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COME FORTH 
 
 BY 
 
 ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS 
 
 AND 
 
 HERBERT D. WARD 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
 
 1891 
 
BY ^ELIZABETH STUART PIIELPS WARD 
 j-Vi t/"; , * ^ AM*; ^\ *; 
 HERBERT D. \VkttV * *" * 
 
 reserved. 
 
 The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A. 
 Electrotyped and Printed by II. 0. Houghton & Company. 
 
a 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 THIS volume is not a Scriptural paraphrase. 
 Any reverent attempt to make the solemn Per 
 sonality around which the story centres practi 
 cally real to the imagination must be difficult, 
 but may be in accord with the highest Christian 
 sensitiveness. Therefore the authors have not 
 thought it necessary to confine themselves to the 
 recorded incidents of Gospel history. Mercy to 
 the miserable and loyalty to friendship are the 
 leading characteristics of the Sacred Biography. 
 The use of them in fictitious narrative we be 
 lieve to be in full harmony with the most tender 
 reverence for the Saviour of mankind ; and it is 
 with this understanding of our spirit and pur 
 pose that we ask our readers to interpret this 
 book. 
 
 This note would be incomplete without a 
 word gratefully acknowledging the cordial criti- 
 
 M22130 
 
iv NOTE. 
 
 cal assistance that we have received from the 
 eminent Palestinian scholar, Professor John A. 
 Paine, of the Metropolitan Museum of New 
 York. 
 
 E. S. P. W. 
 
 H. D. W. 
 
COME FORTH. 
 
 CHAPTER -. I. :\ ,.!:*- > * 
 
 THE morning was fresh, and the wind arose 
 from the western sea. Elsewhere it might have 
 been called an invigorating day. In Judea and 
 in summer one scarcely says that. Prescience 
 of the dusty dryness to come scorches the nerve, 
 and it is with the imagination busy upon the hot 
 noon that the body enjoys the cool of an excep 
 tional dawn. 
 
 The hour was yet early, but so are the habits 
 of a hot country. The city was already astir. 
 The open markets at the roadside and in the 
 shadow of the city gates chaffered busily, finding 
 a good share of their customers among a people 
 devout enough to get up early in the morning 
 and go to worship. 
 
 For with the synagogues, too, dawn was a 
 busy time. A full stomach and a pious con 
 science pulled well together. People ate and 
 prayed, and so began to live with the easy con 
 tent of the Oriental. 
 
2 COME FORTH. 
 
 The day was the second of the week, and the 
 place was Jerusalem, hot, bright, splendid 
 Jerusalem ; the glory and despair of the thought 
 ful Jew ; the pride of the most thoughtless ; the 
 hope, the doom, and the enigma of the race. 
 L \ Let:uSta&e Jthje trouble to consider what the 
 city of New" Y*6r*k^ would be if idealized by the 
 rp-riaj Retire thjrQugi. a fiery national patriotism ; 
 what ParisV if enshrined by a great religious 
 sanctity ; we may almost add, what Heaven, if 
 universally desired by earth. 
 
 Thus was Jerusalem to the country people of 
 Judea in the year on which our story opens. 
 
 The suburbans, to whom Sabbath-traveling 
 was forbidden by the ecclesiastical law, were 
 fewer in number upon the Sacred Day than 
 upon a week day such as the one of which we 
 speak ; it chanced to be a Monday. 
 
 These Judean women had already performed 
 their simple morning tasks, had got the break 
 fast of lentils and fruit easily out of the way, 
 had shaken the mats and brushed the dust, and 
 bathed and wrapped themselves shyly into their 
 veils, and were now meekly following in the 
 shadows of their men, who did not, by courtesy, 
 address them in the streets. 
 
 " Yonder goes my lord," said a woman with a 
 deep voice and roving eyes. She spoke to a 
 neighbor, one of a group of several suburbans 
 
COME FORTH. 3 
 
 who were making their way to the service of 
 morning prayer about to be held in one of the 
 minor synagogues. 
 
 " My brother should not be far distant," re 
 plied she who had been addressed. 
 
 " He is there," observed another voice ; a gen 
 tler voice than either of the first. "He standeth 
 apart by himself, Martha. That is our brother 
 with his eyes bent upon the ground in thought." 
 
 " Surely," nodded Martha briefly, " your eyes 
 are swifter than mine ; they always were." 
 
 A fine observer regarding the two women 
 might have said, or would have thought, " It 
 is the heart that is swifter." But the ruder 
 woman was not such an observer. And natu 
 rally, one s neighbor s affairs were less interest 
 ing than one s own. 
 
 " I hope Ariella will manage to get through 
 the day. Our neighbor, the mother of Baruch, 
 promised to look in upon her ; and Baruch him 
 self is worth two men with eyes for such a pur 
 pose. I would have had my husband to stay at 
 home ; but he said he was not the woman of us 
 to be nursing sick-folk. See ! there he goes. 
 There goes Malachi. A comely man, and no 
 more fond of his own way than a man ought to 
 be." 
 
 Malachi, a swaggering Pharisee, with the 
 broadest phylactery on the street, bound across 
 
4 COME FORTH. 
 
 a dark coarse forehead, strode by the women 
 at this moment ; he passed without recognition. 
 
 " I would have remained with Ariella," said 
 she of the quiet voice, " but blind Baruch is 
 tenderer than the most of women. She will not 
 suffer, Hagaar." 
 
 " For my part," retorted Hagaar, a little 
 snappishly, " I think I have a right to see the 
 world now and then like other people, if I have 
 a sick daughter." 
 
 "Hush," pleaded the other, "oh, hush! we 
 are about to pray." 
 
 Hagaar rolled her round eyes more in wonder 
 than in displeasure upon her gentle neighbor, 
 and became silent. 
 
 With the bowed head, covered face, and def 
 erent step of the Eastern woman, the little 
 group now passed up the steps of the syna 
 gogue, and crossed its portico to the entrance 
 set apart for their sex. 
 
 The men, less reverent, as of course, more 
 individual of manner, jabbered steadily up to 
 the last moment. They did not speak Hebrew, 
 which was now the lost language of the race, 
 the tongue of culture and scholarship. They 
 talked in Aramaic, the language of the people, 
 of the unlearned, of the democracy ; for these 
 were not the worshipers of the Temple, made 
 glorious by national tradition and reverence, 
 
COME FORTH. 5 
 
 cherished by conservative religion and patronized 
 by social influence. These were the classes of 
 people who frequented the synagogues, where 
 heresy was taught not without authority ; these 
 were the powerful sect of the Pharisees, a party 
 with many excellent points, not always credited 
 in the memory of their weaker and worse ones. 
 These were the vigorous bourgeois who had tried 
 to revolutionize the Jewish Church, and who to 
 some extent succeeded. 
 
 A theocracy is a great simplifier of masculine 
 consecration, in that religion and patriotism are 
 identical, but not of masculine discussion, in 
 that no theocracy has yet extinguished politics ; 
 and the Jewish one at this time was a political 
 madhouse, in which each maniac ran his own 
 fixed idea till he came in contact with some 
 keeper stronger than himself, and so got into his 
 strait-jacket as a matter of course. 
 
 Malachi the Pharisee, having talked several 
 of his acquaintances out of hearing, made a dead 
 set upon the young man, the brother of Martha 
 and her quiet sister, the young man who 
 stood apart and mused with his eyes upon the 
 ground ; they were fine eyes, we may pause to 
 say. He was, take him altogether, a fine-look 
 ing fellow. 
 
 Yet when we have used the words, they seem 
 to form a phrase not so much too modern, for 
 
6 COME FORTH. 
 
 the great lines of human type run without re 
 gard to chronology, but too urban, too conven 
 tional, to describe him. He had unquestionably 
 great beauty ; but this handsome youth was no 
 man of the world. 
 
 On the other hand, assuredly he was no rustic. 
 He had experience, position, authority, in his 
 air. He had wealth and taste in his costume. 
 He had the ease of the affluent middle classes. 
 He was finely formed, with a figure inclining to 
 spareness but made vigorous by physical labor, 
 and refined by the fact that the severest of this 
 labor was apparently behind him. He gave the 
 impression of a devotee called by fate to some 
 practical mechanical occupation ; a man born for 
 a vocation, but born into an avocation. 
 
 His eyes were large, gray, and a little sad, 
 liquid, dreamy, and winning; his lips had the 
 ascetic delicacy of intellectual or spiritual tem 
 peraments. He had almost feminine beauty of 
 coloring in skin and hair. He was attractive, 
 both as painting and sculpture are attractive. 
 
 Malachi, strutting a little, as men of his sort 
 do, whether there is anything to strut about or 
 not, laid his large hand heavily upon the young 
 man s shoulder, and accosted him with the fami 
 liar jocoseness which is seldom more pleasing to 
 men of such natures than it is to women ; or, at 
 least, to women of good breeding. What he 
 
COME FORTH. 7 
 
 said was not important from any point of view, 
 and received the brief reply of polite indiffer 
 ence, until he let fall a word which dropped 
 upon the young man s calm like a spark upon 
 dry chaff. 
 
 It was a single word which Malachi spoke, 
 a name ; but his neighbor fired at it into instant 
 animation. 
 
 " I understand," observed the elder man, im 
 portantly, " I am told, on good authority, that 
 he will address the congregation to-day." 
 
 " From whom did you learn this ? " asked the 
 other ; he had an expression which might indi 
 cate either real surprise or feigned ignorance. 
 It was not easy to say which. 
 
 " I have it in confidence from no less than the 
 Chazzan," nodded the Pharisee. " I am often 
 consulted upon matters of the synagogue. It 
 appears that my opinion has value. I was asked 
 if I could recommend the young Rabbi." 
 
 " And what answer gave you ? " inquired his 
 neighbor, with a reticent smile. 
 
 " Oh, I did my best for him ; I did my best. 
 I said I thought him a worthy young man, de 
 serving of a hearing, at all events for the pre 
 sent. I am not sure of his doctrine, myself ; it 
 is free, free. He does not hold himself in 
 fealty to the Law, it is said ; nor yet, I fear, to 
 the Oral Tradition. He may prove a danger- 
 
8 COME FORTH. 
 
 ous fellow. But I am a liberal man. I said : 
 Give him fair play. Give him a hearing." 
 
 " Doubtless he of whom you speak feeleth 
 under obligation to you," returned the other, 
 gravely. 
 
 " Of course," said Malachi, " naturally. I 
 should suppose he would." 
 
 He glanced at his companion s fine averted 
 face : he could make nothing of it ; he had the 
 vague discomfort of dull self-sufficiency which 
 feels itself criticised, but cannot perceive how 
 or why. 
 
 Synagogue-service, at that time in the history 
 of the singular people with whom our story 
 deals, might be called the main amusement as it 
 was the chief religious exercise of the populace. 
 What games were to the Romans, worship was 
 to the Jews , the popular entertainment, the 
 thing to do, the opportunity of seeing one s 
 neighbors. Ancient life did not differ so much 
 from modern in this respect. The congregation 
 went to the service from mixed motives, as we go 
 to a prayer-meeting in country parishes. 
 
 Now the Jews, being always a thrifty people, 
 set a high value upon industry. A man usually 
 taught his son the father s trade; and each 
 trade was held in honor of its own to such ex 
 tent that synagogues were erected for the par 
 ticular accommodation of classes of mechanics. 
 
COME FORTH. 9 
 
 The stonecutters, the coppersmiths, the tent- 
 makers, had their places of worship. The build 
 ing of which we speak was known as the Syna 
 gogue of the Carpenters. 
 
 It was a plain building, constructed of stone, 
 with a Greek portico held by scanty pillars. A 
 certain resemblance to the great orthodox Tem 
 ple might be detected in the modest dissenting 
 house of worship. Whatever his theology, every 
 Jew adored the Temple, after all. 
 
 The women were already seated when the men 
 of our little party entered the synagogue. The 
 sexes were separated strictly. A wall or railing 
 ran between them. One could just comfortably 
 look over its edge. 
 
 The exclusion of women from the synagogue, 
 or the crowding of them behind screens and in 
 galleries, is a custom of late invention. 
 
 The synagogue was cool and calm. The wo 
 men sat like hooded flowers, mute and sweet in 
 their meek places. They turned their faces 
 humbly toward the upper end of the building, 
 where the Law lay in a sacred chest in imitation 
 of the Ark of the Temple. 
 
 In the middle of the audience room, on a 
 raised platform, the speaker of the day he 
 whom they called the Sheliach was already 
 vigorously reciting the Shema. He was an old 
 man with a waving white beard; one of the 
 
10 COME FORTH. 
 
 most familiar and least interesting of the preach 
 ers in the Synagogue of the Carpenters. 
 
 The young Rabbi was not to be seen. 
 
 " He will come," whispered Malachi the 
 Pharisee ; "I have been informed that he is ex 
 pected. But it ill becomes him to be tardy." 
 
 Now it was one of the excellent customs in 
 Jewish church - law that ten men were profes 
 sionally employed to start an audience. With 
 out a quorum of this number the Law could not 
 be read. With this quorum, services might be 
 gin at the appointed hour ; and so neither were 
 the too early and too few disappointed, nor the 
 too late suffered to drag the occasion. 
 
 The young man whom Malachi was instruct 
 ing upon the ecclesiastical prospect of the day 
 made no reply, but silently passed forward to 
 ward his seat. This was directly in front of 
 that of his two sisters. The elder sister turned 
 her head at the sound of his step ; but the 
 younger sat modestly with downcast eyes. Sud 
 denly she whom they called Martha whispered : 
 
 " He turns back. He hath been summoned 
 from without." 
 
 The sweet face of the other changed its ex 
 pression slightly ; but she was not the kind of 
 woman who talks in the synagogue, even with a 
 chattering sister. Her countenance was so mo 
 bile, indeed, that she needed few words. Far 
 
COME FORTH. 11 
 
 above the manner of most Oriental women, 
 whose lack of education and severe domestic 
 seclusion gave them monotony of expression, her 
 face had language. But it was a high language, 
 full of dignity and delicacy, rather than an agile 
 one, feminine, coquettish, or gay. 
 
 " And where," persisted Martha, " where in 
 the world ia He?" 
 
 Her sister answered only by a finger tip on 
 the lips ; but her eyes betrayed a fine, feverish 
 excitement, powerfully suppressed. She bent 
 her head meekly, and gave devout attention to 
 the old Sheliach. Was that not her duty ? A 
 young mechanic from the men s division of the 
 synagogue looked back at her in rapt neglect of 
 the Header. Was not that his nature? She 
 did nonreturn his gaze, for the excellent reason 
 that she knew nothing about it. 
 
 Her brother, meanwhile, having answered the 
 summons which called him from the synagogue, 
 passed out over the portico, and looked abroad 
 for the messenger. One stood there, whom he 
 recognized by a mute sign ; he moved apart with 
 him for a few moments, and the two conversed 
 in low tones. The messenger was a plain man, 
 in the working-clothes of a fisherman. Some 
 thing in his bearing seemed to place him above 
 his class ; but it would not be easy to say what 
 this was. His grammar was that of the unedu- 
 
12 COME FORTH. 
 
 cated people, but his voice had a refined quality, 
 not to be unnoticed by a refined ear. 
 
 The two young men spoke earnestly ; they had 
 the aspect of those who might have been friends 
 if circumstances had thrown them together; 
 their natures seemed to flow toward each other, 
 even upon the simplest topic. Evidently it was 
 no simple topic which absorbed them. After 
 a little conversation, they kissed each other in 
 the Oriental manner, and parted. The messen 
 ger went down the hill, and disappeared among 
 the people hastily. The other returned to the 
 meeting. 
 
 The Sheliach was still expounding. The con 
 gregation looked sleepy. Martha suppressed a 
 yawn, and fidgeted in her seat. Malachi the 
 Pharisee glared with annoyance about the au 
 dience. The young mechanic glanced at the 
 younger sister now and then throughout the 
 service. But she sat still in her place. 
 
 As her brother passed her in returning to his 
 seat, he contrived to drop the scroll he carried, 
 which contained a record of certain portions of 
 the Oral Tradition. In stooping to pick up the 
 parchment he defied ecclesiastical laws and social 
 conventionality; for he whispered to his sister 
 in the synagogue. But, as it was his sister, the 
 offense passed unrebuked, perhaps unnoticed. 
 His words were few enough. These were all : 
 
COME FORTH. 13 
 
 " The Roman threatens. Look for him no 
 longer, Mary. He cometh not to-day." 
 
 " How know you ? " breathed Mary. 
 
 " By the mouth of John the Disciple." 
 
 The Sheliach droned on. Mary s tender coun 
 tenance fell. The service proceeded. In the 
 course of due time it was officially announced 
 by one of the assistant readers that the popular 
 young Rabbi, expected to address the audience on 
 that occasion, was unfortunately prevented from 
 appearing among them; and that our revered 
 friend and father, the Sheliach, would continue 
 the discourse. This announcement was given 
 upon the authority of our well-known and hon 
 ored fellow-worshiper, Lazarus the Builder, resi 
 dent at Bethany. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 " THE house is mine," said Martha. " I will 
 have the rug there." Now she spoke the truth. 
 The house was Martha s. But then, why say 
 so ? This was the nature of Martha s mind. 
 To make one s family uncomfortable by insist 
 ing on the unnecessary, or asserting the too evi 
 dent, is a temperamental defect common to so 
 many a house - mistress, besides this excellent 
 Jewish matron, that it is liable to receive more 
 sympathy than blame. 
 
 Her younger sister made no reply. The si 
 lence of Mary was at once her sweetest charm 
 and finest weapon. It enhanced her and pro 
 tected her. She had the supreme quality of 
 self-control, which, when born of a high nature, 
 is a divine force. 
 
 She turned her gentle eyes away, so that her 
 profile only was visible to her sister, and pro 
 ceeded to sweep the portico dutifully. Her del 
 icate arms, bare to the shoulder, escaped from 
 her light home-robe in long, free motions timed 
 to the stroke of her broom. Her slender figure 
 swayed dreamily. Her eyes, soft and musing, 
 
COME FORTH. 15 
 
 had an absent expression. Mary s thoughts 
 were not on the broom. Yet the portico was 
 quite clean. 
 
 The young wood-carver, who watched her in 
 the synagogue, should have seen her at that mo 
 ment to complete his bondage. In fact, he just 
 missed doing so ; being at work on the other 
 side of the house, at the new addition built by 
 Lazarus. Mary had seen this young man be 
 fore ; she supposed Jacob to be a pleasant boy, 
 and supposed no more about him. Her thoughts 
 did not incline like the thoughts of other women. 
 Earthly love she did not consider. It seemed 
 foreign and unreal to her, like Martha s views 
 about housekeeping. For the most part the 
 Jewish youth were afraid of Mary, and revered 
 her accordingly. She was one of the women who 
 live followed by an unknown corps of lovers, 
 distant, adoring, and silent. 
 
 But Martha was a widow. 
 
 She had known her troubles, too, though 
 they had not refined her tact or sensibility. 
 She had married too young, to begin with, being 
 a gay girl, and fond of all such liberties as a 
 reputable Jewish maiden might indulge in ; they 
 were not many, it is true, but Martha made the 
 most of them. She had made what would be 
 called nowadays " a good match ; " Simon, her 
 husband, being a rich man. Her marriage was 
 
16 COME FORTH. 
 
 not many years old, and comfortable enough as 
 marriages go, when she met with her affliction, 
 the most terrible that can befall an Eastern 
 family. Simon, to make few words of it, be 
 came a leper. 
 
 His life, fortunately for everybody concerned, 
 was not a long one. In the leper-settlements 
 without the gates of Jerusalem, to which the Law 
 and his wife promptly removed him, the man of 
 wealth and position and family withered out of 
 existence. Martha bewailed him dutifully, and 
 took her place as the mistress of his handsome 
 house zealously. She had never, if the truth 
 were told, enjoyed life so much before. The 
 independence of a " widow well left " is often 
 the first that a woman knows, and sweetens be 
 reavement with the flavor of novelty. 
 
 Now, since a man was the head of a family 
 by law and nature, unto Martha had come her 
 brother Lazarus, bringing their sister Mary, 
 and the three abode together with no more than 
 the usual amount of family sparring, we have 
 some reason to think with less, since the hos 
 pitality of their house came to be valued by 
 the peace-loving and quiet-seeking; perhaps it 
 should be added, however, by the peace and quiet 
 bringing. 
 
