For my part I should buy a vineyard. One could then have an abundance of wine."
"Neither of these things can be," said Sapphira with a sigh. "We must give it, else when the Messiah shall come, the man Peter will say, 'These people having land sold it, but gave no part to us;' then the Messiah will give us neither place nor power."
"Suppose he comes not?" said the man doggedly.
"We shall at least stand well with the apostles and the rest. They be all prating of the generosity of Joses to-day. 'Such a man! So holy!' they cry. To-morrow they shall speak of us also; what we shall give will be much more than his paltry bit of silver." And the woman tossed her head.
"Well, I will give it."
"But do not let them know about the other," whispered Sapphira.
"Thou mayest trust me for that!" said the man with a harsh laugh.
On the morrow, when all were gathered together according to their custom, came Ananias bringing the money--Sapphira remaining at home to guard the buried treasure; and he laid down the silver at the feet of Peter, saying, "I have sold my lands for the service of the Lord, and here is all the price of them."
And the people looked at the money which he had laid down, and they marvelled at his generosity, saying one to another, "Joses truly was righteous, but this man hath brought a greater sum than he."
But Peter fixed his inspired eyes upon the giver. He read his soul. And he said to him: "Ananias, why hath Satan filled thine heart to lie to the Holy Spirit, and keep back part of the price of the land? Whilst it remained was it not thine own? And after it was sold, was it not in thine own power? Why hast thou conceived this thing in thine heart? Thou hast not lied unto men, but unto God."
And when Ananias heard these words, it was as though the light of God had been flashed into his soul. A fierce agony fell upon him. He saw clearly what he was, and what God was; and because this may not be endured by a mortal, he fell down at the feet of the apostle dead. He had passed into the presence of that Love which is also a consuming fire.
And the young men arose, wound up his body in grave clothes, and carried it away. And it was about the space of three hours after when his wife, not knowing what was done, came in. And Peter said to her, "Tell me whether ye sold the land for fifty shekels?"
And she said, "Yes, for fifty shekels."
Then Peter said unto her, "How is it that ye have agreed together to tempt the Spirit of the Lord? Behold! the feet of them which buried thy husband are at the door, and shall carry thee out."
Then fell she down straightway at his feet and expired, and the young men came in and found her dead, and carrying her forth, buried her by her husband. And great fear came upon all the church, and upon as many as heard these things.
CHAPTER XIV.
A CUP OF COLD WATER.
"Then the beast is not thine own?"
"I have said that it belongs to Abu Ben Hesed, who dwells in the wilderness of Shur. For this journey alone was it ours. I must return it to its owner after that I have accomplished mine errand in yonder city."
The man looked at the boy steadily for a full minute; a slight smile curled the corners of his lips, but he turned his head so that the lad should not see it. "And thy business in Jerusalem, what might it be? Thou art perhaps a merchant seeking goodly pearls, or a purchaser of slaves, or perhaps a pilgrim?"
"My business is naught to thee; I have asked of thee a question, wilt thou care for the beast till I shall return? I will pay thee for it."
The man ran his eyes once more over the white dromedary, she shook herself and all the silver bells of the bridle rang merrily. "I will take care of her," he said, nodding his head once or twice and smiling again broadly; "and when wilt thou be pleased to return?"
"This very day at evening, if I shall find the man I would see. His name is Jesus. Canst thou tell me where to find him?"
"There be half a score of that name in the city. Dost thou mean Jesus Barabbas?" and the man laughed aloud, as if his thoughts afforded him secret pleasure.
"Is he a magician?" asked the lad eagerly.
"A magician? Dost thou mean a man whom the gods granted to be born under a lucky star?"
"Assuredly!"
"Then he is the man."
"What is thy name?" broke in a clear sweet voice.
"My name?" said the man looking startled, "Oh, 'tis thou, maiden. My name is Gestas, my pretty one. Why dost thou ask?"
"That we may find thee when we shall return from the city. Can this Jesus Barabbas of whom thou hast spoken heal blindness?"
"Art thou blind?"
"Yes I am blind; I would be healed, and I have heard that a man named Jesus can heal blindness."