 Lazarus was a man well blessed with this 
 world s goods, and, if a house were the sole 
 
COME FORTH, 17 
 
 point of view from which to regard life, qualified 
 to dwell in a larger than Simon s. But Lazarus 
 was not a married man, and willing to forego a 
 trivial importance for the more solid domestic 
 comfort. For the truth must be told. Mary 
 he revered, nay, Mary he did love devotedly. 
 But Mary was not born for a housekeeper. 
 Martha s tongue, on the whole, was offset by her 
 cooking. The three combined their several 
 home qualifications into one successful house 
 hold contentedly. The house continued to be 
 known in Jerusalem and its suburbs as that of 
 Simon the Leper. Lazarus satisfied his bach 
 elor taste by extensive and expensive addition to 
 what was already the finest house in Bethany, 
 modernized his own elegant apartments, and 
 preserved therein the sweet liberty of solitude. 
 
 This was convenient on all sides, for, as Mar 
 tha said, " Who wanted too much of a man? " 
 
 But Lazarus and Mary his sister used to talk 
 together, in quiet places and at quiet times, on 
 the cool side of the portico that he had added, 
 or. in his own court after sunset, or on the Sab 
 bath, when they were weary and had performed 
 all that the Law required at the synagogue of 
 the village. 
 
 These three people lived an ideal suburban 
 life and in most respects the suburban is the 
 ideal life to practical ends. Wealth, influ- 
 
18 COME FORTH. 
 
 ence, character, and the peace of an easy home 
 were theirs. To these agreeable details Lazarus 
 added the vigorous pleasure of a successful and 
 remunerative trade. He was what we should 
 call a master-builder. The meanest of honest 
 trades was respected among his people ; and 
 success like his received a general deference. 
 Lack of this was found only among men of 
 superior rank or of high-caste conservative the 
 ological views. For Lazarus was a conscien 
 tious, influential Pharisee, the progressive, the 
 protestant, the eome-outer of his faith and his 
 times. His position was that of a rich, middle- 
 class reformer. 
 
 Martha had raised no objections to the addi 
 tion to her house. Lazarus being in the busi 
 ness, it struck her as the proper thing. 
 
 " It will not cost so much," she said. " And 
 I need more space for the women myself." 
 
 On this day we speak of, when Martha was 
 troubled about the rugs, Lazarus came home at 
 sunset, thoughtful and reserved. Martha began 
 at once : 
 
 " What aileth thee, Lazarus ? Thou wearest 
 a sour face." 
 
 " Oh, not a sour face ! " cried Mary. " Our 
 brother is weary. See you not, Martha? He 
 hath ^borne too heavily the heat and burden of 
 the day. We women, who sit apart in the cool 
 
COME FORTH. 19 
 
 of the house, should remember how the man 
 toileth in the sun." 
 
 This was a long speech for Mary ; and Mar 
 tha, a little surprised thereat, received it with 
 equally unusual silence ; she left the room and 
 the discussion to prepare the evening meal. 
 Mary and Lazarus sat together. She asked him 
 no questions, but he spoke at once, as if she had 
 done so. 
 
 " Has word come from our guest, Mary ? " 
 
 " No word, my brother." 
 
 " I thought we had seen him by this. The 
 people press hard upon him, and overwear him. 
 They kill him with their troubles sick, lame, 
 blind, leper, and worse than all. They load 
 him down with them as I load the slave that car 
 ries my stone. It is said that for nigh a week 
 he has not been known to rest like other men : he 
 goeth to the mountain-top and prayeth there." 
 
 "All the night?" asked Mary, pitifully. Her 
 sensitive face had flushed at the first mention of 
 him of whom Lazarus spoke. 
 
 " They say, who have seen him closely, that 
 he carries the face of a sleepless man." 
 
 " John the fisherman made mention to me of 
 this," added Lazarus. " I met him at the fish- 
 market to-night. He spoke many words to me 
 upon the matter. He said, There is a man 
 starving for sleep. " 
 
20 COME FORTH. 
 
 " He resteth in our upper chamber," replied 
 Mary, in a tone of something like entreaty. 
 " He resteth peacefully. Know you not, Laza 
 rus, how his eyes look when he cometh to us in 
 the morning? " 
 
 u I have been expecting him," said Lazarus. 
 His masculine fewness of words expressed no 
 less eager sympathy than his sister s more ardent 
 manner. 
 
 " And I," she said beneath her breath, " every 
 day every night. He cometh not." 
 
 " Think you, Lazarus," she asked timidly, 
 after a pause, during which she had crept upon 
 a low ottoman near her brother s feet, " think 
 you that he wearieth of us ? " 
 
 "I have seen many desert him," answered 
 Lazarus, in a ringing voice ; " I never knew him 
 forsake a human creature ! " 
 
 Mary nodded silently. A beautiful luminous- 
 ness stole into her large eyes. She lifted them 
 to the mountain-top towering above her ; her 
 whole face and figure seemed to be at prayer. 
 
 At this moment Martha entered bustling. 
 
 " Come, come ! Supper is served, and ye two 
 sit there like mummies while I play slave for 
 ye. Come, Mary ! Hasten and serve. Come, 
 Lazarus ! What bothers thee now ? 
 
 " Important business concerns," said Lazarus, 
 with dignity. Martha offered no retort. She 
 
COME FORTH. 21 
 
 had a great respect for business. It meant 
 money and position ; it meant things she under 
 stood. 
 
 " I am considering," said Lazarus, as he sat 
 at supper, " a contract which has been offered 
 me to-day. It is one of importance." 
 
 " A new customer ? " queried Martha, with 
 animation. But Mary showed no interest in the 
 new customer. She had relapsed into a sweet 
 dream. She served her brother, while he sat at 
 meat, like an angel walking on a floating cloud 
 that would bear one away at a breath who 
 knew whither ? 
 
 " Yes," observed Lazarus, " I am asked to re 
 model portions of the palace " 
 
 " Palace ! " cried Martha. 
 
 "Of Annas." 
 
 " Annas the High priest ? Has he given you 
 an order? " 
 
 " I speak of none other," said Lazarus calmly. 
 " I do the work of an honest man. Is that not 
 good enough for priest or beggar ? And have I 
 not wrought upon the sacred Temple ? " 
 
 " Take it, by all means," said Martha, with 
 her shrewd look. " When shall you begin ? " 
 
 " Immediately, if at all," replied Lazarus ; 
 " and I am inclined to follow your advice, sister 
 Martha. Your judgment passes the judgment 
 of women upon affairs of house and trade." 
 
22 COME FORTH. 
 
 These few words flattered and pleased Martha 
 immensely. She became good-natured at once. 
 They were easy words to speak, too, and quite 
 true. Lazarus never said what was not true, 
 even for the sake of domestic peace. Women 
 of Martha s type may be as conscious of their 
 unpopularity as they are of their necessity to 
 society. Appreciation has the highest mathe 
 matical value to those who do not get much of 
 it. The tough-fibred, practical woman is never 
 as much beyond the need of it as she seems to 
 be. Martha had a chronic conviction that peo 
 ple " took " to her younger sister at her expense. 
 Lazarus knew this quite well. To save his life, 
 he could not help loving Mary better. But his 
 just soul sought the more severely to recognize 
 Martha s good points. 
 
 The three went up to the roof of the house 
 after supper, and sat together in unwonted har 
 mony. It was one of Judea s most agreeable 
 evenings ; the cool came on gratefully ; the 
 scorching colors of the air died away without a 
 struggle. The little hamlet of Bethany leaned 
 on the eastern slope of Olivet like a child asleep 
 on a sheltering arm. Below, the valley dark 
 ened delicately : the outlines of rock and road 
 lingered a long time in the twilight. Figures 
 passing were only dim enough to be poetic 
 and picturesque ; one watched them with quiet, 
 
COME FORTH. 23 
 
 aesthetic pleasure. Above, the mountain-range 
 lifted its solemn head : she rose, purple and 
 calm, like a queen, who had purposes and secrets 
 of her own. Overhead, the clear, far, fine ether 
 of the Oriental sky throbbed, pale fire melt 
 ing into a dome of gray. 
 
 Suddenly the still air thrilled to a wide, strong 
 tone. It was the cry of the trumpet from the 
 synagogue, calling all the children of Jehovah 
 to the evening prayer. 
 
 The master of the household rose at the sum 
 mons, the women followed him, the slaves in 
 the court stopped, arrested in their labors ; the 
 Jewish family paused with bowed heads and 
 clasped hands ; they prayed silently ; they stood 
 with their faces toward Jerusalem. 
 
 When the prayer was finished, Martha went 
 below to give orders to her women, and Lazarus 
 seated himself quietly ; but Mary moved to the 
 edge of the roof, and looked off into the valley. 
 She sat down behind the tiled railing that ran 
 around the roof, that she might not be observed 
 of passers ; her face expressed sudden and eager 
 animation. 
 
 " What seest thou, Mary ? " asked her brother 
 kindly. 
 
 " Come hither, Lazarus," replied Mary softly. 
 " Look for thyself." She pointed downward 
 toward the valley, where the shadow was length- 
 
24 COME FORTH. 
 
 ening faster than it was deepening. A group of 
 people traveling from the direction of Jerusalem, 
 winding about the mountain-side, had come to 
 a halt. Their figures could still be clearly seen 
 from the roof of the house. 
 
 Mary lifted her beautiful arms, and pointed 
 with one finger at the road ; the delicate outline 
 of the finger trembled. 
 
 "It is he," she said. 
 
 " Nay, I see him not," protested Lazarus. 
 
 " It is he," repeated Mary, undisturbed. 
 
 The two peered over the railing, the woman 
 sheltered by her brother s presence, and gazed 
 into the valley intently. 
 
 The group upon the highway had paused at 
 the summons of the evening prayer, it seemed ; 
 or was there perhaps another interruption? 
 
 Tall and motionless among the clustering 
 people, one figure rose preeminent to the eye. 
 It was the figure of a man, young in years, 
 and yet clothed with great dignity. The light 
 was too faint to discern this form with dis 
 tinctness, except that it stood a little apart 
 from the urgent pressure of the people who had 
 the aspect of entreating him eagerly. In the 
 faint light the man could be seen, as he seemed 
 to turn his face toward the height, and perhaps 
 in the direction of the house of Simon the Leper. 
 Apparently, he hesitated with himself. 
 
COME FORTH. 25 
 
 " Yes," said Lazarus, " it is he. It is he in 
 deed. Go and tell Martha to prepare for him. 
 He corneth to us at last." 
 
 But Mary knelt with her face pressed to the 
 tiled railing, gazing persistently down. She did 
 not move to obey her brother s command. 
 
 " Mary ! " cried Lazarus, rising in displeasure, 
 " are you dreaming again, now, when he is all 
 but at our gates, when every moment is pre 
 cious that we may serve him with our best? 
 Mary!" 
 
 " Oh," mourned Mary, "he cometh not. He 
 cometh not. See you, Lazarus. They have de 
 terred him. They call him back. He turneth 
 see ! he goeth. Oh, he goeth from us. 
 So near us and so worn for rest he goeth 
 away without it. He setteth his face already 
 once more toward Jerusalem ! " 
 
 "You are right," announced Lazarus, decid 
 edly, "as usual," he murmured in a lower 
 tone. "You have the eyes which see, Mary. 
 But I cannot understand this matter ! I am 
 distressed at it. Why this hesitation ? Yes. 
 He returneth. Fain would I hasten down and 
 overtake him, and compel him by my heart s 
 force to tarry with us." 
 
 "Nay," cried Mary hastily, "nay, nay, my 
 brother. Entreat him not. He knoweth his 
 own will and the will," she said solemnly, 
 
26 COME FORTH. 
 
 " of Him that sent him. Besides," she added, 
 with quick feminine sensitiveness, " he knoweth 
 that he hath eternal welcome beneath thy roof 
 and Martha s. We would not ask him if he 
 cometh not. See ! Look yonder ! He turneth 
 the corner of the road as it windeth round the 
 mountain. The people shout and run and press 
 upon him. They bring one unto him it is 
 an afflicted creature. For that cause he return- 
 eth." 
 
 "Verily it is so," said Lazarus, sadly. "It is 
 one possessed, or other diseased person, whom 
 they bring. Whatever it is which has hindered 
 him from us, my sister, thou mayst know it is 
 the call of woe, or want, or sin. Yes, he joineth 
 the returning people ; he returneth he is 
 gone." 
 
 Mary bowed her face upon the tiles and said 
 nothing. The light of her life and the hope of 
 her soul the hope of her people, their Master 
 and their Mystery had withdrawn himself 
 from her sight : and her gentle heart was sore 
 within her. 
 
 " Why, he will come back again when that 
 wretch is taken care of!" cried Martha, whose 
 practical view of things was as great a relief at 
 some times as it was a terror at others, to her 
 family. " Of course he will come back ! I will 
 myself prepare the upper chamber. Watch for 
 
COME FORTH. 27 
 
 him, Lazarus, and let me know the first moment 
 that there are signs of him ! " 
 
 Martha rustled away more noisily than she 
 had come upon the roof. 
 
 " A pretty time of day ! " she added testily, 
 " to bring one s fits before such as he ! or one s 
 
 O 
 
 wits either. Fitty people are always half-witted, 
 in my opinion. I 11 venture the creature is n t 
 worth curing." 
 
 But Mary watched silently, with her burning 
 cheeks upon the smooth warm tiles. Lazarus 
 kept her company awhile. His own fine face 
 wore a look of keen disappointment. Neither 
 spoke ; it darkened rapidly ; the sound of pass 
 ing footsteps grew few and faint. 
 
 " He will not come," announced the master of 
 the house, at last, with masculine decisiveness. 
 " I go below. Do thou the same, Mary." 
 
 Mary did not reply. She was glad when 
 even Lazarus was gone : she s-at on alone, half 
 crouched, half kneeling, upon the roof. The 
 dew fell ; her bright hair grew damp. Mary 
 had abundant, beautiful hair ; it weighed upon 
 her head like a crown. Her soft flesh grew 
 cooled and chill. Her ears quivered, as fine 
 nerves of hearing do, from listening in vain, till 
 the auditory sense becomes an anguish. The 
 step for which she waited did not come. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE day on which our story opened was a 
 peaceful one in the house of Malachi the Phar 
 isee. Of all days, alas, one could not say that 
 in the house of Malachi. He was an imperious 
 fellow ; Hagaar, his wife, was a loud shrew ; 
 their only child was an invalid girl. Given 
 these materials, the nature of that house need 
 not be described. 
 
 After her father and mother had left her for 
 the trip to Jerusalem, the sick girl sank upon 
 her pillows with a sigh of relief. Solitude was 
 a luxury in her lot, such as only the habitually 
 irritated sick can know how to value. A sin 
 gle maid-servant in a distant part of the house 
 theoretically attended upon her young mistress, 
 and practically forgot her. The girl took this 
 as a matter of course, and reduced her wants to 
 her circumstances, with the patient grace of the 
 frequently neglected invalid. It was easier to 
 thirst for water out of reach, or pant for the 
 motion of the great fan that hung idly in the 
 sultry room over the head of her couch, than to 
 stop her ears from her mother s shrill voice, or 
 
COME FORTH. 29 
 
 shrink from her father s severity. Malachi had 
 never forgiven his only child for being a girl. 
 A sick one at that, was he not an unfortu 
 nate man ? 
 
 Ariella thought him so ; and meekly re 
 proached herself for her calamity. Ariella was 
 the sweetest girl in the world. Before her mis 
 fortune, many a young Jew thought so, Laza 
 rus, her neighbor, among them. But affliction 
 had shut her quite away from other young peo 
 ple for now so many years that she was well 
 forgotten. It is not impossible that between 
 herself and Lazarus there might once have ex 
 isted one of those vague, immature attractions 
 which youth and maiden scarcely recognize 
 enough to call them passions, yet which lend a 
 certain tender reverence to their impressions of 
 each other in womanhood and manhood. Laza 
 rus felt sorry for Ariella. Ariella thought kindly 
 of Lazarus. She considered him a handsome 
 man. Sometimes she saw him passing the house 
 on his way to Jerusalem. Once in a while he 
 remembered to salute her as he passed. Other 
 wise they never met. She had been a beautiful 
 girl, merry, mocking and bewitching. She had 
 faded out of the sensibility of Lazarus, as the 
 color fades from a poor piece of Tyrian stuff 
 when left forgotten in the sun and dew. Might 
 she have been the ruling power of his heart? 
 
30 COME FORTH. 
 
 She had become only one of its humane regrets. 
 Yet nearer than Ariella no woman had ever 
 come to the life of this pure and meditative Jew. 
 Ariella experienced the peculiar fate of the 
 sick : to taste of death before one s time, yet to 
 possess the passions of life ; to lie like the 
 wounded soldier 
 
 " Unable or to move, or die ; " 
 
 to become a ghost in the hearts of one s friends ; 
 to receive from them the regretful tribute that 
 we give to the buried, yet to throb with the 
 hopes, longings, ambitions, all the eager unsatis 
 fied powers of possible activity, this is the in 
 valid s lot. 
 
 Ariella tried to bear it patiently. But she 
 was very young. It went hard sometimes. 
 
 Her misfortune befell her on this wise : Upon 
 an early summer evening, when Ariella was six 
 teen years of age, she was sent by her mother to 
 the fountain of En-shemesh, a mile down the 
 road to Jericho, for water, the cistern in the 
 court being dry, the drought severe. Veiled 
 and protected by the reserve of a modest Jewish 
 maiden, Ariella obeyed fearlessly. It was not 
 thought to be a dangerous errand so near the 
 vicinity of the city ; for Jerusalem was less than 
 two miles from Bethany. But Bethany lay upon 
 the highroad to Jericho, and beyond the sub 
 urban shadow was a wild road infested with 
 robbers and barbarians, 
 
COME FORTH. 31 
 
 One of these lawless fellows, venturing too 
 near civilization, overtook the beautiful girl on 
 her return. " To my tribe I 11 take thee ! " he 
 said brutally. Ariella flung the jar from her 
 head and fled. Probably the marauder meant 
 less than he said, but murder would not have 
 terrified the maiden more. Arms of man had 
 never touched her, and she flew for dearer than 
 life. The ruffian caught her, and a terrible 
 struggle followed. Her cries brought Malachi, 
 her father, who had been sent by his wife to 
 conduct her home, puffing to the spot. The fel 
 low was arrested and fined four hundred zug for 
 uncovering the face of a woman in public. But 
 the girl was hurt. In her struggle she had re 
 ceived a severe spinal injury. 
 
 That was nine years ago. Ariella was now 
 twenty-five, and the despair of the best medical 
 skill of Jerusalem. She had become that most 
 pitiful of human beings, a young invalid 
 " given up." 
 
 Ariella was lying quite peacefully on her low 
 couch, upon the morning when she was left 
 alone. Neighbors would come in presently ; she 
 liked these neighbors, Rachel, the mother of 
 Baruch, and Baruch himself, the blind man. 
 They knew what it was to be unfortunate, to be 
 not like other people. They could understand. 
 
 Ariella wore a white, thin robe, inwrought 
 
32 COME FORTH. 
 
 with silk embroidery at the edges in a little de 
 sign of field lilies. She lay within it, white and 
 sweet, a lily herself, living through a long 
 drought. Her face was exquisitely modeled. It 
 had the delicacy of line which comes from pro 
 longed and profound suffering patiently borne. 
 
 But when their neighbor Rachel came to her, 
 she brought a disappointment. She could not 
 remain. A servant was sick in the house of 
 Rachel, and required her presence. 
 
 " And as for leaving thee alone," said Rachel, 
 with motherly decision, " it is not to be thought 
 of. I shall send Baruch without me. He shall 
 come to thee ; and that girl Deborah must re 
 main within hearing. I 11 see to her ! Leave it 
 to me. Baruch s misfortune and thine own pro 
 tect thee. For my part, I say it is becoming 
 enough, considering Deborah ; and I 11 answer 
 for the propriety of it to thy parents and to all 
 Judea too, if need be. Thou art not like others, 
 Ariella. No evil tongue can harm thee." 
 
 Then it befell for Ariella raised no objec 
 tions, seeing none that Ariella and Baruch 
 passed some hours of that morning in a seclusion 
 and freedom unusual to Jewish young people. 
 
 They accepted the situation as sedately as 
 two spirits ; and the mother of Baruch blessed 
 them and left them contentedly, promising to 
 look in upon them when she could, and roundly 
 
COME FORTH. 33 
 
 rating Deborah up to her duty as the feminine 
 dea ex machina of the position. Baruch and 
 Deborah and Rachel between them moved the cot 
 of Ariella into the court. Baruch seated him 
 self beside it, leaning against one of the stone 
 pillars. The hot morning grew ; the court was 
 peaceful ; the house was still. Deborah sang at 
 her work, chanting from the Psalms ; Ariella 
 and Baruch chatted quietly. How pleasant it 
 was ! 
 
 But Baruch was born blind. 
 
 " Thy fate is worse than mine," said Ariella, 
 pitifully. 
 
 " But I can walk," said Baruch bravely. 
 
 " Thou art a man and strong," urged Ariella 
 with pretty feminine instinct. This pleased the 
 blind man, and he flushed gratefully. 
 
 44 Yes," he nodded. " Yes, I am quite strong. 
 I lift many a burden for my mother." 
 
 " She says thou art a good son," cooed Ariella. 
 
 " I could lift thy cot and thee, and carry thee 
 about the court, and set thee down like a spar 
 row s feather," protested Baruch. 
 
 " Nay, then, do it ! " laughed the sick girl 
 merrily. In her heart she thought she should 
 enjoy it. What fun to frolic like other girls ! 
 
 But Baruch shook his head. 
 
 44 1 might hit thee against one of the pillars, 
 or jar thee because I could not see. We are not 
 like others, Ariella ; we may not play." 
 
34 COME FORTH. 
 
 Secretly, Ariella liked this tone of authority ; 
 she yielded to it agreeably, as the feather of the 
 wheat yields to the rising wind. Baruch was 
 a manly fellow. She looked at his strong 
 and patient face ; she could watch him quite 
 freely. 
 
 " Thou hast the advantage of me," said Baruch, 
 after a silence. Ariella blushed. How should 
 he know that she observed him ? She felt sorry, 
 as if she had committed some rudeness. 
 
 " Thinkest thou I take an advantage ? " asked 
 Ariella penitently. " I will not err any more." 
 
 " Have it or take it," replied the blind man 
 heartily. " Use it in either way. I grudge 
 nothing to thine advantage, saving that it is one 
 I may not exercise against thyself, sweet neigh 
 bor. I should use it if I could, I pray thee to 
 believe me." 
 
 " I am not much to look at," parried Ariella, 
 with a little pardonable touch of feminine co 
 quetry. " I am very thin, and my face is long 
 and white." 
 
 "My mother tells me thou art fair to look 
 upon," replied Baruch simply. Again Ariella 
 felt somehow rebuked. She had often in the 
 presence of Baruch the consciousness of a more 
 massive character than her own. Was this the 
 influence of his supreme affliction ? Her own 
 seemed small beside it. 
 
COME FORTH. 35 
 
 Sometimes she was so sorry for Baruch that 
 she could have wept for him. 
 
 Sometimes Baruch was so sorry for Ariella 
 that he could have knelt at her white feet and 
 kissed them. 
 
 " Deborah ! " called Ariella suddenly. " Deb 
 orah ! come hither. I desire the fan brought 
 from the inner chamber." 
 
 Deborah was shouting out an imprecatory 
 Psalm at the top of her lungs. She did not 
 hear. 
 
 " I will bring the fan," said Baruch. He rose 
 and went slowly into the chamber of Ariella. 
 With eyes which saw nothing, with a heart 
 which perceived who shall say how much ? 
 he felt his way delicately across that sanctuary 
 of purity and suffering. He raised his hands 
 above the white bed where she slept the light 
 sleep of pain. Groping, he found the large sus 
 pended fan, and returned with it quickly to the 
 court. He came out of the chamber with his 
 head bent like a man who could see, but would 
 not. 
 
 Now this procedure on the part of Baruch was 
 absolutely unconventional, almost unpardon 
 able by Oriental social ethics. But Baruch was 
 not like other men. Ariella thanked him with 
 an unconsciousness which in his turn made him 
 feel abashed before her. His long, thin, sen- 
 
36 COME FORTH. 
 
 sitive fingers touched the tissue drapery of her 
 couch, hesitated, and trembled on the edge of 
 her white robe. 
 
 " It is embroidered with lilies," he said, and 
 laid it gently down. Ariella looked at him a 
 little perplexed. What ailed Baruch ? 
 
 " Deborah ! " she called. " Deborah ! " 
 
 But Deborah was cooking vegetables and fish 
 for the noon meal, and was quite out of the way. 
 In default of a matron a girl changes the sub 
 ject. Ariella did this with the quick-wittedness 
 of her sex. The talk between herself and 
 Baruch was becoming uncomfortable. 
 
 " I understand," she said abruptly, " that the 
 new Rabbi will discourse in the synagogue to 
 day. I should like to hear him if I were like 
 other girls." 
 
 " I would bring him hither, I will bring 
 him ! " cried Baruch eagerly. 
 
 " Thou speakest like a good neighbor and a 
 kind friend, Baruch. But that which thou say- 
 est is as impossible as for me to arise and walk 
 into Jerusalem." 
 
 " I am not sure " began the blind man, and 
 stopped short. 
 
 " Of what art thou then not sure ? " asked 
 Ariella. 
 
 " That the thing of which thou speakest is im 
 possible, dear Ariella." Once in a great while, 
 
COME FORTH. 37 
 
 Baruch called his young neighbor, dear Ariella. 
 Their afflictions fostered between them space for 
 an affection which both were too delicate to mis 
 manage or to misunderstand. 
 
 " I know not what you mean," said Ariella s 
 sweet, pathetic voice. " Many physicians have 
 considered my case. My father avows he has 
 paid his last shekel to the tribe of them on my 
 behalf. Jerusalem ? I shall never set my foot 
 beyond this courtyard, Baruch, unless I be borne 
 by the hands of others. Sometimes, when it is 
 not too much trouble, my father has carried me 
 without that I may look abroad. I saw the sun 
 set three times above the heights of Zion last 
 summer. That was a pleasure, verily ! He had 
 grown large since I saw him last, I thought 
 within myself that he had come to manhood. 
 He was a boy-sun when I looked upon him be 
 fore ! " Ariella laughed. She had a delightful 
 laugh. 
 
 "He of whom we speak healeth many that 
 are sick," pursued Baruch. 
 
 " But not me," said Ariella. " No man heal 
 eth me-." 
 
 " Ariella," said the blind man solemnly, ris 
 ing and lifting his sightless eyes to heaven, 
 "as Jehovah heareth, I misdoubt sometimes 
 if this man be not more than man like other 
 
38 COME FORTH. 
 
 " But you do not mean to say," cried Ariella, 
 " that you take that view of this new favorite of 
 the people ? You do not believe he is " 
 
 " Say it not." interrupted the blind man, 
 " say not the word. If it be he that was written 
 of, verily time will prove. Almighty God will 
 prove. For me, I wait. But I watch, Ariella. 
 I may confess to thee. Yes, I watch." 
 
 At this moment, Baruch had the aspect of a 
 man who saw, not the little things that others 
 see, earth, sky, sea, human faces, human art, 
 and the incidents that appeal to human passions, 
 but invisible powers, and influences that are 
 arguments ; facts so fine that the normal action 
 does not recognize them as forces. Baruch saw 
 with the eyes of the soul. 
 
 "And what go ye out for to see?" asked the 
 girl thoughtfully. " A prophet ? " 
 
 " And perchance, yea, more than a prophet," 
 said Baruch softly. 
 
 " I have thought," whispered Ariella, " that 
 he was not like other men, not like Malachi, 
 my father, nor yet like Lazarus. Sometimes I 
 have bethought me, Baruch, that he must be 
 like thyself." 
 
 " Oh, Ariella ! Nay, nay. Hush, Ariella ! " 
 Impulsively the blind man put his finger on 
 her lip. The warm, sweet, soft flesh quivered 
 beneath his finely sentient nerve. Baruch trem- 
 
COME FORTH. 39 
 
 bled. The girl flushed. He withdrew his touch 
 humbly, and bowed his head. 
 
 Neither of these two denied young people 
 spoke again for some moments after this, and 
 the man was the first to break the silence. He 
 returned doggedly to his theme. 
 
 " It has been heavy upon my mind for some 
 time past, Ariella. If he healeth others, why 
 not thee? I would that he should see thee. 
 Wouldst thou receive him if I brought him 
 hither?" 
 
 " But he would not come, Baruch ! " cried 
 Ariella, the practical side of her nature coming 
 uppermost, to the obliteration for the moment of 
 her feeling of gratitude to Baruch. 
 
 "Verily he shall, then," said the blind man 
 with decision. 
 
 "He could not heal me. Nobody can heal 
 me" mourned Ariella. Baruch shook his head 
 obstinately. 
 
 " Thou art young, thou art gentle and obedient, 
 thou art maimed, and not diseased. He healeth 
 the heavily smitten of God ; yea, he healeth 
 sorer sufferers. Why, Ariella, it is reported in 
 Bethany that he hath healed the leprous, and 
 sent them sound upon the ways of men." 
 
 " Even a leper," urged Ariella, with the easy 
 despair of the incurable sick, " might not be so 
 hard to heal as a girl like me." 
 
40 COME FORTH. 
 
 " We will talk of it no more," said Baruch, 
 with something like displeasure. " I thought to 
 have comforted thee, Ariella." 
 
 " Forgive me, Baruch ! " cried the girl. "Thou 
 art all things kind and tender, and I am all 
 things rude and wrong. I bless thee for thy 
 dear thought, Baruch, heal he or heal he not. 
 Thou thinkest for me like a brother. I never 
 had a brother. Thou supportest me. Thou 
 mightest heal me, Baruch, if will of man could 
 do the deed. I am very tired, Baruch. I am 
 in sore pain. Be patient with me." 
 
 " Thou mightest as well ask me to be patient 
 with mine own heart," said Baruch, greatly 
 moved. " Thou art dear to me, Ariella. Thou 
 art dearer than " 
 
 " Nay," cried the sick girl in agitation, com 
 ing to her senses, "nay, Baruch, hush! Tell me 
 not. Say it not. Nay, I must not hear." 
 
 " I will call Deborah," said Baruch abruptly. 
 " I must return home." 
 
 But poor Ariella, unused to the ways of men 
 in moments of emotion, burst into tears and hid 
 her face upon her arm. 
 
 "Go," she said, "go, then. We do each 
 other no good. Go from me." 
 
 " Then I will not ! " cried Baruch, with mas 
 culine waywardness. " I will not leave thee. 
 Call Deborah, if thou chooses t. I shall re- 
 
COME FORTH. 41 
 
 " And I," said Ariella penitently, " will see 
 the Rabbi, if thou sayest. Work thy will in the 
 matter, Baruch. I shall not oppose thee." 
 
 " Who knoweth," cried Baruch passionately, 
 " but thou too mayst be blessed by the virtue of 
 that Wondrous Touch ? Men say who have felt 
 it that it is like fine, fleet, unhurting fire ; that 
 it runneth through the veins like the wings of 
 life ; that the body leaps and the spirit soars as 
 ascending flame goeth heavenward in the wind." 
 
 " Oh, that is it, that is like it, that is 
 what I need ! " said the sick girl plaintively. 
 " Thinkest thou, Baruch, he could put the flame 
 of life into a poor body such as mine ? " 
 
 " Be brave," urged Baruch. " Have courage, 
 Ariella. Thou hast suffered with strength. 
 Endure with hope. Thou hast more strength 
 than courage." 
 
 Now, it was noticeable in this conversation 
 that it was only Ariella of whom Baruch spoke 
 or Ariella thought. It never occurred to either 
 of them to experiment with the new cure, or by 
 the great wonder-worker, in behalf of this self- 
 forgetting, afflicted, self-restrained, and loving 
 man. For Baruch was born blind. 
 
 " Ariella ! " murmured Baruch, " Ariella 
 Strength of God? Thou hast a fair name, 
 sweet friend." 
 
 " It shameth me," sighed Ariella. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 TIBERIUS, Emperor of Rome ; Pontius Pilate, 
 Procurator ; Caiaphas, High priest : thus ran 
 the order of authority at our story s day. The 
 father-in-law of Caiaphas, Annas, called High 
 priest by courtesy, High priest in fact for seven 
 years, and long since deposed, held his great rank 
 and importance in the social world of Jerusalem. 
 His was the extraordinary, known as the priestly 
 family, which filled the sacred office, at a time 
 when it was the toy of politics, for a proud 
 period of fifty years. The position of Annas in 
 Jerusalem was as unassailable as that of Solo 
 mon. 
 
 Lazarus approached the palace not entirely 
 without a sense of awe. The rich and indepen 
 dent Pharisee was, nevertheless, a Jew. He and 
 the ex-High priest, Sadducee, member of the 
 Sanhedrim, and aristocrat to the sandals, owned 
 the common national traditions, memories, pray 
 ers, and hopes. Politics and theology at their 
 worst could not wither respect for the Temple 
 and its officers out of the Jewish heart. It 
 meant a good deal to the master-builder to have 
 an order from the palace of Annas. 
 
COME FORTH. 43 
 
 Lazarus descended the Mount of Olives, and 
 crossed the celebrated bridge that spanned the 
 brook Kidron and brought the traveler to the 
 Temple gates. He passed reverently through the 
 outer courts of the Temple, and without delay 
 ing there crossed the Tyropceon Valley by an 
 other well - worn and well - built bridge, and so 
 reached Mount Zion, the mountain of sanctity 
 and royalty, the home of priests and palaces. 
 Here glittered the imposing castle of Herod the 
 Great, that prince who had two passions, one for 
 building and one for murder. Here stood the 
 more modest palace of the Maccabees, the pal 
 ace of Caiaphas, and here the haughty home of 
 Annas. 
 
 It was a stately building of stone, fitted and 
 furnished with wood, and much decorated after 
 the severe method of the race. No sculpture 
 was admitted to the Jewish dwelling ; even the 
 human or animal figure was forbidden. The 
 graven image savored of idolatry and Babylon, 
 and the outer courts of pagan temples. The dec 
 orator among these stern and obedient people 
 had small leeway for the wings of his fame. 
 He worked strenuously, soberly, honestly, and 
 atoned for freedom of imagination by severity 
 of labor. 
 
 The palace was large, of course ; so large as 
 to contain a number of courts, the great court 
 

 44 COME FORTH. 
 
 and its minor imitations. This meant vast con 
 venience according to the Oriental standard ; 
 hospitality, and space for it ; family comforts 
 and cool evening rendezvous, and room enough 
 for the women on their side of the palace. 
 
 Lazarus took in with the keen eye of the 
 craftsman the fine points of the palace, as he 
 stood waiting in the antechamber for the pre 
 sence of Annas the priest. This chamber was 
 spacious and cool ; fine rugs lay upon its mar 
 ble floor ; others hung across ottomans ranged 
 along the sides of the walls. The sparsity of 
 furniture in an Oriental home is consistent with 
 the greatest wealth. Lazarus did not sit. He 
 observed thoughtfully. The size of the palace 
 made it comparatively quiet ; the soft steps of 
 slaves passing to and fro, with the slight fla-flap 
 of bare brown heels, gave the only interruption 
 to the dreamy quiet of the spot. Lazarus yielded 
 to the pleasant influence ; he felt that it was well 
 to be a man of the world ; he remembered his 
 middle-class belongings, his heresies, his entan 
 glement with the unpopular Rabbi ; and for the 
 first time he bethought himself how this proud 
 Sadducee was likely to regard him. 
 
 " A mere workman, of course," said Lazarus 
 half aloud. " A carpenter, fit only to take his 
 orders." 
 
 Now, Lazarus was not accustomed to be so- 
 
COME FORTH. 45 
 
 cially looked down upon ; in his own class lie 
 was important, authoritative. He was in the 
 habit of working chiefly for his own class ; he 
 found the new sensation not wholly pleasant ; he 
 straightened his fine, manly figure, and threw 
 back his young head. 
 
 At this moment the luxurious silence of the 
 palace was broken by a sweet sound. It was 
 the clear ring-ringing of a girl s laugh. 
 
 Lazarus started and stared. What a laugh it 
 was ! Verily, he thought, in all Judea there was 
 no gayer. Who, pray, was so merry, and where 
 fore, in this lordly place ? Lazarus looked 
 eagerly into the great court. As he did so, a 
 flash like passing light shimmered and swept be 
 fore his eyes. A woman s form seemed to him 
 to flit before him ; yet, indeed, he could not 
 aver that it was a woman. It was singing light, 
 it was flying music. The young man drew the 
 inference that a woman was implied in this phe 
 nomenon. If it was a woman, she was clothed 
 in Tyrian purple, and her figure glittered with 
 gold and moved like fire. If it was a vision, it 
 wore the colors of the sky and earth at their 
 bridal, and took to itself the wings of sera 
 phim. 
 
 Lazarus stood color - struck, wonder-struck, 
 feverishly impetuous. No person was in sight, 
 except a slave crossing the court, with a silver 
 
46 COME FORTH. 
 
 pitcher poised upon a turbaned head. The slave 
 was sixty, and a man. 
 
 At this moment a voice said coldly : 
 " Do I behold Lazarus the Builder ? " 
 Lazarus turned, embarrassed. In this awk 
 ward position of spying for women in his palace, 
 Annas the High priest must needs discover him. 
 But Lazarus recovered himself like a man of 
 experience, and, bowing with grave courtesy, 
 looked his interlocutor easily in the eye. It was 
 a piercing eye. It was a reverend figure. Tall, 
 spare, calm, and imposing, the High priest stood 
 even before his builder, like the Ark before the 
 Race. His simplest attitude expressed the con 
 sciousness of authority and sanctity, no more to 
 be disturbed than the sense of royalty in a prince 
 imperial, heir to the throne of centuries. His 
 hair and beard, uncut and finely preserved, flowed 
 like a silver stream upon his shoulders and his 
 breast. His gray eyebrows were thick, and met 
 in a straight frown. Annas was dressed with the 
 splendor belonging to his caste. The ex-High 
 priest retained, with indifference to the strictest 
 law, the blue robe and fine ephod of his former 
 office. The skirt of the robe was trimmed with 
 pomegranates woven in blue, red, and crimson ; 
 he no longer wore the tinkling bells which rang 
 between each pomegranate, nor the towering mitre 
 of active, priestly life. But take him altogether, 
 
COME FORTH. 47 
 
 he was an imposing and glittering figure. He 
 wore all he could. 
 
 44 You are Lazarus the Builder," repeated the 
 High priest. 
 
 44 1 am he," replied Lazarus. 44 1 await your 
 pleasure." 
 
 44 1 am told," pursued Annas, 44 that you are 
 a skilled workman." 
 
 44 1 am a contractor," answered Lazarus, with 
 the slightest possible hauteur. 44 1 am a master- 
 mechanic." 
 
 44 Think you," proceeded Annas, with a little 
 lifting of the eyebrow lines, 44 that you can rem 
 edy certain defects which exist in the construc 
 tion of a portion of our palace with the quality 
 of execution plainly, as you perceive," Annas 
 waved his hand about the antechamber, 44 ne 
 cessary to the harmony of the house ? " 
 
 44 1 should hope," replied Lazarus, with a 
 slight flush, 44 that nothing which I attempted to 
 do, or contracted to do, would prove unworthy 
 of any position in which I should venture to 
 place my work." 
 
 44 You set a considerable value upon yourself, 
 it seems, my worthy sir," said the priest, with a 
 sharp look. 
 
 4 Upon myself none that may not become a 
 self-respecting citizen. Upon my work, yea ver 
 ily, I do set the value of trained skill and honest 
 exercise thereof. It is not a low one." 
 
48 COME FORTH. 
 
 " Hath it a high standard in the coin of the 
 land ? " inquired Annas, with the negligence of 
 a sacred man who is apt in striking a worldly 
 bargain. 
 
 " Show me the work," replied Lazarus con 
 cisely. " I can make my terms at sight of it." 
 
 Annas summoned a slave, who forthwith con 
 ducted Lazarus into the extreme limit of the 
 palace. The High priest, lingering, it seemed 
 for no reason in particular, unless it were the 
 sense of dignity to be found in walking by him 
 self, followed immediately. 
 
 "I desire," he said, "certain changes made in 
 the women s portion of the palace. A couple of 
 cedar pillars in the court appear to me to need 
 repair. One hath tottered; and the carving 
 hath a ragged appearance. I may replace them 
 with stone, for they contradict our fashion of 
 architecture. You will oblige me by examining 
 the matter." 
 
 Lazarus obeyed in silence, testing the pillars 
 both by his eye and his hand, with the rapid ob 
 servation of skilled experience. 
 