The man looked soberly for a moment at her blank eyes, he opened his lips as if to speak, then scratching his shaggy head reflectively, he again glanced at the white dromedary. "Go into the city," he said at length, "and ask for the man, some one will tell thee; I will care for the beast whilst thou art gone."
"Come, Anat, let us make haste," cried the lad joyfully. "We must find him at once."
So the two went away towards Jerusalem, which lay not far distant, its walls and towers gleaming as whitely as though no lurid shadow of destruction hung from the avenging heavens above it.
As for the man whose name was Gestas, he laughed aloud as he seized the stately Mirah by the bridle. "Truly the gods love me," he said. "This beast will bring a goodly sum," and he struck the white dromedary across the face with his staff in order to let her know that she had a new master.
"Yonder is a venerable man," said Seth to the blind girl, when the two had entered within the gate, and he ran forward and plucked the man by the sleeve.
"Canst thou tell me where to find the man Jesus, who can heal blindness?"
The old man turned upon the lad with blazing eyes. "Beggar!" he cried, "get thee gone! How dost thou dare pollute mine ears with that name?"
Seth stared at him in amaze as he strode onward, muttering angrily to himself, his snowy beard blowing over his shoulder in the light breeze.
"By the sacred Nile!" he exclaimed, "in what have I offended? Praise be to the gods, they have no such customs in Memphis. Well, I must even ask another."
Taking the blind girl once more by the hand, they walked a little further on. It was as yet early in the day, but the streets were alive with people hurrying to and fro. Merchants sitting comfortably at their stalls cried lustily to the passers-by to come buy of their goods; beggars whined out their piteous tales of woe, and displayed their gruesome deformities to the averted eyes of the hurrying crowd; water-carriers clinked their brazen cups and bawled loudly of the cooling draughts which they carried in the goat-skins upon their backs. Once the two adventurers had to squeeze themselves back into an angle of the wall, while a platoon of Roman soldiers marched by, the sun glittering in dazzling splendor on their burnished shields.
Seth's heart had suddenly grown heavy within him, though he could scarce have told the reason. He almost feared to ask the question which hovered upon his lips of any of these busy, indifferent-looking people. Presently his eyes fell upon a blind man, feeling his way slowly along with a staff and whining out a dolorous cry for alms as he went. His heart sank lower still. "If there is a great magician who can heal blindness in this place," he thought, "why is not this man seeking him?"
Darting forward, he touched him upon the sleeve. "Canst thou tell me," he said timidly, "if there is a man called Jesus anywhere about--a man who can heal blindness?"
The beggar stopped short and turned his head. "There was such a man," he said, "but he is dead--crucified, three months since. I never found him," he added bitterly; "I came too late." Then he went on his way, and the boy heard his shrill voice rising and falling dismally adown the street. He stood still in the place where he was, staring stupidly after the man, the words "too late" still echoing in his ears.
"Curses upon thy stupid head! Why dost thou block the roadway?" And a smart blow across his cheek from the whip of a muleteer served to bring him to his senses. At the same moment he heard a cry from Anat; looking quickly around he saw her fall to the ground beneath the hoofs of the laden ass which the man was driving.
With a shrill cry of fear the lad sprang forward, and dragged the girl out from among the confused tangle of men and animals, the muleteer shrieking curses upon him, the other passers-by merely pausing an instant to stare curiously at the scene. No one offered to help him, and cold with fear he lifted the slender form in his arms.
There was a projecting arch near by, with a great doorway sunken deep into the wall of masonry, in the shelter of this he laid his burden down, and looked into the beloved face in a very agony of terror.
"Anat! Anat!" he cried, bending over her. But there was no answer; the peach-like bloom of the brown cheeks had changed to a curious dusky pallor, the fringed lids had fallen over the sightless eyes, the slender hands were cold.
"Anat! Anat!" he repeated in a frenzy. "Awake!" and he shook her by the arm, scarce knowing what he did. "My God! if she is dead!"