 " This one," he said decidedly, " is positively 
 dangerous. It might yield at any moment. It 
 should be propped before another sun setteth 
 over the palace roof. The cedar wood was ill 
 selected and decayeth, and is no more to be 
 trusted than an idolater from Babylon. The 
 
COME FORTH. 49 
 
 other might be strengthened. It is better to 
 renew them both and recarve the lintels with 
 the pillars." 
 
 "Your price?" demanded the High priest, 
 without further comment. 
 
 " Three thousand denarii." 
 
 " It is too large a sum, sir builder." 
 
 " As you please," said Lazarus coldly. 
 
 " I cannot pay it." 
 
 " That is your affair." 
 
 " You will take two thousand ? " 
 
 " I will take my price." 
 
 " Reconsider, then, the importance of the un 
 dertaking, the reputation to be gained by this 
 contract." 
 
 " My reputation, such as it is, is made," re 
 plied Lazarus. "It does not depend upon 
 one contract. Jerusalem knoweth Lazarus the 
 builder." 
 
 "You will reduce your terms say twenty- 
 five hundred denarii " 
 
 " I have said," answered Lazarus, with dig 
 nity. 
 
 " We will consider our conference at an end, 
 then," replied the High priest haughtily. 
 
 " As you please," said Lazarus again. 
 
 He bowed respectfully. Annas made a cour 
 teous gesture of dismissal and farewell. Laza 
 rus left the palace in silence. 
 
50 COME FORTH. 
 
 Certain business of the synagogue took him 
 to the house of Malachi on the way home ; and 
 he had an errand to perform for Martha at the 
 home of Rachel, where blind Baruch delayed 
 him to ask further questions concerning the 
 Rabbi who healed. It was quite late in the 
 evening when Lazarus reached his own dwelling. 
 Martha bustled out to meet him with the an 
 nouncement that a servant of the High priest 
 awaited him. Lazarus without undue haste 
 summoned the man, who reported that his mas 
 ter desired the presence of the builder at an 
 early hour of the following day. Lazarus 
 obeyed this command, which did not surprise 
 him, and presented himself in the cool of the 
 morning at the palace. Annas did not person 
 ally appear. Lazarus was received by an officer 
 of the High priest, who requested that the work 
 upon the pillar might begin at once, and offi 
 cially accepted the terms of the builder. 
 
 " My master requires to know that you will 
 begin ; if there is a question of security to the 
 women of his household, he desires the greatest 
 possible haste." 
 
 " My men and material shall be upon the 
 spot at the third hour/ replied the master-me 
 chanic promptly. 
 
 " The High priest has felt concern in the mat 
 ter," observed the officer. "The apartments 
 
COME FORTH. 51 
 
 of his daughter are within that portion of the 
 palace." 
 
 Lazarus bowed with dignity; he made no 
 reply. 
 
 Lazarus had the conscience of the ideal me 
 chanic, and his word was his deed. At the 
 third hour, in fact, the work upon the palace 
 began. It proved to be a serious job, and Laz 
 arus undertook it seriously. Before the setting 
 of the sun, the dangerous pillars were replaced 
 by temporary substitutes, which insured the 
 safety of the portico: the finer mechanism of 
 repair could thus go on with more leisurely 
 thoroughness. Lazarus had enthusiasm in the 
 work, and with this bright tool it went forward 
 busily. He absorbed himself in his duty. For 
 several days he found nothing at the palace to 
 divert him from his absorption. Only the officers 
 and servants met him. Annas did not again 
 present himself to the builder. 
 
 One day, toward the cool of the day, it had 
 been exhaustingly hot, Lazarus, wearied with 
 excessive application to his task, seated himself 
 in the shade of the palace wall to rest and ob 
 serve at a little distance the labors of his men. 
 He leaned against the wall that the coolness of 
 the stone might penetrate his fevered flesh ; and 
 the better to revive himself removed his turban 
 for a moment, exposing to full view his fine 
 
52 COME FORTH. 
 
 head and the manly beauty of his appearance. 
 A slight stir behind him attracted his attention, 
 and he started, standing, turban in hand. He 
 saw a pleasant sight. 
 
 Between two carved pillars the figure of a 
 woman of a young woman stood hesitat 
 ing. She seemed uncertain whether she wished 
 to venture further, and equally certain that she 
 did not wish to retreat. She was a tall, re 
 splendent, royal girl, haughty of mien, yet so 
 womanly of contour and color that her coldness 
 sat upon her like a garment that might be 
 burned off, or blown from her. She gave in a 
 glance the impression of a woman whom the fire 
 or the whirlwind of feeling might toss into a 
 melting, yielding creature, yet who might never 
 melt, or never yield, or never feel. She was ex 
 ceedingly beautiful in a dazzling, luxurious way : 
 she had a select air like precious wood, rare 
 tapestry, or a carefully set gem. She wore a 
 robe of gold-colored tissue, inwrought with pur 
 ple silk, and bearing a deep silk fringe headed 
 by half-pearls. Pearls of value hung from her 
 arms and lay upon her neck. These moved 
 with her quick breath and with her light, sway 
 ing motions as she stood uncertain. 
 
 The lady and the builder looked each other 
 steadily in the eye ; for she had removed her 
 veil, and, if the truth must be told, she did not 
 
COME FORTH. 53 
 
 hurry to put it on again. She had a pretty 
 little air of defiance. She was accustomed to 
 please herself. She was too far above reach of 
 ordinary men to be misunderstood. What was 
 Lazarus that she should, at the threshold of her 
 own apartment, in the palace of her father, veil 
 herself as if it mattered from his me 
 chanic ? 
 
 Lazarus was the first to speak. Now he did 
 not say the expected thing at all. He said : 
 
 " Do you desire me to depart ? " 
 
 The girl gave him one fine, flashing look. If 
 one of the pillars had arisen and discoursed in 
 the Temple, she would have found it perhaps no 
 more unlooked-for. 
 
 " If you do," she returned, " the palace will 
 tumble down on me." 
 
 She laughed. Lazarus felt his soul leap 
 within his body at that light laugh. He knew 
 the soft torrent of music. He had heard it that 
 first day in the palace. 
 
 " By the faith of my fathers ! " he said unto 
 himself, " Judea containeth not another sound 
 like that." Moved by he knew not what im 
 pulse stronger than all the little aspects of life, 
 the young Jew looked at the girl as if his daring 
 eyes and her fearless face were the only facts in 
 the world. For perhaps the first time in his 
 life Lazarus spoke without reflection or previ- 
 
54 COME FORTH. 
 
 sion. For that moment he became a free soul : 
 he ceased to be a cautious Jew. 
 
 " Verily," he said, " I know not who thou art, 
 nor how I should address thee ; but this I know, 
 thou art music become woman ; and I have 
 pleasure in the sound thereof." 
 
 " And thou," returned the maiden, with a 
 vivid blush, "art a bold youth. Yet I think 
 thou meanest no ill. I fear thee not." 
 
 " Thou mightest as well fear thy father or 
 thy priest ! " cried Lazarus hotly. 
 
 " My father is my priest," replied the girl, 
 waving her hand lightly. " Thou beholdest the 
 daughter of Annas." 
 
 " And thou thy father s builder." 
 
 " Thou hast spoken with Zahara," pursued the 
 daughter of Annas. 
 
 "And thou with Lazarus," replied the con 
 tractor. 
 
 " I have seen no such manner of man, among 
 my father s retinue. Thou dost interest me," 
 observed Zahara serenely. " I have little to in 
 terest me," she added. " It is a dull thing to 
 be a woman." 
 
 " It is a divine thing ! " murmured Lazarus 
 impetuously. 
 
 "I did not understand you, sir," suggested 
 the maiden demurely. 
 
 " I shall come again ! " cried Lazarus under 
 
COME FORTH. 55 
 
 his breath. " To-morrow, another day, 
 many days. I shall see thee ! I shall see thee 
 again ! " 
 
 " Art thou then so sure ? " mocked Zahara. 
 She covered him with a glance which seemed to 
 set his still soul aflame, as a field of husks 
 flameth in accidental fire, drew her white and 
 golden veil suddenly like a bright cloud across 
 her face, and vanished from his sight. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 LAZARUS walked home like a man blinded 
 by light. His head swam giddily. The blood 
 leaped in his veins. The stately form of the 
 Temple shook before him as he passed. The fa 
 miliar outline of Mount Olivet quivered against 
 his eyeballs. The figures of people in the road 
 wavered and enlarged and dwindled like phan 
 tasmagoria seen in mist. He felt as if he moved 
 above them, on a strange high level, and saw 
 the world over their heads. He seemed to him 
 self like a spirit escaped from the body and set 
 free to wander at will. He fled, he floated, he 
 drifted across the currents of common life. He 
 knew not whither he would go, nor wherefore ; 
 he only knew that he fluttered upon a sea of de 
 light and despair. He only knew that he was 
 alive as a bird is, or a wind, or a strong tree, or 
 some bright, brute thing that has neither con 
 science, nor intellect, nor foresight ; only the 
 sense of living and the joy of it. The only fact 
 he had ever dreamed of that could separate soul 
 and body in like manner and give a man his 
 utter freedom was the fact of death. Now here 
 
COME FORTH. 57 
 
 was another, unknown to his grave speculation, 
 a thing till then as unf athomed by the calm and 
 thoughtful Jew as the basin of the sea ; here 
 was the fact of love. 
 
 To Lazarus, the busy mechanic, the sober 
 householder, the steadiest of citizens, the most 
 religious of devotees, the purest of men, the 
 serenest of spirits, unto Lazarus had occurred 
 the experience which shuts itself as an unsealed 
 book from most human souls. Lazarus had 
 been overtaken by that rare and mighty angel, 
 Instantaneous Love. 
 
 Now, this godly young Jew knew no more 
 what to do with this state of things than if he 
 had been cast bound and blindfold into the 
 Lake of Gennesaret in a midnight tempest, and 
 deserted there. At first he was only conscious 
 of the fact of sinking and of the necessity of the 
 fact. Then he became aware of the struggle 
 and struck out. 
 
 " It is a dream," he muttered. " I forget it. 
 I awake. It passeth. I do dream." 
 
 He drew his firm hand over his eyes con 
 fusedly : it was as if he would brush her image 
 away. Nay, then ! She was no such film. 
 Flesh and blood will not melt at a sign of dis 
 missal. Shall a man wave a woman out of 
 being by a gesture? She standeth tall and 
 haughty, queenly, a form of power and a face 
 
58 COME FORTH. 
 
 of flashing light. She defieth his signal. She 
 will not be dismissed. See! how she holdeth 
 her ground, mockingly, merrily, no appari 
 tion she. This is no dream, godly Lazarus. 
 Warm as the bounding blood in the veins of a 
 soft, strong woman, the vision claspeth thee. 
 
 Lazarus, as he walked, staggered under the 
 pressure of it. It seemed to him as if that 
 sweet, proud creature melted into his very being, 
 and as if the drawing of his breath hung upon 
 her curved lips. 
 
 " Zahara ! " he murmured, " Zahara ! " 
 
 When he spoke her name aloud it seemed to 
 him as if he began to possess her. He threw 
 back his head and trod proudly. He walked in 
 a sweet delirium. 
 
 One of his workmen followed him, and asked 
 him some pressing question about the work at 
 the palace. 
 
 " What sayest thou ? " asked Lazarus con 
 fusedly. The man repeated his inquiry. His 
 master replied with a few irrelevant, hurrying 
 words, and hastened 011 ; he felt a desperate 
 need of being alone. 
 
 He got home and into his own apartments as 
 quickly as he might. Martha buzzed about 
 some disturbing trifle, but he said : 
 
 " I pray thee, my sister, leave the matter 
 alone. I am weary, and would be at peace." 
 
COME FORTH. 59 
 
 " It is important," persisted Martha. " I must 
 talk to somebody." 
 
 " Converse with Maryj then," said her brother 
 wearily. 
 
 "One might as well talk to the evening star," 
 cried Martha. 
 
 " I will listen, then," said Lazarus, a little 
 smitten at the conscience ; for he was a good 
 brother, and not a man to disregard a woman s 
 chatter. 
 
 " Nay, then ! " answered Martha resentfully, 
 " I have naught to say to you." 
 
 La,zarus passed on into his chamber, and shut 
 the doors. He looked about the familiar place 
 perplexedly. He felt that a new person crossed 
 the threshold ; the man Lazarus, whom he knew, 
 had passed it for the last time. He did not rec 
 ognize himself. He was not used to dreams, 
 and to strange views of common facts. He had 
 lived a plain, busy, pious life. Nothing like 
 this had ever come within his knowledge. His 
 quiet nature was now a, tempest. All his stan 
 dards and codes were capsized like little shallops 
 in a sudden sea. In a moment, in the twinkling 
 of a soft eye, a woman had entered his calm 
 world, and all the kingdoms of his nature, and 
 the glory of them, were beneath her feet. He 
 wished that he could have laid his reverent lips 
 to them, those veiled feet. This eminently 
 
60 COME FORTH. 
 
 discreet young man did indeed cherish that des 
 perate and daring desire. How gently her gar 
 ments flowed about them ! as a modest maid 
 en s should, concealing them in long, soft 
 folds, as if she trod upon morning clouds. Her 
 drapery, veil beneath veil, inclosed her jealously. 
 It was a kind of haughtiness in her, it was a 
 kind of higher modesty, not to draw the veil 
 across her face at first glance of him, her 
 father s workman. Lazarus recalled this with 
 half a delight and half a stinging shame. His 
 first thought was : 
 
 " She is not as other women. She doeth her 
 own will. She is a princess." 
 
 His second : 
 
 " She is the daughter of Annas. And I am 
 Lazarus, builder to the High priest, her father." 
 
 What was he, verily, in her sight, that he 
 should dare lift up so much as his thoughts unto 
 Zahara? 
 
 It was dark in his sumptuous rooms. The 
 prosperous man paced them like a beggar. In 
 an hour he felt pauperized. He had always 
 been so sure of his standing in the world ; his 
 possessions and his skill had meant credit and 
 content ; he had been honored ; he had felt that 
 his preference would be regarded by the women 
 whom he knew; it had never occurred to the 
 rich builder and prominent ecclesiastic that a 
 
COME FORTH. 61 
 
 woman could become to him an unattainable fact 
 in life. His large, mild eyes flashed in the dark 
 rooms. 
 
 " I am defied ! " he said aloud. " I am de 
 nied ! " What would Annas, the High priest ; 
 Annas, member of the Sanhedrim ; Annas, the 
 Sadducee, with Lazarus, his builder, the Phar 
 isee, if he so much as took the proud name of 
 Zahara upon his lips? Truly, as a slave is 
 hurled from his master s presence, so would the 
 father of Zahara deal with the man whose ver 
 iest shadow should fall across barriers dearer to 
 Jewish convention than life itself. Annas was 
 the aristocrat of society and of theology ; Laz 
 arus, the bourgeois and dissenter. Nay, the 
 very wealth, position, influence, of the builder 
 were likely to be sources of offense to the patri 
 cian. Better were it for Lazarus if he came 
 like a beggar, with " no help but God " (as his 
 name did read), and sat upon the palace stairs ; 
 the High priest would have regarded him as a 
 properly classified person, who knew his place 
 and kept it, flung him a handful of coin, and 
 observed him no more than the ass that brought 
 the packs of provender at the bidding of the 
 slaves. Who knew ? A man might snatch the 
 girl at such a vantage, and away with her. 
 
 Lazarus checked his feverish walk, threw 
 himself upon a rug, and in the prostrate position 
 
62 COME FORTH. 
 
 dear to Oriental emotion, hid his face and bat 
 tled with himself. Lazarus was confounded at 
 his own condition. Within himself he found a 
 foreign enemy ; he felt himself unlearned in the 
 tactics of a strange war. He was not ready to 
 yield, but he knew not how to fight. He did 
 not even give the name of love to his swift and 
 overwhelming passion. He called it Zahara, 
 and studied it no more. 
 
 " I shall see her to-morrow," he thought : 
 then he remembered that he might never see her 
 on any morrow. 
 
 " But I shall ! " he cried. " But I will ! " 
 
 Then he bethought him that " shall " and 
 " will " were helpless slaves in the hopeless situ 
 ation. He was accustomed to doing as he- chose. 
 He had not been thwarted before. He had had 
 his way. He now began to understand that he 
 had never really wished for anything until this 
 hour. This new suffering, like a wild creature 
 unchained, sprang upon him; he felt himself 
 like a person wrestling with claws and teeth. 
 
 At intervals he repeated her name aloud : - 
 
 " Zahara ! Zahara ! " 
 
 The very sound of it seemed to him to scin 
 tillate. What a gorgeous name ! 
 
 "Zahara The Bright One. Zahara Daz 
 zling Whiteness. I worship thee, here in my 
 dark room, Zahara," whispered Lazarus. 
 
COME FORTH. 63 
 
 As he lay there, prostrate, with his face upon 
 his arms, a light and timid sound aroused him. 
 It was the voice of Mary, his sister, in the court 
 beyond his doors. 
 
 " Art thou ill, my brother? " 
 
 " Nay, then, my sister, I am well." 
 
 "Comest thou not forth that I may speak 
 with thee ? " 
 
 "Is it a matter of import ? " demanded Laz 
 arus. 
 
 " It can wait," said Mary gently. " I would 
 not intrude upon thee." 
 
 " Thou hast not the soul of the intruder," re 
 plied Lazarus, with the hearty voice of one com 
 ing cordially from the reveries of passion to the 
 realities of home. Mary could do as she would 
 with Lazarus. He aroused himself, and came 
 out into the court. Mary was alone. It was 
 late, cool evening; the brother and sister sat 
 down upon the nearest rug, arid settled them 
 selves comfortably. Mary looked at Lazarus, 
 but not keenly; her eyes were gentle and sweet. 
 He met their gaze with a strange sense of irre 
 sponsible guilt. He thought, " Mary would 
 not understand. Mary could not understand." 
 
 " I have somewhat to say unto thee," began 
 Mary timidly. " Martha would have spoken of 
 the matter, but thou repelledst her." 
 
 " Martha annoyed me," said Lazarus shortly. 
 " Thou never doest that." 
 
64 COME FORTH. 
 
 "He hath been here," said Mary, with un 
 wonted abruptness. 
 
 " He ? Here ? Thou meanest " 
 
 "Whom could I mean? We know but One," 
 replied Mary gravely. " The Master hath vis 
 ited us." 
 
 " In my absence ? " 
 
 " In thine absence. He remained with us 
 until the twelfth hour ; we pressed him to tarry 
 further, but he would not, though Martha made 
 ready the upper chamber and said many words 
 to him. But he departed. He remained not." 
 
 Lazarus was silent a moment. 
 
 "If thou hadst been here," observed Mary, 
 " I think he would have tarried." 
 
 " I am sorry," avowed Lazarus. 
 
 " Why, of course ! " cried Mary, with more 
 than usual spirit. It seemed to her as if there 
 were a singular lack of animation in her bro 
 ther s tone and manner. Did he exhibit the 
 scorching grief she expected ? Or only a tender 
 regret ? 
 
 " Lazarus," she said, with something like re 
 proach. " Nearer and dearer to him than thy 
 self he hath but one other friend among all 
 that name the name of his disciples, and that 
 thou knowest." 
 
 " Thou speakest of John the fisherman, and 
 thou speakest truly, Mary. The Master loveth 
 him." 
 
COME FORTH. 65 
 
 " And thee ! And thee, likewise, Lazarus ! 
 His own lips have said it. His own deed hath 
 proved it. It seems to me that thou speakest 
 coldly of him." 
 
 " God forbid ! " cried Lazarus, starting. " I 
 have not wavered. If any may be loyal to him 
 and to his cause, I am the man. My heart can 
 never chill toward him." 
 
 But as he spoke the words, a feeling almost 
 of terror came over Lazarus. With the sudden 
 warming of this strong and splendid flame which 
 that day within his nature had shot fire, would 
 other feeling, must other feeling, cool by hot 
 compassion ? Was it possible that he, Lazarus, 
 beloved of One on whom the hopes of the Race 
 were hanging, tenderly selected by that sweet 
 and supreme nature to the affectionate attitude 
 of intimate friend, was it possible that Laza 
 rus could forget the Messiah of his people, the 
 Jesus of his personal loyalty, for the glance of a 
 girl s eye, but yesterday unknown ? 
 
 " It grieveth me," said Lazarus penitently, 
 "it grieveth me that I saw him not. How 
 seemed he ? What said he ? " 
 
 " Worn," answered Mary sadly, " worn 
 and pale ; his countenance hath a transparent 
 look, and his step betokens a great weariness. 
 Verily, Lazarus, the sight went to my heart." 
 