Just then with a harsh sound of rusty hinges the great door behind them swung open, and a turbaned head peered cautiously out. The lad started to his feet with sudden hope. "Kind sir!" he said beseechingly. "My sister hath been grievously hurt; nay, I know not if she be alive. Wilt thou give me a cup of water that I may try and bring back her soul?"
The man looked at him coldly. "This is the house of God," he said. "'Tis not meet that its threshold be defiled with that which is dead, 'tis an abomination in the sight of Jehovah. Get thee hence, the hour for prayer draweth nigh."
"Nay, but I beseech thee, by the love of Isis! Give me but a cup--a small cup of water!"
"Get thee hence!" said the man with a gesture of abhorrence. "There is naught here for such as thou," and he made as though he would have pushed the senseless form of the blind girl into the street with his foot.
Seth's eyes blazed. "The curses of Sechet light upon thee!" he cried fiercely; "thou hast the withered heart of a mummy a thousand years dead!" Then he caught up his burden once more and fled away, the furious imprecations of the Jew sounding in his ears.
Hurrying blindly forward, he neither knew nor cared whither he was going, but he became conscious after a few moments that he had come into a quieter place. With a dim sense of relief he once more laid the limp figure down upon the pavement; this time, to his great joy, he heard a faint sound. She was trying to speak. He kneeled at her side and lifted her head to his knees. "Water! Water!" she moaned feebly.
He looked distractedly about him. The long narrow street was suffocatingly hot, on either side of it stretched blank walls of rough-hewn masonry, pierced occasionally with a deep-set door; two or three dogs skulked in the black shadow of an archway near by, and a flock of swallows swooped back and forth in the dazzling sunshine, crying out to each other with wild sweetness, but there was no human being in sight. He could hear the distant cries of the venders, and the shouts of the muleteers from the busy street which he had just left. It seemed to him presently, as he listened, that somewhere near by he could hear the cool tinkle of a fountain; he looked up, from the top of the wall above his head there fluttered a glimmer of green leaves. There must be--there was a garden there, and water, he was sure of it. He sprang up, and laying Anat's head carefully down, pulled impatiently at the bell which hung at the side of one of the sunken doorways. After a long delay, every minute of which seemed a separate eternity to the boy, a panel in the door swung open, and the head of a man was thrust out.
"What wilt thou?" he said in a surly tone, as his eye fell upon the boy.
"Water! for the love of all the gods, water! my----"
"What dost thou mean, fellow," interrupted the man, scowling, "by coming to the palace of the High Priest for water? The public fountains are for such as thou." And without further ado he shut the door with a decisive clap.
Seth stood for a moment as if stunned, then he threw himself down upon the hot stones with a smothered cry of despair, and bowed his head upon his knees. After what seemed a long time a touch upon his shoulder aroused him, he looked up dully, his eyes red with weeping.
"What aileth thee, lad?"
He stared at the face of his questioner without answering. It was like no other face he had ever seen, and yet, strangely enough, something in the dark eyes brought back to him the dim memory of his mother. The young man--for it was a young man who had spoken--repeated his question, and this time the lad answered.
"My sister hath been trampled upon by a beast of burden. She is dying for water, no one will help me, my bottle is empty, and I know not where to find a fountain."
But the stranger did not wait to hear all, he was already sprinkling the face of the girl, who had again lapsed into unconsciousness.
"She is not much hurt," he said at length. "See, she is reviving already." And indeed under his skilful ministrations the color had begun to return to the cheeks and lips of the injured girl.
"But she is blind," said Seth, looking up wistfully into the face of the young man, "and we have come from Egypt, seeking for the man Jesus who can heal such. A beggar told me that he was dead, but it is not true?"
The face of the stranger glowed with a smile so angelic that the lad involuntarily cried out with wonder.
"Nay," he cried, "he is not dead, he liveth forever more at the right hand of God."
Then he fixed his eyes upon the lad. "Tell me," he said gravely, "all that hath befallen thee, and how it is that ye seek Jesus in this far country."