 " What said he ? " pursued Lazarus, with in 
 creasing sympathy. 
 
66 COME FORTH. 
 
 " His words were few," replied Mary, in a 
 tone of awe. " His words were few, and pre 
 cious." 
 
 " Canst thou not recall them for me, my 
 sister?" 
 
 " Nay, my brother ; it is as if I tried to recall 
 the rustling of the wings of cherubim above the 
 altar. I have a sense of sacred sound that bore 
 my soul above my body ; of words I fear I can 
 tell thee but too few. It ever seemeth to me an 
 unbecoming thing to take his words upon one s 
 lips unwarily." 
 
 " Of what did he discourse, then ? if thou 
 venturest not to quote his language, for which, 
 indeed, I do commend thee, Mary ; and better 
 were it for him if every one of our number had 
 so wise a conscience. We have tongues too 
 many and too easy in our flock. I have myself 
 admired his own habit in this regard. He 
 speaketh with more dumbness, and is silent 
 with more voice, than any man it hath been my 
 lot to meet in this world. It grieves me more 
 and more that I did miss him. Verily, he is 
 dear to me," urged Lazarus, with rising feeling. 
 " Tell me of what he did discourse." 
 
 " Of the Roman threat and the Jewish hatred," 
 said Mary mournfully ; " of the barriers set 
 before the Father s Truth at every side, but 
 it was of the Truth that he did speak, and of the 
 
COME FORTH. 67 
 
 Father. He said few words concerning himself ; 
 he careth not for himself, Lazarus ! He valueth 
 not his own safety, nor his sleep, nor food, nor 
 rest, nor health, nor hope of any human comfort. 
 He careth ori]y for his Father, and for miserable 
 people ! " 
 
 " He is of the Father," said Lazarus solemnly. 
 " He is not as we. This world and the ways 
 thereof do not tear him as with us ; he is like 
 one who treadeth unharmed a cage of wild 
 beasts. I am not worthy to unloose the latchet 
 of his sandals, O my sister ! " 
 
 Lazarus bowed himself unto the ground, and 
 drew his breath with the resurgent motion of a 
 man who would weep were he not a man. Mary 
 looked on with awe and perplexity. She knew 
 not how to comfort a distress which she knew 
 not how to try to understand. Sweet, serene, 
 distant, untouched by passion, she came no 
 nearer to Lazarus at that moment than a pure, 
 cold star. 
 
 " I must see him," said Lazarus, abruptly con 
 trolling himself. " I have need of him. I must 
 suffer no longer time to elapse. It is the days 
 of many weeks since I have looked upon his 
 face. It dimmeth before my heart ; yet, as the 
 Lord heareth me, my heart doth cling to him ! 
 I must make it my business, if it be not my 
 chance, I must see the Nazarene." 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE morning rose like a princess. The sun 
 was resplendent. The trumpet - call to early 
 prayer rang through the bright air with a long, 
 quivering cry. Lazarus, at the summons, stood 
 at his window, at the window looking towards 
 Jerusalem, as the custom demanded, and 
 bowed his face in silent petition. His soul was 
 lifted ; his nerve was calmed ; the fever of last 
 night, where was it ? Laid by the cool, pure 
 morning breath ? Or healed by the diviner art 
 that comes of holy thought? Lazarus felt like 
 a convalescent ; he wondered at yesterday s at 
 tack of feeling ; he thought of the daughter of 
 Annas with a curious sense of humiliation ; she 
 seemed to elude him as a dream when one 
 awaketh ; he reproached himself that his emo 
 tion had pursued her. As he stood at prayer 
 he had the heart of a penitent. 
 
 At the morning meal his sister served him 
 
 o 
 
 more silently than usual : perhaps this was the 
 reflection of his own mood ; or perhaps the sooth 
 ing influence of the guest of yesterday lingered 
 yet upon the household. Even Martha was 
 
COME FORTH. 69 
 
 subdued, Her face wore its best look. And 
 Lazarus had said : 
 
 " Forgive me, Martha," when he came forth 
 in the morning. 
 
 Now Martha was so used to being the one to 
 be forgiven that the reversal of position gave 
 her satisfaction. It put her in excellent humor 
 when another member of the family fretted, and 
 had to acknowledge it. 
 
 Lazarus parted from his sisters pleasantly, 
 and went to his work with a quiet, thoughtful 
 mien. 
 
 " I shall arrange it soon," he had said to 
 Mary. " I shall make it my duty to search for 
 him in Jerusalem until I find him." 
 
 Lazarus fully intended to do so. He made 
 his way to the palace with a brisk step. 
 
 At the palace the workmen were already astir. 
 Fine carving upon the renewed cedar pillars was 
 the order of the day ; it required the closest su 
 pervision ; Lazarus surrendered himself to the 
 work. He had an artist s nature, rudely culti 
 vated as it was, and crudely expressed in such 
 limited ways as his avocation permitted. He 
 directed with conscience and enthusiasm the 
 carving of a pattern of vines and pomegranates, 
 from which all outline of the human or ani 
 mal figure was religiously excluded ; a bas-relief 
 of little pillars supporting a miniature portico 
 
70 COME FORTH. 
 
 peered between the vines. Lazarus became 
 closely interested in the execution of this de 
 sign. His day s work set in prosperously. The 
 entrances to the women s portion of the palace 
 were carefully curtained. No one but officers 
 of the household appeared. 
 
 " Annas the High priest is gratified with the 
 handiwork of Lazarus the builder," said one of 
 these men, with a pompous graciousness. Laz 
 arus bowed. 
 
 " This is as it should be," he replied, with a 
 slight hauteur. He returned to his task with 
 
 O 
 
 renewed absorption. Not well pleased, as the 
 day wore on, with the execution of certain de 
 tails, the master-builder rebuked his artists with 
 some emphasis. One of them, restless under 
 the criticism, threw down his burin, and irrita 
 bly said : 
 
 " If I cannot please thee, I will try no longer. 
 Finish the work thyself, Lazarus." 
 
 " Nay, then, I will ! " cried Lazarus, and 
 forthwith did proceed to make good his word. 
 
 Now, as he worked in this impulsive manner, 
 carving after the imagination of his own heart 
 upon the cedar pillar, and scarcely knowing 
 what manner of thought his hand executed, 
 Lazarus let his soul free : it took wings, and 
 fled from him, and bore him whithersoever he 
 would not. It was high, hot noon. His artists 
 
COME FORTH. 71 
 
 and workmen had betaken themselves without 
 the palace, for resting-space and a meal. The 
 palace was quiet. Lazarus, adream before the 
 pillar, stood alone, carving assiduously. Sud 
 denly his hand fell like the hand of palsy at his 
 side. Through the stillness of [the warm, soft 
 air, a low laugh rang like a muffled bell. The 
 tool dropped from the hand of Lazarus. The 
 blood rushed to his face. 
 
 " Zahara ! " he murmured. 
 
 She stood indeed behind him, a blazing, 
 scowling beauty ; her eyes mocked him ; her full 
 lips pouted ; with one hand she pointed to the 
 carving on the pillar. 
 
 " Verily, for a devout Jew, thou hast done a 
 fine deed, sir builder." 
 
 Done? What had he done? Behind the 
 carven vines, behind the trellised portico, be 
 hind the miniature pillars of the designs, the 
 cedar wood gave the faint outline of a figure, a 
 girl s figure, hiding modestly, with flowing robes 
 between the leaves. 
 
 " The Sanhedrim would be ill pleased," teased 
 Zahara. " What an ecclesiastical crime thou 
 hast committed ! " 
 
 "Is it a crime in thine eyes?" demanded the 
 builder hotly. His own regarded her manfully. 
 His urgent tenderness looked out of them. A 
 wave of daring love rolled over him. He would 
 
72 COME FORTH. 
 
 be as he was ! He felt a sudden, sacred right to 
 the impetuosity of his own nature. 
 
 Zahara returned his ardent gaze with a 
 queenly look ; then for she could not help it 
 her own eyes drooped before his, less like a 
 queen than like a woman, and more like a sensi 
 tive girl than either. 
 
 " Nay, then," she said softly, " I wrote not the 
 Law, but Moses. Thou hast broken no stone 
 table of mine." 
 
 "I could not help it," said Lazarus impul 
 sively. " I cannot forget thee. Thou art in 
 the thought of my heart and the dream of my 
 mind, and thou controllest the deed of my hand, 
 as the wind controlleth a boat upon the sea." 
 
 "My father," observed Zahara demurely, 
 "might not find the carving agreeable." She 
 had veiled herself as she spoke, and stood shel 
 tered, a lovely, swaying figure, half retreating as 
 she spoke. 
 
 "Thou warnest me wisely," said Lazarus. 
 " Annas the High priest shall not be disturbed 
 by the weakness of a moment in Lazarus the 
 builder. The carving shall be righted accord 
 ing to the letter of the Law. Fear not, Zahara. 
 I have done no error past a remedy." 
 
 As he spoke, he smote the figure with a pas 
 sionate gesture. The cedar wood gave out a 
 rich perfume like the protest of a creature 
 wounded. 
 
COME FORTH. 73 
 
 " Ah me ! " cried Zahara, wincing prettily. 
 " Thou hast hurt the poor girl ! " 
 
 The face of Lazarus became very pale. Za 
 hara could not know the emotion she aroused 
 by her little feminine play. If she had known, 
 would she have spared him ? Lazarus thought 
 not. His manhood roused itself to sudden self- 
 defense. His eyes gave Zahara one blinding 
 look. But his lips remained obstinately mute. 
 With quick, strong, experienced strokes, he 
 struck the graven image from the pillar, and 
 covered with thick foliage the spot where the 
 outline of the hiding girl had stood. As he 
 worked, he did not even look around to see if 
 Zahara were still there. He believed she would 
 stay. And stay she did. 
 
 "Behold," he said at last, turning, "she is 
 gone. She is blotted from existence. The law 
 condemneth me not if I kill what I have created. 
 Does that please thee, Zahara ? " 
 
 " It concerneth me not," said Zahara, in a low 
 voice. 
 
 "Thou needest not to remind me of that," 
 urged Lazarus. " Too well I know the truth. 
 Too sad a truth it is." 
 
 " But," suggested Zahara timidly, " if I were 
 that girl, that carved girl, I do not think it 
 would please me to be killed and forgotten so 
 SOOTI, sir builder." 
 
74 COME FORTH. 
 
 " Zahara ! " cried Lazarus, in a voice of 
 rapture. 
 
 "Zahara? Zahara?" called one of her women 
 from within. 
 
 Zahara made a quick movement with both of 
 her fine hands : it was a gesture of entreaty ; it 
 was a gesture of dismissal ; it was a willful, ten 
 der, capricious untranslatable action. Lazarus 
 stood gazing steadfastly after her. But Zahara 
 had gone. 
 
 That evening, before the workmen departed, 
 the stiff rustling of the priestly robe announced 
 to the builder, for the first time since he had 
 begun his work, the presence of Annas. The 
 artists and carpenters bowed with reverence be 
 fore the High priest. Lazarus saluted him re 
 spectfully. 
 
 " I come to observe your repairs," remarked 
 Annas. " They have given me satisfaction hith 
 erto. It is a workmanlike undertaking, honestly 
 executed and well conceived." 
 
 Lazarus silently bowed. 
 
 "You will not find it too long a task, I 
 infer?" inquired the High priest politely. 
 
 " Not beyond a week further," quickly re 
 plied Lazarus. As he spoke the words he felt a 
 sick sinking at the heart, never known before to 
 the sensation of his peaceful and uneventful life. 
 A week ? Only a week ? Then was Zahara no 
 
COME FORTH. 75 
 
 more liable to cross the orbit of his life than 
 Annas the High priest to invite him to supper. 
 
 " Of course I wish the work thoroughly fin 
 ished," continued Annas with a keen look, "even 
 at the cost of a few extra denarii, if need were. 
 It is too good a matter not to be a perfect one." 
 
 " I need no more time," replied Lazarus 
 slowly. A struggle set in upon his nature. 
 How easy to prolong the period of service at 
 the palace, the period of delight and denial 
 within the blessed possibility of her presence 
 who was becoming to him, he felt at that mo 
 ment, incredibly, unbearably dear ! The longing 
 of the lover battled with the conscience of the 
 artisan. Lazarus felt that he never knew be 
 fore the meaning of a sense of honor. 
 
 "No," he repeated firmly. "No, the work 
 can be done within the period agreed. Why 
 should I intrude upon your courtesy ? " 
 
 " You are an honorable person," observed the 
 High priest graciously. 
 
 " I have enjoyed the work," conceded Laza 
 rus. " It would have been agreeable to me had 
 the palace required my service further. It does 
 not." 
 
 " At some future day it may do so," continued 
 Annas urbanely. Lazarus felt his lip tremble 
 and his color change. He bent over a tool and 
 tried its edge upon his finger. 
 
76 COME FORTH. 
 
 " Your politeness is beyond my deserts," he 
 replied, with Oriental suavity. A t that moment 
 he felt an emotion perfectly new to him : a sense 
 of kindliness to the old man replaced his in 
 stinctive antagonism ; the father of Zahara be 
 came interesting to him. 
 
 "You have wounded your finger upon the 
 tool," observed Annas. 
 
 " It is nothing," said Lazarus, binding the 
 cut with embarrassment. 
 
 " What, I pray, is your design at this point? " 
 inquired Annas, critically observing the carving 
 of the pillar. He placed his priestly finger upon 
 the spot where the little " graven image " of 
 Zahara had been changed (like a heathen 
 dryad) into a waving tree. 
 
 "The foliage appears to me thick in this 
 spot," continued Annas. " Is it a Greek im 
 agination?" 
 
 " It is my own design," said Lazarus, with 
 heightened color. Annas gave the builder a 
 searching look, who could have said why ? 
 Certainly for no suspicion of the truth that 
 could by possibility have been apparent to the 
 High priest. Both men felt uncomfortable. 
 
 " You are a Pharisee, I understand," said 
 Annas, abruptly changing the subject. 
 
 " Such is my ecclesiastical position," returned 
 Lazarus, with dignity. 
 
COME FORTH. 77 
 
 " Know you aught of these popular disturb 
 ances, these religious riots, of the people ? You 
 seem to be a man of intelligence, in some re 
 spects above your situation in life. Have you 
 familiarity with these pretenders, these false 
 prophets and idols of the populace, who lead 
 them astray, like sheep shepherded by wolves ? " 
 
 "I know none such," answered Lazarus 
 proudly. 
 
 " There is one, he calleth himself the 
 Prophesied ; he nameth the sacred name of the 
 Messiah ; he teacheth as a Rabbi, and assumeth 
 to perform the miraculous, bewitching the peo 
 ple vainly. Know you this man ? " 
 
 " I know none such," repeated Lazarus firmly. 
 
 " I refer," said the High priest, " to the Naz- 
 arene. Know you the man ? " 
 
 "Intimately," said Lazarus, without a mo 
 ment s hesitation. " I both know and do re 
 vere him." 
 
 " Surely," said the High priest with severity, 
 " you put no trust in his preposterous claim ? " 
 
 At this moment a light flashed before the 
 face of Lazarus, and a faint perfume of attar of 
 roses filled the hot air. Zahara, robed in silver- 
 wrought white, veiled in pale purple gauze, 
 floated up to her father and laid her small hand 
 upon his arm. 
 
 " Go thou within, my child," said the priest, 
 
78 COME FORTH. 
 
 with a caressing frown. "I do discourse with 
 the builder." 
 
 " Let me stay," pleaded Zahara. " I will not 
 interrupt thee. I but pass across the court to 
 give an order to iny women. Let me stay a 
 moment, father." 
 
 Her brilliant eyes, moving above her veil like 
 suns above a cloud, turned slowly toward the 
 builder. In them not a scintilla of recognition 
 burned. Zahara leaned nonchalantly against 
 her father s arm. She was the portrait of in 
 difference. Lazarus returned her glance with 
 deferent distance. His heart leaped within him 
 that she gave herself this little play before her 
 father : she cherished a pretty secret between 
 them, she, Zahara ! He set his teeth with 
 the struggle of concealment, and covered his 
 ardent eyes with a soft film of remoteness. He 
 drew himself together manfully, and took up 
 the conversation where Zahara had snapped it. 
 
 " Concerning the Nazarene " he began. 
 
 " Oh," interrupted Zahara disdainfully, " the 
 Nazarene ! " 
 
 Lazarus ceased abruptly. His sensitive color 
 left him. 
 
 " Continue," ordered the High priest. " Are 
 you, then, one of his rabble, one of his peo 
 ple?" 
 
 Zahara regarded Lazarus now quite steadily ; 
 
COME FORTH. 79 
 
 her beautiful eyes expressed astonishment and 
 displeasure. Lazarus hesitated for a perceptible 
 instant. Then he answered distinctly : " I see 
 no reason why I should deny that I number 
 myself among those who do follow the doctrine 
 of Jesus the Nazarene." 
 
 A well-bred silence filled the court of the pal 
 ace at this announcement. 
 
 "Young man," said the High priest coldly, 
 " I would fain caution you against this person. 
 He is a dangerous fellow." 
 
 Zahara said nothing. She swept upon Laza 
 rus one eloquent look : it seemed to him to ex 
 press command, reproach, regret, and something 
 else besides, was it entreaty ? On the motion 
 of this look she stirred, turned, and floated 
 across the court. One of her women, a pet 
 slave, a young girl, came to her and put an arm 
 about her with pretty, feminine familiarity. 
 
 " Ah, then, Rebecca ! " cried Zahara. Laza 
 rus could have hurled Rebecca over the palace 
 wall. 
 
 " Continue your work," commanded Annas, 
 with a sudden change of expression. " I inter 
 rupt you no longer." 
 
 The two men exchanged cold salutations. 
 The High priest walked away in his stateliest 
 attitude. The builder bowed his head over the 
 pillar where the little graven image had been 
 carved out of existence. 
 
80 COME FORTH. 
 
 The next day one of the officers of the palace 
 remained on duty within the portico. The man 
 yawned and fidgeted ; he had plainly nothing to 
 do. The High priest did not reappear. Zahara s 
 curtains were closely drawn. Once Lazarus 
 heard, or fancied that he heard, her laugh and 
 call:- 
 
 "Kebecca!" 
 
 But he had only his fancy for his content. 
 
 " It is a dull day," said the officer, sullenly. 
 " What have you done, sir builder, that I should 
 be stationed in this stupid post all day ? " Laza 
 rus lifted his head and stared at the fellow. 
 
 "Verily," said the officer, "I believe you 
 know not any more than I do. It must be some 
 whim of the High priest. He aboundeth in 
 them. I shall make known to him that you are 
 quite innocent of it at all events." 
 
 " Innocent of what ? " cried Lazarus. 
 
 The officer gave a short, sharp laugh. Per 
 haps unconsciously, perhaps intentionally, his 
 conspicuous head-dress inclined by an almost 
 imperceptible motion toward the women s por 
 tion of the palace. 
 
 Lazarus worked on in silence. His heart was 
 sore within him. He felt humiliated to no end, 
 and angered for no cause, and disturbed without 
 hope of restoration. 
 
 " I am become a miserable man," thought 
 
COME FORTH. 81 
 
 Lazarus. " Would to God that I had never 
 struck a nail into the palace of the High priest ! 
 Would to God that I had never seen " 
 
 But he could not, or he did not, finish the sen 
 tence. Better to have seen her, oh, better to 
 have seen Zahara by a hundred-fold of what she 
 cost him ! Lazarus could not imagine himself 
 now without having seen Zahara. 
 
 " We have but six days work upon the pal 
 ace left," said one of the artists, with a sigh of 
 relief. 
 
 " Six days ? " cried Lazarus. " Yes, you are 
 right ; it is but six days." 
 
 " It might even be completed in five," sug 
 gested an industrious workman, " if these fellows 
 were not so insufferably lazy." 
 
 " Possibly," replied Lazarus, standing back to 
 survey the repairs, " you are correct. It might 
 it may be done in five." 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 MALACHI the Pharisee came home in a rage, 
 Something had gone wrong in Jerusalem, and 
 sorely displeased a man not accustomed to con 
 ceal his displeasure. Hagaar, his wife, and 
 Ariella, his daughter, perceived at first glance 
 that the domestic prospect was stormy, and 
 made ready to weather it, each in her own way. 
 Hagaar armed her tongue, but Ariella shrank 
 upon her bed and held her peace. 
 