So the lad told him all. How that their parents had passed into the regions of the dead, leaving them alone; and how for many years he had cared for his blind sister; of the man who would have sold them into bondage, and how fleeing from before his face they had first heard of the man who could heal blindness; of their awful journey in the wilderness; of their deliverance from the vultures, and their escape from the hand of Pagiel. When he ceased from speaking, the young man was silent for a space.
"Of a surety," he said at length, "the Lord hath led thee." Then raising his head he looked up into the dazzling blue of the sky.
"Thou who hast said, 'Lo, I am with thee alway even unto the end of the world,' look now upon this child who hath sought thee for healing, through weariness, and thirst, and pain, lo, these many days; and heal her, I beseech thee, by the hand of thy servant, according to her great faith."
Then stooping, while the lad held his breath with awe, he laid his hand lightly, tenderly, upon the sightless eyes of Anat. "In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth," he murmured, "receive thy sight."
And into the dark eyes of the maiden, erstwhile as irresponsive as soulless jewels, there flashed a look of intelligence. She gazed steadfastly into the eyes of the stranger.
"Art thou the man Jesus?" she whispered softly.
"Nay, my child," he answered, "I am but his servant Stephen."
CHAPTER XV.
IN PURSUIT OF THE FUGITIVES.
To Abu Ben Hesed, sitting, as was his wont at the sunset hour, in the door of his tent, came Pagiel. It was the evening of the fourth day after he had seen the two children disappear from out his sight on the back of the white dromedary. He had not made haste to return; he needed time to think, for he was slow-witted, and the matter in hand was weighty.
"There is no place like the solitude of the wilderness for meditation," quoth Pagiel. So he abode quietly in the place where he was for one full day. Not so the son of Kish the herdsman; he was impatient.
"Let me return, I beseech thee," he said to Pagiel, "I would fain look upon the face of my bride."
"What art thou saying, man?" cried Pagiel hotly. "Dost thou think that now I shall give to thee my daughter? Our matter is ended."
But Ben Kish loved the daughter of Pagiel; he was therefore bold and determined. Moreover, he saw that the man was afraid to return. "My father is wroth," he said, "because the two Egyptians have fled away with the beast. I will return to my lord and I will tell him what they have done. Surely it was meet that such should be sold into slavery and that their value be given the daughter of Pagiel for her dowry."
"Nay, thou shalt not return!" cried Pagiel. "If the thing be told Ben Hesed then should I be cut off from among my kinsfolk and brethren."
Ben Kish smiled. "Is it better for thee to be thus cut off," he said, "or to have for thy son the son of Kish? For of these two things, one shall assuredly come to pass."
"Swear to me that thou wilt keep the thing secret," said Pagiel, "and I will give thee my daughter, even as I have said."
"Swear to me that thou wilt give me thy daughter," replied Ben Kish, "and I will keep the thing secret."
So they both sware a great oath; and they builded that day of the stones of the place a memorial, in token that as the stones which endure without change, even so must their compact remain. Then they gat them up and made haste to return, and the son of Kish laughed within himself because he had prevailed; but Pagiel was so busy inventing a tale which should explain the loss of the white dromedary, that he thought no more of the matter.
"Ben Hesed is a hard man," he thought. "If I say thieves came and stole the beast while we were returning, he will say, 'Why then didst thou not pursue and slay them? Thou hast no wounds.' If I say the beast fled away from us into the desert, he will laugh me to scorn. Nay, I will tell him the truth; it is after all best; moreover, God loveth a truthful man. I will say this; the Egyptian brats rose up whilst we were asleep in the midst of the day, and they took the beast and fled. We pursued them also till the going down of the sun, but could not overtake them."
So he told Ben Hesed this, and when he had done speaking he waited to hear what his lord should say. For a long time he said nothing, because he was very angry, and it was his wont to refrain from speaking when he was thus disquieted.
"Shall a man rage like a wild beast?" he would say. "Nay, for in so doing he is no longer a man; let him rather remain silent, remembering that God made him in his own image. The heavens are voiceless even when the earth beneath runs red with blood. Men blaspheme the name of Jehovah, yet is there no answering bolt of wrath to slay them. Let us then be patient as befits them that are but a little lower than the angels, created in the likeness of the Eternal One."