 Malachi s anger was of the most vicious kind, 
 the ecclesiastical. He had come straight from 
 a service at the Carpenter s Synagogue, where 
 a tumultuous scene had taken place. Malachi 
 related the circumstances to his family with 
 boiling anger. The women could not remember 
 .when they had seen the head of their house in 
 such a fury. 
 
 "I have been insulted ! " cried Malachi, " I 
 and my house, and the sect which we do honor 
 by our adherence. We have been insulted past 
 forgiveness, and I, for my part, will never for 
 give the man ! Let him look to it ! " 
 
 " It is shocking," said Hagaar. " But I could 
 be angrier if I knew for what cause." 
 
COME FORTH. 83 
 
 " A woman knows enough," retorted Malachi, 
 " when she is told that her husband has received 
 an affront. It is not at all necessary that she 
 should comprehend the matter, to be angered in 
 his behalf, as becometh a wife." 
 
 " But I could be so much more angry," per 
 sisted Hagaar, " if I understood why." 
 
 Thus entreated, Malachi sat down very hard 
 upon the nearest rug, crossed his big feet be 
 neath him, and resentfully narrated in his own 
 way the following story, which we may translate 
 in ours. 
 
 It seemed that he had been upon his way to 
 the synagogue to hear the new Rabbi discourse, 
 when the call struck to evening prayer. Mal 
 achi, being a religious braggart, and fond of 
 advertising his pious superiority to more modest 
 or more reverent men, stopped short where he 
 was, and pompously began to pray aloud in the 
 street. Now, he stood upon one of Jerusalem s 
 highways, known as the Street of the Gold 
 smiths, a busy, bustling place, where his devo 
 tions were sure to be seen of all men. Malachi, 
 a coarse, self-important figure, blustering under 
 his broad phylactery, lifted up his swarthy hands 
 to heaven, and besought the divine aid as a man 
 might hail a water-carrier, or summon a litter 
 upon the highway. As he stood in this prepos 
 terous position, praying aloud sonorously, and 
 
84 COME FORTH. 
 
 eyed by the crowding people with distrust or 
 disfavor, a piercing glance fell upon him. Mal- 
 achi felt as he would beneath a burning-glass. 
 His soul shrank under the look, but he would 
 not look up to see whence it came, only prayed 
 on the more defiantly. 
 
 At this moment an elderly woman of his ac 
 quaintance humbly attracted his attention. The 
 poor creature was feeble, and looked half starved. 
 She pushed her way among the people, and knelt 
 before the big Pharisee, touching the hem of his 
 robe with her aged hand. 
 
 "The rent!" she wailed, "the rent! I beg 
 for mercy from the payment of my rent. Thy 
 collector has referred me to thyself. I have 
 naught wherewith to pay, and I crave grace for 
 the rent till I may find the means of labor 
 whereby to earn the sum. No man desires the 
 service of so old a woman. I have no money, 
 and my husband and my son are dead before 
 me. I pray for mercy from thee, as thou prayest 
 mercy from Jehovah. Remit my rent ! Remit 
 my rent in the holy name of prayer ! 
 
 " Woman ! " said Malachi coldly, " see you not 
 that you interrupt my devotions? Settle the 
 matter with my collector. Depart, and leave 
 me with my God." 
 
 The crowd raised a jeering laugh ; the old 
 woman bowed herself together, and shrank 
 
COME FORTH. 85 
 
 away. Malachi closed his eyes and prayed on 
 vociferously. 
 
 When he opened them, he perceived quite 
 near him the stately form of the Eabbi, climbing 
 the hill to the synagogue. The Nazarene did 
 not look at the Pharisee again; he walked on 
 silently ; but his very step seemed to express a 
 strong scorn ; his white mantle blew backward 
 in the wind, revealing the outline of his long 
 lirnbs, the muscular limbs of a daily walker ; 
 his face was invisible ; his hand fell closely shut 
 together at his side, clenched, we might say 
 of another man s hand ; that did not seem the 
 word to apply to his, whose every gesture indi 
 cated a self-restraint too great to be visible in 
 excessive expression. 
 
 Malachi was dull enough ; but he stopped 
 praying aloud ; he felt that he had said enough. 
 He watched the Nazarene uncomfortably, till the 
 silent figure had mounted the hill and disap 
 peared within the synagogue. Malachi lingered 
 a moment to recover his composure, and then en 
 tered, and passed pompously to his accustomed 
 and prominent seat. 
 
 " And then," cried Malachi to his women, 
 " and then what does the fellow do ? Of what 
 does the Rabbi discourse ? What follows ? An 
 attack upon us ! An attack upon the sect of 
 the Pharisees! A violent tirade! A scanda- 
 
86 COME FORTH. 
 
 lous, outrageous, unpardonable insult! Verily 
 the man did open his lips and curse us on the 
 spot!" 
 
 " Oh, not curse you, father! " pleaded Ariella. 
 " I cannot think this Rabbi is a man to curse. 
 His name has not such savor among those who 
 know him well." 
 
 " Judge for yourself, then, you prating fool ! " 
 cried Malachi. " These words he said : Woe 
 unto you ! Woe unto you, scribes and Phari 
 sees ! " 
 
 " People don t curse without a reason," said 
 Hagaar sharply. " The preacher must have 
 had one to offer for such language. Out with 
 it, Malachi ! Thou dost not verily tell the whole 
 story, that I perceive right well. What else 
 did the Eabbi say ? " 
 
 " Woe unto you! Woe unto you who do for 
 a pretence devour widows houses," exploded 
 Malachi furiously, " and who do make long 
 prayers in the streets to be seen of men " 
 
 " And that is not the worst of it ! " he cried, 
 smiting the knuckles of one coarse hand into the 
 palm of the other. " He did heap insult upon 
 insult in my presence. Without, ye are whited 
 sepulchres, said he, 4 but within are dead 
 metis bones. Within, ye are all uncleanliness? 
 . . . Thus said the Nazarene. A furor fol 
 lowed. The synagogue was in an uproar. I 
 
COME FORTH. 87 
 
 raised a cry of Catch him ! Stay the fellow ! 
 Hold him ! and many answered to my command, 
 and set upon him. He escaped us," added 
 Malachi savagely. " He fled from us." 
 
 "How could that be?" asked Ariella gently. 
 "You so many, and he but one? How could 
 he escape ye?" 
 
 " I know not," answered Malachi hotly. " It 
 is a matter beyond me. He melted from us like 
 flying fire. When we clutched him, he was 
 gone, when we hindered him, he vanished. 
 He ceased. He was not. It is a trick he has." 
 
 " It is clever in him, at all events," observed 
 Hagaar, none too soothingly. 
 
 " Silence, woman ! " cried her furious lord, 
 " and learn thou more wifely manners. From 
 this hour I and my household do abjure the 
 Nazarene. See to it, Hagaar! See to it, 
 Ariella ! Follow him not. Receive him not. 
 Put the width of his insult and my displeasure 
 between Jesus of Nazareth and the house of 
 Malachi the Pharisee, and bridge it not, from 
 this time forth, forever ! " 
 
 " Why, I am sure I have no objections," said 
 Hagaar. "/ care nothing for the Rabbi. And 
 I am sure it is a great deal of trouble for one to 
 get up early and go into Jerusalem to hear a 
 preacher who is n t there." 
 
 But Ariella said nothing., She sighed sadly. 
 
88 COME FORTH. 
 
 Only yesterday Baruch had sent her word by 
 Rachel, his mother, that he was about to go into 
 Jerusalem, attended by a neighbor s lad, to 
 plead with Jesus the Healer in behalf of his sick 
 neighbor. 
 
 It was not long after this, perhaps not a mat 
 ter of two days, that Ariella received through 
 her mother the announcement of the presence of 
 Baruch. 
 
 "He waits without," said Hagaar carelessly, 
 " and seems more anxious than usual to see you. 
 He may as well come into the court. It is 
 nobody but blind Baruch." Ariella assented 
 cordially. It was some time since she had seen 
 Baruch. They had exchanged no words to 
 gether undisturbed by others since that pleasant 
 morning on which the family had journeyed to 
 Jerusalem, to hear the Rabbi whose manly and 
 fearless attack upon the unworthy element of 
 his sect had but now so enraged Malachi. 
 
 Ushered by Hagaar, Baruch came into the 
 court, and seated himself upon the low ottoman 
 placed for visitors beside the couch of Ariella. 
 
 He and Ariella exchanged salutations quietly ; 
 but Ariella perceived at once that Baruch was 
 keenly excited upon some matter of which it did 
 not suit him to chatter, and which he was not 
 even willing to introduce hastily. The mother 
 of Ariella sat beside these two afflicted young 
 
COME FORTH. 89 
 
 people for a while, gossiping of neighborhood 
 trifles. Ariella observed with surprise that 
 Hagaar did not repeat to their visitor the inci 
 dent in the synagogue so vociferously related by 
 Malachi. The simplest of women grow shrewd 
 at the most unexpected crises. Hagaar may 
 have felt in the rising storm of public feeling 
 which was beginning to mutter through Judea, 
 and of which the Nazarene was the pathetic 
 object, a certain restraint or warning; if this 
 did not take in Hagaar s mind the character of 
 a religious or political claim, at least it pre 
 sented itself to her as a motive why a woman 
 should hold her tongue, and not anger a prom 
 inent husband. Hagaar departed presently 
 upon domestic errands of superior interest to 
 these ecclesiastical and masculine conflicts ; and, 
 passing in and out of the court, as the occasion 
 took her, left the young people a little time to 
 themselves. Baruch took advantage of this fact 
 to say : 
 
 " Ariella, I have seen him. I have spoken 
 with him." 
 
 " And of what didst thou speak ? " asked 
 Ariella. 
 
 " Canst thou ask me ? Of thyself, Ariella." 
 
 " Thou takest a great deal of trouble," sighed 
 Ariella thoughtfully, " for me." 
 
 The fine countenance of the blind man turned 
 
90 COME FORTH. 
 
 toward her as if he saw her ; he did not imme 
 diately speak, yet the silence said more than all 
 the words in the Law. The sick girl delicately 
 blushed, as if a little ashamed of herself, as if 
 she had parried or played with a man who was 
 above the slightest evasion of lip, as perhaps she 
 had. It is a weakness into which invalids fall 
 sometimes, from excessive effort to appear mod 
 est or unselfish. 
 
 " Take it, then, Baruch," she murmured 
 humbly. " Take it, and God bless thee for it, 
 and make me worthy of it ! What didst thou 
 say of me and my poor life to the Nazarene? 
 And how found st thou him? What happened? 
 How seemed he to thee? What manner of man 
 is he?" 
 
 " Like unto no other," answered Baruch sol 
 emnly " like unto no other man who treadeth 
 the earth. He hath the touch of a spirit, and 
 the voice of one of the Sons of God." 
 
 " Did he touch thee ? " asked Ariella, with 
 increasing reverence. 
 
 "For a moment he did. He laid his hand 
 upon the sleeve of my robe. Verily, I did feel 
 the pressure of his finger-tip upon the garment s 
 edge, like the grasp of a Power, as if an angel 
 had uplifted me. I bowed myself before him, 
 and hid my face, and poured my soul out to him 
 in thy behalf. He was walking in a dusty 
 
COME FORTH. 91 
 
 street, among a press of people. The throng 
 was great. They urged me, and trampled on 
 me, and he did rebuke them in a voice the like 
 unto which I have not heard, for the music of 
 it, and the authority. Stand back, he cried, 
 stand ye back, and give room to affliction, 
 which is more sacred than health. Then they 
 did stand back and gave space to me, and I did 
 speak with him apart." 
 
 " Would that I could have heard thee ! " fer 
 vently said Ariella. 
 
 " Would that thou couldst hear Mm ! " cried 
 Baruch. "And that thou shalt ! That thou 
 shalt ! He will come to thee. He will come 
 to Bethany and heal thee, Ariella. So said 
 he unto me." 
 
 Ariella turned very pale, and sank back upon 
 her pillows. For some moments she did not 
 speak to Baruch, whom at length, with slow 
 self-restraint, she answered : 
 
 " Didst thou ask that of him to journey 
 hither for a stranger, a poor sick girl whom 
 nobody knows ? How darest thou, Baruch ? " 
 
 " For thy sake, Ariella," said Baruch quietly, 
 " I would dare ask Jehovah himself." 
 
 " But he cannot heal me ! " murmured Ari 
 ella. 
 
 " While I did plead thy case with him," said 
 Baruch quietly, " there came unto us a slave, 
 
92 COME FORTH. 
 
 formerly from the palace of Herod. He had 
 been set by the king to wait upon an officer of 
 his guard, an evil fellow, who had turned lep 
 rous, and was put without the gates. The dis 
 ease turned upon the slave, and did befoul him, 
 and make him abhorred of God and men. Men 
 said so sore a sight had not been seen in Jerusa 
 lem for years. The lad who guided me would 
 have snatched me away ; but I remained, for I 
 feared naught, and I heard the outcast cry, 
 Unclean ! unclean ! and aught sadder than the 
 sound of his voice, the ear of a blind man never 
 heard. Yerily, it made my soul sick within me. 
 . . . Ariella ! " said Baruch, suddenly changing 
 his tone to one of deep rebuke, " while I stood 
 upon the spot, the leper was made whole. And 
 all the people did testify to the deed, with ho- 
 sannas that shook the earth and air." 
 
 " Incredible ! " whispered Ariella. She was 
 much moved, and it needed not eyes to perceive 
 this, for her agitated breath came panting 
 through her patient lips. 
 
 " He will come to thee," persisted Baruch 
 joyfully, " for I said : 4 Master, I have a dear 
 friend, a little woman, who for many years doth 
 not leave her bed, else I would bring her to thee. 
 If thou couldst touch her, she would arise and 
 walk. " 
 
 " What answer made he ? " asked Ariella 
 eagerly. 
 
COME FORTH. 93 
 
 " It concerneth tliee not," said Baruch eva 
 sively. " It is enough that he coineth." 
 
 " But I will have his answer ! " 
 
 " But that thou shalt not ! " 
 
 " Then will I not see him. Then will I not 
 be healed ! Then will I stay upon my couch 
 and be as I am ! " 
 
 "Thou art a silken tyrant," said Baruch, 
 smiling indulgently. " Thou doest thine own 
 will with me. Since thou wilt, then, these 
 were his words : Baruch, he said, Baruch, 
 Blessed " - 
 
 " How knew he thy name ? " interrupted Ari- 
 ella. 
 
 " That know I no more than thyself. No man 
 did tell him, for I knew no man. I go too sel 
 dom abroad to be known in Jerusalem. Ba 
 ruch, he said, hast thou naught to ask me for 
 thyself ? And I said, Lord, I have naught ; 
 and he did repeat, Blessed of God be thou ! 
 and said no more to me, save that he bade me 
 tell thee he would come to thee, Ariella. He 
 cometh upon the first day of the week. . . . 
 Thou shalt be healed, Ariella ! Thou shalt arise 
 and walk ! " 
 
 The countenance of the blind man expressed 
 at that moment a joy so exquisite, a self-for- 
 getfulness so supreme, that Ariella quailed be 
 fore it. 
 
94 COME FORTH. 
 
 " Oh, Baruch ! " she sobbed, " great is thy 
 faith, and greater is thy soul. I am not worthy 
 to be called thy friend. But . . . Oh, Baruch, 
 how do I tell thee ? Thine errand hath been all 
 in vam. My father hath been offended with 
 this Jesus, and hath forbidden me to have deal 
 ings with him. The Nazarene may not so much 
 as cross this threshold. Malachi hath said it." 
 
 " Oh, what shall we do ? " moaned Baruch. 
 His disappointment was something hard to see. 
 He hid his face and groaned. 
 
 " Be comforted," said Ariella tenderly. " Art 
 not thou, too, afflicted ? Can I not bear my lot 
 as thou dost thine ? God gave them both." 
 
 " And God gave this prophet ! " cried Baruch, 
 starting passionately to his fet. " And by the 
 faith of our fathers, he and thou* shalt meet, in 
 spite of men and devils ! " 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE last day s work at the palace had come. 
 To the master-builder it seemed like the last day 
 of the world. He arose like a doomed man, and 
 trod the familiar path over the mountain with 
 laggard feet. His head drooped. His eyes 
 were on the ground. The glory of the dawn 
 unfolded about him like a huge flower ; petals 
 of rose-lipped clouds lapped the outlines of the 
 hills, and turned back against a horizon of pure 
 fire ; now and then one broke off and floated as 
 if it had been blown away from a calyx. 
 
 Lazarus did not see the gorgeous spectacle. 
 He felt it, as one feels the blazonry of a festival 
 when one is bitterly bereaved. Certain words 
 occurred to him from the sacred writings of his 
 people ; he repeated them dreamily, missing the 
 exact quotation ; it was something about the 
 rising sun : " Who goeth forth as a bridegroom 
 out of his chamber . . . who rejoiceth as a man 
 strong to run a race." For the first time in all 
 his simple, healthy life, Lazarus recoiled from 
 the sunrise. The sadness in the scenery of 
 Judea, never before apparent to him, crept into 
 
96 COME FORTH. 
 
 his heart. Abroad he would not look. With 
 downcast eyes he saw the heavy dew roll from 
 the edges to the tips of the grass-blades at his 
 feet; a white lily gone astray from a garden 
 a cultivated Persian lily, not common to the re 
 gion nodded over the path, and, heavy and 
 wet, hung languorously ; another lily, wild and 
 scarlet, grew beside her : deep in their cups, 
 perfume and dew, night and sleep, and slow 
 waking, and the power of the stirring sun strug 
 gled together. 
 
 " It is a fair flower," said Lazarus aloud. The 
 busy young Jew was not accustomed to notice 
 the flowers ; he had never given them morning 
 thoughts, unless, perhaps, when Mary said some 
 times, " The lilies are abloom, my brother." 
 
 Now he stooped and gathered those two, the 
 lily of scarlet and the lily of white. He could 
 not remember when he had picked a flower. 
 These felt as strange as the heads of children 
 beneath his touch. He held them delicately as 
 he walked on. He looked into their soft hearts. 
 He turned them from one hand to another with 
 care so as not to spill the dew therefrom. He 
 studied the flowers with a perfectly new interest. 
 
 " It is like a lady," thought Lazarus. 
 
 " This one," he said, after some reflection, 
 " this one is the daughter of a High priest. She 
 liveth in a palace." . 
 
COME FORTH. 97 
 
 He held the scarlet lily above the level of his 
 eyes, suddenly lifted them, threw his head back 
 with that pleasant motion peculiar to Lazarus, 
 and looked at the flower. 
 
 " This one, this is Zahara." 
 
 His face turned fervent and pale ; he drew 
 the flower down to his lips and ardently drank 
 the dew from its blazing heart. Then he stood 
 for a moment, uncertain, dissatisfied. He turned 
 the white lily about in his hesitating hand. 
 
 " 1 am wrong," said Lazarus, with a faint 
 smile. " It must be this is Zahara." 
 
 Reverently and slowly he touched the white 
 flower to his lips : her dew trembled upon them ; 
 he tasted it delicately. Then he put both lilies 
 together in one hand and held them there. He 
 shook his head with perplexity. Which was 
 Zahara? This was the most imaginative mo 
 ment of Lazarus life. But imagination was a 
 strange guest to him. He knew not how to 
 treat her. Yet he kept the lilies and held them, 
 and regarded them with tenderness as he walked 
 on with quivering step to the palace. 
 
 The sun had now arisen, and the full day was 
 abroad. Lazarus lifted his head, and eyed the 
 world again like a man. Sounds of stirring life 
 filled the air, and the early risers of Judea were 
 already at their day s toil. The ear of the 
 skilled workman responded to the throb of duty. 
 
98 COME FORTH. 
 
 His eye heightened. He looked upon the stately 
 outline of Jerusalem ; upon the Temple, leaning 
 like one of the Sons of God against the fiery 
 eastern sky ; upon the fair valley, where the 
 hum of business began ; yonder toward the 
 bridge of the great Bazaars owned by Annas 
 and Caiaphas. The Bazaars themselves were 
 out of sight from the point where Lazarus stood 
 upon Mount Olivet ; but their locality was indi 
 cated by a pretty sight. 
 
 Flocks of doves hovered and hung overhead, 
 swaying in the bright air. These were the 
 doves fed and " homed " at that place, and kept 
 for sale for the purification-offering of young 
 mothers. Lazarus looked at the doves thought 
 fully. They quivered in the distance like 
 thoughts that are too vague to be captured. His 
 gaze wandered back to the palace, now looming 
 ahead of him, near, splendid, and haughty. The 
 hand of Lazarus still held the lilies. As he ap 
 proached the palace gates he kept repeating to 
 himself, 
 
 " It is my last day. It is the last day of 
 Zahara." 
 
 Lazarus was now madly in love with Zahara, 
 It seemed to him impossible that by another 
 sunrise he should be beyond the possibility of a 
 chance of beholding her. He felt utterly be 
 wildered. He had now begun to have a pre- 
 
COME FORTH. 99 
 
 science of what it was going to cost him to be 
 parted from her, but it was a dull foreknow 
 ledge ; Lazarus did not belong either to the age 
 or to the race of introspective lovers, and his 
 experience overtook him, not he it. 
 
 Since the last meeting with Zahara, which we 
 have recorded, Lazarus had beheld her but once. 
 Then she suffered him to speak with her for as 
 many moments as she might, undisturbed of her 
 women. Lazarus found in that benignant favor 
 great comfort, if no hope. It could not be de 
 nied that Zahara pleased herself with Lazarus. 
 Lazarus was too single-minded to reflect that she 
 was perhaps amusing herself. He drank her 
 presence as the parched side of Lebanon drank 
 the scanty rills from its heights, and beyond 
 his thirst and her refreshing knew not the uses 
 of thought. 
 
 But upon the occasion to which we refer, 
 Zahara had succeeded in troubling the soul of 
 Lazarus upon other grounds than the bestowal 
 or the withdrawal of her bright and precious 
 presence. Zahara had said, with considerable 
 promptness, as she stood playing with the tassel 
 of the silken curtain, which partly hid her from 
 the young builder s reverent gaze, she, just 
 ready to dart within or proudly step without, to 
 flee from him, or face him, according to the na 
 ture of the next interruption which might befall 
 
100 COME FORTH. 
 
 this stolen interview ; he, eager, ardent, at wor 
 ship, entranced, standing like one of his own 
 beautiful pillars firmly before her, Zahara had 
 said : 
 
 " I think the less of your judgment, Lazarus, 
 for the matter I heard you relate to my father, the 
 other day. I thought you were a sensible man. 
 How can you meddle with such low-lived af 
 fairs?" 
 
 " Explain thyself, Zahara," said Lazarus 
 faintly. But he knew perfectly well what she 
 meant. 
 
 " Why, this fellow, this Jesus," pouted Za 
 hara. " He is no companion for you." 
 
 " He is not my companion," returned Lazarus, 
 lifting his head. " He is my master." 
 
 " That is worse yet," retorted Zahara. " You 
 cannot expect a princess to approve of such a 
 person." 
 
 "I expect nothing, Zahara," said Lazarus 
 manfully, looking straight at her. " But my 
 duty is my own ; and my manner of following it 
 must be mine also." 
 
 Zahara returned his look proudly. In her 
 heart she thought the more of this young man 
 for his sturdy speech ; but it was not in her 
 nature easily to say so. 
 
 " It seems to me," said Zahara, playing with 
 the bangles on the gemmed bracelet that clasped 
 
COME FORTH ^ , ,101 
 
 her upper arm, "that this is a very plebeian 
 religion you are interested in." 
 
 " The religion of our fathers is the religion of 
 the prophets," answered Lazarus, with less assur 
 ance. " It is surely a respectable one, Zahara." 
 
 " You do not mean that you think this fellow 
 Him of whom the prophets testified ? You have 
 not gone astray with that madness ? " Zahara s 
 young lip curled. 
 
 " If Jesus of Nazareth be the Messiah," said 
 Lazarus evasively, " I should be sorry to be 
 numbered among those who are ranged against 
 him." 
 
 " But come ! think you he is the Messiah ? " 
 persisted Zahara. " There are so many of them ! 
 They come up like weeds, every day or two." 
 
 She spoke with a pretty, feminine gesture, a 
 slighting motion, as if the whole subject were 
 beneath a well-born observation. But her coun 
 tenance expressed serious, almost earnest atten 
 tion, an intellectual apprehension of the question 
 not common to the women of her race and time. 
 There seemed to be two Zaharas in the girl : one 
 battled with the other, and one was quite su 
 perior to the other ; but it was not the superior, 
 by any means, who presumably conquered. She 
 was not a simple Jewish maiden like the damsels 
 whom Lazarus had known. She had will and 
 purpose ; she had, moreover, thoughts. 
 
> COME FORTH. 
 
 " Is this Jesus the Messiah ? " repeated Za- 
 hara. 
 
 " How know I ? " replied Lazarus. He looked 
 at Zahara. His eyes overflowed with tenderness. 
 He felt at the moment that he knew nothing 
 in this world except that Zahara was. Her own 
 bright gaze drooped before him. The breath of 
 Lazarus came violently. Jesus of Nazareth was 
 forgotten. 
 
 Lazarus reached the palace upon this last day 
 of his service there with whirling brain. He 
 still held the flowers in his hand, he could not 
 have told wherefore. He found it difficult to 
 give orders to his artists. His workmen mut 
 tered among themselves that the master s wits 
 were gone star-gazing. But Lazarus put the 
 lilies away in the shade of a pillar, in a cool 
 spot. There was a little jug of water, left by 
 one of the men, and Lazarus placed the stems 
 of the flowers in the water. He had no definite 
 idea in doing this, except that the lilies were 
 precious, being like Zahara, and should be cared 
 for. In the course of the morning one of his 
 men upset the jug accidentally, and mopped up 
 the water from the marble floor with an old 
 piece of linen, ^he flowers he threw away. 
 Awhile after, Lazarus asked : 
 
 " Jacob, where are the flowers of red and of 
 white, left under yonder pillar ? " 
 
COME FORTH 103 
 
 " Over the wall," said Jacob carelessly. 
 
 Lazarus turned upon the man with a sharp 
 rebuke, at which the fellow stared. 
 
 "Of what value were the weeds?" returned 
 Jacob, with the contempt which the man feels 
 for the master s weaknesses, none the less, per 
 haps, because he dare not express it. Then Laz 
 arus remembered in a dazed way that Jacob did 
 not know that Zahara was a lily, and the lily 
 was Zahara ; and she was the lily of red, and 
 the lily of white was she. 
 
 Lazarus in silence went without the wall, and 
 found the lilies. They drooped in the scorching 
 noon sun ; he gathered them to his heart and 
 protected them, and refilled the little jug and 
 revived the flowers. They held up their heads, 
 and seemed to look at him gratefully. They 
 were not as haughty as they were before the 
 accident had happened to them. They seemed 
 to have become humbled and disciplined flow 
 ers. 
 
 The day wore on. Annas, the High priest, 
 came out to regard the work. He approved of 
 it, and praised it with well-bred reserve. 
 
 "I may wish further repairs undertaken in 
 the interior," observed Annas, " but they cannot 
 be managed except the palace is vacated. I 
 shall probably move to my country-seat at Ca 
 pernaum for some weeks in the heat of the 
 
104 COME FORTH. 
 
 season. You can easily work upon the building 
 while my family are absent from it." 
 
 Lazarus bowed. He said neither yea nor nay. 
 His heart beat violent]y. A cloud settled be 
 fore his eyes. The palace and Zahara not 
 within it ! To toil up there in the hot weather, 
 and listen to the jabber of the workmen and 
 the chip-chipping of their tools and Zahara 
 at Capernaum ! 
 
 " By the God of my fathers," thought Laza 
 rus, " Annas may look otherwhere for a master- 
 builder. Of this job will I none." 
 
 But he was discreet enough not to say so. 
 The work was not offered to him yet. He re 
 mained so silent that Annas regarded him with 
 a slight frown, and moved haughtily away. Sud 
 denly he turned back, and again approached the 
 builder. 
 
 " By the way," said the High priest urbanely, 
 " what has become of this Nazarene of whom I 
 did converse with you on one occasion ? " 
 
 " He is about his Father s business," replied 
 Lazarus in a low tone. " He doeth the will of 
 God, as he doth at all times." 
 
 The High priest smiled a chill, contemptuous 
 smile. He stroked his impressive beard. 
 
 "You know him well, it seems, my young 
 friend?" 
 
 " I have said it. Very well." 
 
COME FORTH. 105 
 
 " You meet him often, I understand ? " asked 
 the priest. There was a slight \flicker in his 
 cold black eye. The two men watched each 
 other warily. 
 
 " I have met him very often," said Lazarus 
 quietly. 
 
 u But not of late?" 
 
 Lazarus hesitated. " No, not of late." 
 
 " And pray, may I inquire why?" 
 
 u I have been absorbed in business. I have 
 been preoccupied. I have not found it possible 
 to conduct the friendship you speak of as as 
 siduously as I have done at former times, or," 
 added Lazarus, " as I wish to do, and as I mean 
 to do, when I am less engaged." 
 
 " How long," insisted the High priest, " is it 
 since you have spoken with your master ? " 
 
 He emphasized the last word with a sarcasm 
 at which Lazarus colored. 
 
 " I am an unworthy disciple," said the young 
 man quickly. " It is longer than it ought to be 
 since I have spoken with him whom above all 
 public men in Judea to-day I do respect." 
 
 Now, in fact, it was weeks since Lazarus had 
 taken the trouble to see the Nazarene ; so many, 
 that he was ashamed to count them in the pre 
 sence of the most powerful enemy of the new 
 Rabbi and the new faith known to Jewish reli 
 gious circles. Lazarus felt that he was trying 
 
106 COME FORTH. 
 
 to atone for his too evident neglect by a too ap 
 parent devotion of the lip. He felt ashamed, 
 and he felt that Annas knew he felt ashamed : 
 the slight, sharp smile with which the High 
 priest moved away rankled in the soul of his 
 master-builder. 
 
 " I will see Jesus," vowed Lazarus to himself. 
 " I will see him before another sun has set." 
 
 At this moment he heard a low voice from 
 behind the curtain of the women s antecham 
 bers, a royal voice ; it had purple in it, he 
 thought, like the woven silk of the curtain ; it 
 said : 
 
 " Lazarus ? " 
 
 " Here am I," responded Lazarus eagerly. 
 
 But nothing further followed. Zahara did 
 not present herself. 
 
 Presently he heard her calling to that little 
 maiden she did favor. 
 
 " Rebecca ? come thou and comfort me, Re 
 becca." Lazarus wished he were that little 
 maiden. 
 
 Now it fell that the end of that day came and 
 Zahara had not shown her face to Lazarus. He 
 worked on drearily. He was sick at heart. 
 
 " Does she not know," he thought, " does 
 she not remember ? It is the last. I shall see 
 her no more." 
 
 But Zahara was not to be seen. 
 
COME FORTH. 107 
 
 Night came on. The sun dropped, and the 
 cool of the evening gathered. The call to prayer 
 sounded from the great Temple. The workmen 
 laid down their tools. The drops stood upon 
 the forehead of Lazarus. His voice grew thick 
 and faint. He looked at his men with a kind of 
 bewildered appeal. 
 
 " You seem to be tired out, or you are ill, 
 master," said he whom they call Jacob, respect 
 fully. " It is a good work. A man should re 
 joice in it." Jacob was especially attentive to 
 Lazarus, for the sake of that sweet Mary who 
 sat in the synagogue and prayed to God, and 
 remembered no man. 
 
 "Yes," returned his master with an effort, "it 
 is an honest work, and does us all credit. Go 
 you to your homes and rest upon it. Or 
 stay. Call at the house of Simon the Leper, 
 and make my wish known to Martha, my sister, 
 that she spread a feast for ye, in honor of the 
 completion of this our service at the palace of 
 the High priest. Make yourselves merry, my 
 men ; but make your merriment without your 
 master. Behold, I would remain alone and ob 
 serve the work, and study it until the fall of 
 dusk, that I may not overlook any defect or pos 
 sible improvement upon it. Leave me, there 
 fore, and go your ways." 
 
 The workmen having obeyed, Lazarus stood 
 
108 COME FORTH. 
 
 alone upon the portico, and it was the hour of 
 sunset. He could see the quivering cup of the 
 deep sky above the court ; the walls of the palace 
 shut him in ; he examined the carven pillars with 
 blurring eye and trembling hand ; the purple 
 curtain behind him hung listlessly in the still 
 air. Distant steps sounded through the palace, 
 and then hushed. 
 
 " 1 must go," thought Lazarus. " I must de 
 part. She cometh not." 
 
 He moved unsteadily across the portico, and 
 hardly knowing what he did, and not in the 
 least knowing why, he stooped and took the two 
 flowers, the scarlet lily and the white, from their 
 shelter in the little jug. As he stood turning 
 them about in his hands, a low voice behind him 
 murmured : 
 
 "Lazarus? Not gone yet? Thou makest a 
 long day s work of it." 
 
 "Zahara!" 
 
 He whirled and saw her, standing quite near, 
 standing quite still. She was veiled. Her eyes 
 regarded him merrily. She wore the robe of 
 purple and of gold that he had noticed upon her 
 when first he saw her. She shone through the 
 twilight like a meteor caught to light the palace. 
 She glittered with many little ornaments and 
 trinkets such as the girl of the East loves. All 
 the last rays of the departing day were im- 
 
COME FORTH. 109 
 
 prisoned by her radiant figure. It seemed to 
 Lazarus that the setting of the sun upon the 
 world was but the symbol of the setting of this 
 woman upon his life. He would have said 
 somewhat to her, but his lips trembled and were 
 dumb. He bowed his head low before her and 
 placed the two lilies in her little hand. 
 
 The merriment faded out of Zahara s face. 
 She drew herself together haughtily ; then, sud 
 denly, for she looked long and steadfastly upon 
 Lazarus, her queenly regard drooped before him. 
 After a moment s hesitation she received the 
 flowers with a courteous gesture, and modestly 
 sheltered them in the folds of her robe. The 
 womanliness, nay, what might almost be called 
 the tenderness, of this action set Lazarus beside 
 himself. 
 
 " Zahara ! " he murmured, " thou art the lily 
 of scarlet, for thou shinest like the living fire. 
 And thou art the lily of white, for thou art as 
 pure as the whitest cloud in heaven. I have 
 drunk the dew from the scarlet flower, and I 
 have touched the flower of white to my lips, 
 for thou art Zahara ; thou art the woman of 
 flowers and the flower of women ; thou art fire 
 and snow, and blossom and storm, Zahara ! 
 and I love thee." 
 
 The daughter of the High priest gave the 
 builder one blinding look ; in it were reproach 
 
110 COME FORTH. 
 
 and appeal, sorrow and tenderness, pride and 
 terror, repulse and longing, the whole nature 
 of woman was in it. But Lazarus did not un 
 derstand women. Zahara fled. That was all 
 which Lazarus understood. Zahara fled from 
 him as the shadow of the lily moves upon the 
 grass beneath the rising wind. The embroidered 
 curtain swayed and swung. Its purple folds 
 came together with a soft sound like the meet 
 ing of delicate lips. Zahara, behind them, had 
 vanished. 
 
 Lazarus stood for a few moments confused 
 with anguish ; then he bowed himself together, 
 and gathered up the few tools left upon the por 
 tico and the little jug that had held the lilies, and 
 staggered away. An officer of the palace spoke 
 to him and bade him farewell politely. Lazarus 
 answered, but knew not what. He went out 
 blindly into the dark, and felt for the path that 
 led away from the palace. 
 
 He did not find it, being so troubled and 
 darkened in his mind, and groped about for a 
 little upon the short, hot grass, on whose parched 
 surface the dew was beginning to fall. 
 
 " Nay, then, Lazarus, I would have a word 
 with thee," said a soft voice at his very side. 
 And lo, there, like a statue carved out of the 
 tender night, still, dim and trembling, Zahara 
 stood. 
 
COME FORTH. Ill 
 
 " Zahara ! Thou wilt be blamed ! What will 
 be said to thee? That would kill me. Thou 
 comest alone thou to me Zahara ! " 
 
 " I go," panted the girl, " I return. I do not 
 stay. I but fled from my father s palace and 
 no one did observe me; and ~ it is dark; and I 
 fly back to my father." 
 
 " Thou shouldst never leave me ! " cried Laz 
 arus, " if my heart had its will. Thou shouldst 
 shelter thyself within mine arms, and I would 
 call thee mine for ever, for I love thee ! I love 
 thee ! " 
 
 " And I thee" breathed Zahara faintly. 
 With these incredible words, Zahara turned, 
 towered like a princess, and fled, like a fright 
 ened deer, back to the palace. The darkness 
 closed about her, and shut between herself and 
 her lover as if it were a veil of scented gauze. 
 Lazarus stood like a man struck dead with joy. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 IT was nightfall at Bethany. In the house of 
 Rachel the widow, and Baruch the blind man, 
 excitement reigned. , A great event had hap 
 pened. 
 
 Without the ^porch, panting with weariness, 
 upon a litter, lay a little maiden, pale and frail, 
 but peaceful as no well maiden ever is. Ari- 
 ella had been brought over to visit Rachel, her 
 neighbor. She was to remain until the morrow. 
 Malachi and Baruch, with the help of a slave, 
 had borne the girl thither, and the same hands 
 would return her before another sunset to her 
 father s house. Malachi had grumbled over the 
 job, which he held to be an unnecessary tax 
 upon a man s time and attention, but Hagaar 
 had said : 
 
 " Verily, thou wilt never put thyself to a bet 
 ter use. Give the girl her way." For Baruch 
 had dealt privately with Hagaar, and urged the 
 matter, taking no denial. And Hagaar and 
 Malachi had returned to their own dwelling ; 
 and Ariella lay upon the litter without the house 
 of Rachel, begging not to be carried within, till 
 
COME FORTH. 113 
 
 she must needs sleep ; for Ariella drank the air 
 of heaven as an Arab dying of thirst in the des 
 ert drinks from the gourd held to his stiffening 
 lips. 
 
 On the way from the house of her father to 
 the home of Rachel, Ariella had suffered acutely ; 
 every step of the bearers, jarring the litter, dif 
 fused agony through the poor girl s body ; but 
 she had not said so. At every glimpse of the 
 living world she had evinced the keenest delight. 
 It was : - 
 
 " Oh, father, the light ! The light of the sun 
 on the fields ! How broad a thing is an after 
 noon ! " 
 
 44 Baruch, I see a hill of tulips : they run up 
 and down ; they are red, like torch-bearers at a 
 race." 
 
 " Mother, give me thy hand. Lift my head 
 a little that I may look toward Jerusalem. The 
 Temple shineth like the rising of the day. In 
 the Temple is the Ark. In the Ark God dwell- 
 eth. The people go up ; they go up like prayer 
 into the heart of Jehovah ! Would that I could 
 see the Temple ! The cheek of Olivet lif teth 
 between." 
 
 Ariella lay now upon her litter, herself as 
 mute as an exhausted prayer ; the excitement of 
 the day had sunk into its reaction, the thrill 
 of joy had fallen into the grip of pain. The 
 
114 COME FORTH. 
 
 invalid s hopeless consciousness of suffering re 
 turned like the fall of night. Ariella s face 
 became pinched with anguish ; the lines about 
 her mouth deepened like those in the face of an 
 old woman, she was but twenty-five. 
 
 " Leave me to myself," she panted. " Leave 
 me, Rachel. Leave me, Baruch. Weariness 
 overcometh me, for the exertion hath been great. 
 Do not watch me, nay, I shall the better en 
 dure alone." 
 
 " But Baruch cannot see thee," protested mat 
 ter-of-fact Rachel. 
 
 " Baruch watcheth the closer, for that," mur 
 mured Ariella. Baruch s sensitive face fir-lied ; 
 he rose without a word and left their guest. 
 Rachel soon followed him, as the sick gi le 
 her. And Ariella had her will sometim .he 
 only one left to the sick : she was alone with her 
 agony. 
 
 The litter had been set down in a cool, wide 
 space in front of the house of Rachel. " In 
 something green," Ariella had begged, but it 
 was too late in the season to find the parched 
 grass green. Behind her the low house looked 
 quiet and home-like ; and the faint glimmer of 
 Rachel s single candle shone upon the paved 
 court and dull white sand. Baruch stood in the 
 doorway, a silent, waiting figure. He seemed 
 like a man who expected something, and was 
 
COME FORTH. 115 
 
 patient and impatient by turns. Without, the 
 darkening country looked to the imprisoned girl 
 as wide as all heaven. Between the spasms of 
 her pain she regarded it eagerly. 
 