On this occasion Ben Hesed was silent so long that Pagiel was frightened; he had bowed himself to the earth, and he still remained in this humble posture that he might escape the lightnings which leapt up in his lord's eyes as he heard the tale.
After a time he became very uncomfortable, the sand on which his forehead rested was hot, his knees shook beneath him. "Why do I abase myself before this man," he said within himself. At the thought he too grew angry, and because anger is stronger than fear, he leapt up and stood before Ben Hesed.
Ben Hesed also arose. "I will myself pursue these Egyptians," he said, "and I will bring them again into the wilderness; the wilderness shall avenge me."
Then he made haste and gat him gone within the hour, but Pagiel remained behind; he had now the matter of the marriage in hand. Remembering this as he went to his own tent, he again tore his beard and cried aloud to God to help him in his extremity. But for the life of him he could think of no other word save that which the psalmist David wrote,
"The wicked plotteth against the justAnd gnasheth upon him with his teeth,But the Lord shall laugh at him,For he seeth that his day is coming."
"The wicked plotteth against the justAnd gnasheth upon him with his teeth,But the Lord shall laugh at him,For he seeth that his day is coming."
"The wicked plotteth against the just
And gnasheth upon him with his teeth,
But the Lord shall laugh at him,
For he seeth that his day is coming."
And in this there was so little comfort that he prayed no more.
Ben Hesed arrived at the borders of Judæa after a journey which consumed but half the usual time, for he tarried not to rest at noontide nor at night. Once beyond the river he began to make inquiry among the people concerning the white dromedary, and because beasts of that sort and color not often passed that way he soon found them that had seen her. In this place had the runaways stayed for a night; in another had they bartered a coin from the girl's necklace for provender for the beast.
"At least they have not abused the animal," said Ben Hesed to himself, and insensibly his anger cooled day by day.
"I shall hear what the lad hath to say before I pass judgment upon him," he said to his son who accompanied him. "It is best to look at both sides of a matter--yea, and within it also. When a man hath done this to the best of his ability how far short doth he fall of the complete knowledge of God, who made the soul and to whom it lieth open like a parchment that is unrolled; therefore should man leave punishments to God. I will not lift my hand against the two as I at first purposed in my heart; and in this thou seest, my son, how wise it is to make haste slowly in matters that pertain to revenge. The hours that pass cool the angry heart even as drops of rain quench the glowing coals. This is good; a year from now I shall think little of the loss of the beast, and if I shew mercy it will endure in my heart for many years as a sweet savor. Look always at a present calamity as if it had happened many moons since, then shalt thou be able to judge whether it be worth thy while to be angry and to avenge thyself."
Beguiling the way with good words of the like, and at the same time keeping a wary eye out for the white dromedary, the worthy man journeyed on towards Jerusalem, for it was there that he confidently expected to find the fugitives.
When at length they came within sight of the holy city, lying fair and white amid the green and gentle mountain slopes, the travelers were amazed to see the numbers of folk who were going into it by every road.
"What may this mean?" said Ben Hesed. "It is not feast time." Presently they passed one of these companies, and they saw that in the midst was a sick man on his litter; he was groaning dismally as his bed shook beneath him with the unevenness of the way.
"Why dost thou fetch this man into Jerusalem?" asked Ben Hesed of the bearers.
"To be healed," they answered him. "Happy shall we be if we get him there alive; already this is the third day since we started with him, and death pursueth after us faster than we can journey."
Ben Hesed marvelled at their answer, but he forbore to question them further, for he saw that they had no mind to talk. Presently he came upon a woman sitting by the wayside and weeping bitterly.
"Why dost thou weep, woman?" he asked of her, for he was not of those who reckoned it a defilement to speak to a woman.
"I weep," she answered him, "because, although I am in sight of the Holy City, I can go no further and my child must, after all, perish."
She thrust out her feet from beneath her robe, and Ben Hesed saw that they were horribly bruised, cut and blistered, as if she had walked a long way. As for the child, it lay waxen-faced and silent in her arms, the purple eyelids half dropped over the dull eyes. Ben Hesed shook his head gravely as he looked at it; it seemed to him that it was beyond help.
"Thou shalt ride upon my beast," he said, "and thus reach the city speedily. I will walk beside thee."
The woman smiled through her tears. "Now may the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob bless thee!" she cried; then she looked down at her babe, and her face whitened. "It may be too late," she murmured.
"From whence hast thou come?" asked Ben Hesed gently.
"From beyond Jordan, in the hill country. I heard of what was being done in Jerusalem, and so when my babe sickened I rose up with him and hastened to come hither, but the sickness hath increased by the way. I fear----"
"The man Jesus is of great power," interrupted Ben Hesed hastily. "It hath been said of him that he hath even raised the dead."
The woman looked startled. "Thou art, then, a stranger in these parts," she said, "and have not heard what hath come to pass of late in Jerusalem?"
"I am from the wilderness; what is it that hath come to pass?"
"The man Jesus hath been slain--crucified!" said the woman, her heavy eyes blazing with indignation.
Ben Hesed was silent for a moment, "Why did they slay him?" he asked at length.
"Nay, I know not," said the woman wearily, folding the child close to her bosom. "I saw him once in my own village. He did there many mighty works of healing, and of the things which he said, I remember much even to this day. He was a great prophet, and now is his power fallen on his disciples, even as the mantle of Elijah fell upon Elisha when he ascended in the chariot of fire and had, therefore, no further need of a mantle."
Ben Hesed looked once more at the city to which they were now drawing very near. "Thus saith the Lord God," he murmured, "This is Jerusalem; I have set it in the midst of the nations and countries that are round about her. The end is at hand, behold it watcheth for thee, O thou that dwellest in the land! The time is come, the day of trouble is near. Now will I shortly pour out my fury upon thee and accomplish my anger upon thee. And I will judge thee according to thy ways, and will recompense thee for all thine abominations, for the land is full of bloody crimes, and the city is full of violence."
And when they were now come to the gates, they had much ado to enter in, because of the great multitude of the sick, lame and blind which were coming from every quarter. The streets were filled with them, and with the noise of their groaning and wailing. Ben Hesed, his son and his two servants, together with the woman, who still held the quiet child close to her bosom, followed on with the others.
After a time it became impossible to proceed further, so they waited where they were. Near them two men were holding a demoniac, who bellowed loudly from time to time, and tore at his clothes, which were already in ribbons, and at the hair and faces of his guardians. A little further on, the keen eye of Ben Hesed descried a palsied man lying on his bed, his emaciated face the color of death. Beyond him were a group of blind men, waiting with the hopeless apathy of accustomed misery for something, they scarce knew what. Save for the moans and cries of the sick ones there was scarcely a sound; the sun beat fiercely down from above, the yellow dust rose in stifling clouds from beneath, and still they waited.
At length from somewhere afar off there rose a cry--a wild, jubilant, inarticulate sound; a deep answering murmur arose from the ghastly throng of sufferers about them. This strange pean of joy rose and fell, now swelling loudly, now dying away, but always drawing nearer. Ben Hesed looked at the woman; she was fumbling wildly at the wrappings which swathed her babe; she bent her head as if to listen at his tiny chest.
"My God!" she cried, "it is too late; he is dead." Then she dropped back breathless and waxen as the little form which she still held close in her arms.
Ben Hesed caught her as she fell; he looked about him for help.
"Here is water," said a voice at his side, and looking up he saw, to his intense astonishment, Seth, the Egyptian lad. At the same moment the boy recognized him, and started back with a little cry.
"This is no time to speak of what concerneth thee and me," said Ben Hesed sternly. "Give me the water!" And he fell to sprinkling the face of the woman with no sparing hand.
"They are coming!" shouted the lad. "Stay! I will bring him hither," and he darted away into the throng.
Ben Hesed looked after him quietly. "The wicked flee when no man pursueth," he said under his breath, "yet shall sure wrath overtake him, neither shall a swift foot deliver him. Come!" he added, turning to his son, "let us bear this woman hence; there is now no further need to wait for them that heal."