 Eastward of her, the road to Jericho, rough, 
 wild, dangerous, and ragged, wound over and 
 among the hills. Ariella could almost mark the 
 spot where her misfortune had befallen her nine 
 years ago. A caravan was winding upward 
 slowly, the outline of the camels rising and fall 
 ing like the outlines of ships upon a restless 
 sea. The caravan was coming towards Jerusa 
 lem. The travelers were singing ; they sang the 
 Psalms of Degrees. Beyond, the desert of Ju- 
 dea stretched far and frowning. 
 
 Turning her head, the sick girl looked about 
 the little hamlet of Bethany. The Roman for 
 tress rose, a grim, firm fact, against which every 
 Jewish heart revolted. The houses of Ariella s 
 people were built without the fortress line. Now 
 and then the spear of a Roman soldier caught 
 the dying light upon its tip. 
 
 Yonder, against the mountain-side, sepulchres 
 showed, cut into the solid rock. These were 
 owned by the wealthier families of Bethany. 
 Ariella gazed upon their solemn outlines qui 
 etly. 
 
 "My life is a sepulchre," she said aloud. 
 " What doth it matter ? " 
 
116 COME FORTH. 
 
 A slight sound behind the head of Ariella s 
 litter attracted, but did not arrest, her attention. 
 She could not see, or she had not noticed, that 
 the figure of the blind man had disappeared 
 from the doorway. Baruch stood behind an 
 olive-tree, and the olive-tree stood behind Ari- 
 ella. 
 
 Now Ariella turned her head at this moment 
 to look further downward to the southeast, 
 where, far beyond her gaze, the sombre surface 
 of the Dead Sea lay. One of the little freakish 
 fancies of the sick possessed her. No person 
 ever drowned in the Salt Dead Sea. 
 
 Oh, to be borne thither in her litter, and set 
 afloat upon the strong water, and float her life 
 out on that soft bed ! 
 
 "It would never hurt one s back," thought 
 Ariella. She laughed aloud at this conceit of 
 hers, and tried to move upon her pillows, to raise 
 herself upon one arm and look along the valley 
 till sight should be lost in the purpling gloom. 
 The effort caused her such pain that she uttered 
 an involuntary groan. 
 
 Ariella seldom groaned. This was a down 
 right cry of agony, and fell piteously enough 
 from the poor girl s lips. 
 
 " Oh, Ariella ! " cried Baruch, darting forward 
 from behind the olive-tree. He stood before 
 her ; he bent over her ; he trembled with sympa- 
 
COME FORTH. 117 
 
 thy, the tenderest that man or woman had 
 ever shown for Ariella. 
 
 " Oh ! " moaned Baruch, " could I only see 
 how to comfort thee ! " 
 
 "You feel how," said Ariella, collecting her 
 self at once. 
 
 "If love could comfort," breathed Baruch, 
 "if love could heal " 
 
 "Love helps," answered Ariella. "Love 
 serves." 
 
 " Men and women who are not afflicted of 
 God, who love as they will, and do as they 
 would, these are happy people, Ariella." 
 
 " We are not as they," said Ariella solemnly. 
 Baruch stretched out his hand, and groped for 
 hers. The sick girl laid her hand in that of the 
 blind man. Both shook. Baruch bowed his 
 face reverently above that poor little feverish 
 hand. He did not touch it with his lips. He 
 did not dare. After all, he was a man. If he 
 had touched Ariella, he felt as if he should have 
 gone mad with love and despair. 
 
 "Is this Baruch the blind man?" asked at 
 that moment a wonderful voice. Baruch did 
 not start or release the hand of Ariella. He 
 held it like a man, and quietly made answer : 
 
 "Yea, Lord, I am he." 
 
 " And the maiden of whom thou didst speak 
 with me, do I behold her ? " 
 
118 COME FORTH. 
 
 " Thou beholdest her indeed." 
 
 " Knoweth she that I am come ? " 
 
 " Nay, Lord, she knoweth not." 
 
 " Give space to me that I may stand beside 
 her." 
 
 The voice which spoke was one of unquestion 
 able authority. Ariella started under it. She 
 looked up, frightened and panting, through the 
 dark. 
 
 "Be calm, Ariella," said Baruch quietly. 
 " He of whom I spoke to thee is here." 
 
 " You arranged this, Baruch ? you planned 
 to bring me here and told me not!" There 
 was a touch of reproach in the girl s tone. She 
 had fallen so thoroughly into Baruch s loving 
 plot that her first sense of being deluded almost 
 overpowered any other consciousness. 
 
 " What I have done, I have done," said Baruch 
 firmly. " It becometh thee not to distrust me, 
 Ariella. It is not in thy power to distrust him" 
 
 Baruch pointed at the commanding figure of 
 their visitor, who, during this delay, had stood 
 both silent and still. The three made a singular 
 group : the blind man bent forward, eager, 
 trembling, his whole body straining as if to see ; 
 the sick girl panting on the litter ; and the 
 solemn figure, mute as fate, before them. 
 
 It was now so dark that Ariella could not even 
 see the familiar features of Baruch, bent so near 
 
COME FORTH. 119 
 
 and turned so tenderly toward her. Of the 
 stranger she could perceive absolutely nothing 
 except the outline of a grand form ; the manli 
 est, the most authoritative, she thought, that she 
 had ever beneleC*^ The face of the man was 
 wrapped in the darkness of the summer night. 
 Ariella struggled for a sight of it, but it was as 
 dim before her as the will of God. 
 
 Rachel had now come out from the house, and 
 finding the three fallen upon an utter silence, 
 joined them herself without a word. She stood 
 behind the olive-tree for a moment, unseen ; then 
 she advanced, and knelt beside the litter, very 
 near Ariella. Rachel quite understood what was 
 going forward, for Baruch had confided in her ; 
 and Rachel was one of those who trusted in the 
 Nazarene. 
 
 He seemed almost as if he were indefinably 
 strengthened by the presence of this common 
 place woman ; as if she had added faith or the 
 material of power to the situation. He moved 
 nearer to the litter, and broke the oppressive 
 isilence ; but it was only to ask a simple ques 
 tion 
 
 us the mother of the maiden ? " 
 
 Lord," replied Rachel. " She is my 
 gut .id the friend of my afflicted son. Baruch 
 said that thou wouldst heal her." Had it been 
 a little less dark, they could have seen that the 
 
120 COME FORTH. 
 
 Nazarene smiled slightly, as a man does who 
 hears from children the prattle of knowledge 
 already his own. But his smile was as invisible 
 to these agitated people as the sun that had set 
 behind Mount Olivet. The most powerful per 
 sonality in Judea presented himself to these 
 three souls only in the form of a voice. 
 
 But what a voice ! Ariella s nature rang with 
 it. It was as strong as the winds. It was as 
 sweet as love. It ran as deep as the sea. It 
 commanded the heart as heaven commands the 
 earth ; but it appealed to the sensibility as ten 
 derly as if one s regard were a precious thing. 
 
 " Arietta ! " said the Nazarene. He spoke as 
 never man spake to the sick or to the well. 
 Ariella felt herself drawn upward, soul and 
 body, to the utterance of her name by those in 
 visible lips. It was as if the very waves of 
 ether, set in motion by his voice, encompassed 
 her, as the waves of the sea encompass a sinking 
 person who struggles upon them, if so be he 
 may swim for his life. She felt herself lifted 
 upon the sound ; it buoyed her ; she had a sin 
 gular sensation, as if she began to float upon it. 
 
 " Yea, Lord," breathed Ariella. She upturned 
 her face to him through the dark. Poor little 
 wan, pinched face ! How feebly it moved ! 
 Ariella was in terrible pain. The excitement 
 and exertion of the day, culminating in this agi- 
 
COME FORTH. 121 
 
 tating interview, had almost overborne her. 
 Despite herself, a low moan came from her 
 lips. At the sound, the blind man fell upon his 
 knees beside his mother. Jesus and the sick 
 girl remained, the two undisturbed actors in the 
 touching scene. Low, sweet, serene, and com 
 manding came the accents of the Nazarene. 
 Ariella perceived that he did inquire of her con 
 cerning her faith in God his Father, and in him 
 self, the Heavenly Father s Son ; in his sym 
 pathy with human misery, and his power to heal 
 the diseases of men ; and he spoke to her, also, 
 of his relation to her own peculiar suffering. 
 He said these things in words so few that Ari 
 ella knew not how it was he said them ; but she 
 was aware of these thoughts, and of his desire 
 to understand her own state of feeling toward 
 himself. Above all else, she was aware of the 
 searching, scorching necessity that she should 
 speak the very truth, albeit that should sound 
 discourteous or distrustful toward the Stranger, 
 who, overworn and overworked, had traveled to 
 Bethany, at the end of the hot day s toil, to 
 serve an unknown sick girl, if he might or could. 
 It even occurred to Ariella that he was not sure 
 that he could heal her, and that his effort was 
 worth something more for this very reason. 
 
 " Lord," said Ariella, " how can any heal me? 
 I have been sick so long ! " 
 
122 COME FORTH. 
 
 The Nazarene made no answer. He had 
 advanced, and now stood close beside the lit 
 ter ; he stretched his hand out, and motioned to 
 Ariella through the dark that she put hers 
 within it. 
 
 " Nine years," said Ariella, " I have lain 
 upon my bed, for nine whole years. I suffer 
 very much. It is great pain. People do not 
 know about pain. It tires them to understand 
 it. I try not to trouble people ; but I am not 
 a patient girl. I get worn out sometimes, Lord, 
 I am so tired, tired out ! " Ariella began to 
 sob quietly. 
 
 " Lord, my faith has grown sick, like all the 
 rest of me ! How can I be healed ? " 
 
 "Lord," said the blind man, still upon his 
 knees, " my faith in thee is whole : it is sound 
 enough to give life to the maiden though she did 
 lie in the tomb." 
 
 "Baruch! Baruch!" cried Ariella. The 
 blind man was distressed. He thought she 
 should have cried, " Lord ! Lord ! " But 
 Jesus only smiled thereat, in the darkness, no 
 one being able to see the smile. 
 
 " Ariella," said Baruch, " give to him that 
 asketh thee the touch of thy hand and the power 
 of thy trust." 
 
 Ariella obeyed without a word. The cool, 
 strong grasp of the Nazarene closed over her 
 
COME FORTH. 123 
 
 hot little fingers. Immediately there came to 
 Ariella the sensation of floating of which she 
 had thought before. Her fancy about the Dead 
 Sea recurred to her. But upon the enfeebled 
 girl there fell the consciousness of one who is 
 buoyed up on the sea of life. Forgotten vigor 
 struck upon her body, and ran like fire through 
 her veins. 
 
 The Nazarene, while he held her hand, had 
 stood with head bowed low upon his breast, like 
 a man sunken in thought or prayer too deep to 
 admit of any lesser consciousness. Now he 
 lifted his face, and solemnly spoke to her : 
 
 " Maiden ! I say unto thee, Arise ! Behold, 
 I say unto thee, Arise, and walk ! " 
 
 A piteous cry fell from Ariella s lips. After 
 ward she said that the pain which shot through 
 her whole body was a thing too dreadful to speak 
 of : the virulence of years of physical disorder 
 seemed to be in it ; it was as if her disease had 
 a spirit, and a spite, and revenged itself by 
 wrenching her as it yielded to the mysterious 
 power of the Healer. 
 
 Baruch, at the sound of her anguish, sprang 
 forward and would have caught her, but Jesus 
 restrained him. 
 
 " Go into yonder door of the house," said the 
 Nazarene, " and behind it thou shalt find a tall 
 jug standing upon the floor. Bring it hither to 
 me." 
 
124 COME FORTH. 
 
 Ariella arose from her litter at these words. 
 She stood upon her feet, and tottered. 
 
 " Go," repeated the Nazarene. And Ariella 
 went. She walked from the olive-tree toward 
 the door of Rachel s house, alone, unaided, and 
 firmly. Rachel and Baruch stood breathless. 
 They dared not follow her. Rachel could see 
 her slight figure, wrapped in its little careless 
 invalid dress, swaying before the faint light of 
 Rachel s candle, the solitary home-light. Ari 
 ella stooped and lifted the jug. It was a heavy 
 jug, containing water. The sick girl lifted it 
 upon her head, and came back across the dark 
 space, walking steadily. The two observers 
 watched her in silence. The third leaned his 
 blind face forward touchingly. Baruch fancied 
 that the breath of the Nazarene came a little 
 quickly; but he was not sure. His own vio 
 lently beating heart almost drowned his con 
 sciousness of every other fact. 
 
 Ariella returned. She walked up to the Naza 
 rene with a firm step. She removed the jug 
 from her head with one hand, and laid it at his 
 feet. 
 
 Then, without a word, she herself dropped 
 there ; she fell upon her knees ; she bowed her 
 face ; she laid her lips to the travel-stained feet 
 of the Healer, and pressed them with awe to 
 her cheek. 
 
COME FORTH. 125 
 
 " Lord," said Ariella, " Lord, forgive me. I 
 am healed because of thee. Lord, I have been 
 sick so long ! . . . Teach me how to be well." 
 
 Rachel was sobbing under the olive-tree. But 
 Baruch fell upon his knees beside Ariella. He 
 trembled with joy. 
 
 " Master ! " he cried. He put out his blind 
 hands, in the dark, and groped for Jesus. But 
 the space which had held that figure of mercy 
 and of command was empty. The Nazarene had 
 vanished. 
 
 Ariella arose from her knees, and without a 
 word walked into the house. She moved like a 
 person intoxicated with joy. Rachel picked up 
 the jug : she and Baruch followed Ariella, silent 
 too. 
 
 The empty litter remained under the olive- 
 tree. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 WHEN Ariella and Rachel and Baruch reached 
 the house together, that evening, a strange spirit 
 fell upon them. The excitement of the tremen 
 dous event which had befallen Ariella took the 
 form of an intense calm. Baruch hardly knew 
 what he expected ; more, and less, than he ex 
 pected had come to pass, fie strained his sen 
 sitive ears to hear the sound of Ariella s step 
 upon his mother s floor. Wonderful sound ! 
 Ariella walked to and fro to try her feet ; they 
 sprang like birds or butterflies lightly hovering 
 up and down ; for some moments she flitted 
 about, for sheer pleasure of flitting; but she did 
 not say one word ; then suddenly she sank upon 
 a little white linen ottoman which stood against 
 the wall, and gave a pretty yawn, like a child 
 who is sleepy or tired, a sound of pure health 
 and physical comfort. When had any one heard 
 a sound like that from this invalid s lips ? 
 
 "Rachel," said Ariella, "I am so sleepy! 
 How strange a feeling ! Dear Baruch, you can 
 not think how delightful it is ! It runs through 
 my body and my brain like the fall of dew. I 
 
COME FORTH. 127 
 
 have no pain. What shall I do? How does 
 one act who has no pain ? I ought to speak ; I 
 should talk to you. I have nothing to say. 
 What shall I do? Be patient with me. To 
 wait for the ache to tire itself out, that is the 
 way to go to sleep. But there is no ache to wait 
 for. How can this be! ... It will return. 
 It must be that it is coming back to me. I 
 would sit awhile further and wait for it and 
 battle with it, and say to it, Ah, you demon of 
 the sick ! I have escaped you for a little time 
 so long; one hour two hours I have de- 
 
 o 
 
 fied you ! Now we will have it out between us, 
 you and I ! " 
 
 But while Ariella spoke the words she threw 
 one thin arm around her head, curled her face 
 into her bend of the elbow, smiled more like a 
 baby than a sick woman, and fell straightway 
 into a deep sleep. It was a wonderful sleep. It 
 lasted all that night ; her even, healthy breath 
 ing was not interrupted by so much as a sigh ; 
 she slept on and on, as if death itself could 
 never interfere with that blessed recuperation 
 of the wasted nerve, and as if life loved her too 
 well ever to trouble her by waking. 
 
 " Suppose she wake not ? " asked Baruch, in 
 the unreasonable terror of love. " What if she 
 never wake, O my mother ? " 
 
 "Let her be," said the practical Rachel. 
 
128 COME FORTH. 
 
 " The girl perisheth for sleep like this. I doubt 
 me if she can remember what it is to rest like 
 other human creatures. Mark thee, my son, the 
 healing is not complete upon her yet. Without 
 this sleep she might fall upon her old ways to 
 morrow. It takes more than two hours to heal 
 a woman for nine years ridden upon her bed. 
 Let her alone, Baruch. There are many that do 
 profess to heal the sick. Time is their testi 
 mony, my son. I have seen many a broken 
 heart in my day come from false healing." 
 
 " There are pretenders, I know," said Baruch. 
 " I have heard of them." 
 
 "And I have seen them," whispered Rachel, 
 with the caution of an elderly woman. " I have 
 seen lame men throw away their staves by reason 
 of faith in false gods and prophets ; and I have 
 seen them send to Jerusalem for new ones next 
 week." 
 
 " But he is not as they," murmured Baruch, 
 with the obstinacy of faith. Now Rachel quite 
 agreed with Baruch concerning the genuineness 
 of the healing quality reported of the Nazarene ; 
 but it pleased her to shake her head with the 
 dignity of experience, and answer only : - 
 
 " At any rate, let the girl sleep ; and do as 
 much thyself." 
 
 "I go without," said Baruch, "and keep 
 watch. Stay you with our guest, my mother, 
 and guard her ; for she is precious." 
 
COME FORTH. 129 
 
 Rachel looked after her son, as he departed 
 from the room, and shook her head sadly. 
 
 " What can one do," she thought, u with a 
 blind son ? He thinketh of the maiden like a 
 man with eyes." 
 
 But Rachel was sound asleep herself in ten 
 minutes; and neither blind son nor invalid 
 guest troubled her comfortable night. Only 
 Baruch knew and he only by stealing now 
 and then to the doorway, and reverently listen 
 ing to the slightest sound from within only 
 Baruch knew if Ariella slept the strange sleep of 
 health, or ceased the long-familiar moan of suf 
 fering. Baruch watched till dawn ; and when 
 dawn came, he prayed. 
 
 Ariella awoke quietly. For some moments 
 she lay still ; the old expression of patience set 
 tled upon her features ; she did not try to move. 
 Rachel watched her intently ; Baruch quivered 
 without, a breathless listener. 
 
 "Rachel?" called Ariella. Rachel, I have 
 slept. It is good to be within your walls. Rest 
 dwelleth here. I know not when I have slept 
 such sleep. "Wilt thou come hither and help me, 
 dear Rachel, and bring water that I may bathe 
 my face and cool my arms? " 
 
 " There is water in the inner room," answered 
 Rachel nonchalantly, " and fresh linen and con 
 veniences suitable for a guest. Come in yonder 
 with me, and I will show you them." 
 
130 COME FORTH. 
 
 Ariella stared at her hostess ; her large eyes 
 widened with hurt surprise. 
 
 " Come ! " repeated Eachel in a firm, motherly 
 tone. 
 
 " Oh, I remember ! " cried Ariella. " I remem 
 ber it all. I have put my feet upon the ground. 
 They have borne my weight. I have walked. 
 The Nazarene commanded me, and I obeyed. I 
 walked. But that was yesterday." 
 
 " And this is to-day," replied Rachel, in a 
 comfortable tone. " Arise, Ariella. Arise and 
 walk." 
 
 Thus came to Ariella the two commands, 
 that of the divine spirit and that of common 
 life ; and they took, as they must needs do to 
 the sick, the same form, even the same language. 
 Rachel performed no wonder ; she used her 
 good sense ; which told her that many a wonder 
 failed, whether for lack of wonder-working 
 power or of pluck to follow it up, she could not 
 say, and did not care. The point was, that 
 Ariella had walked. And walk she must. And 
 verily, walk she did. 
 
 The girl arose at once. She tottered for a 
 moment ; then struck out strongly into the mid 
 dle of the room, and walked firmly into the ad 
 joining apartment. The linen curtain swayed 
 and fell, and hid her. Rachel could hear the 
 little splash of the cool water with which her 
 
COME FORTH. 131 
 
 young guest bathed. She did not offer to help 
 her. She went without and told Baruch that 
 Ariella was as well as other people. 
 
 As soon as the morning meal was over, Ariella 
 started for her father s home. While yet the 
 cool of the day was upon Bethany, the little 
 journey would be more fairly made. Ariella 
 was impatient for it. Baruch could not under 
 stand this ; but he said nothing to delay her. 
 
 The girl came out in the morning, looking 
 like a cloud, or a bud, or a dewdrop, or any 
 lovely thing that is born of the young hour, and 
 belongs to it. 
 
 Her eyes burned with excitement compared 
 to which the fever of love is tame. The joy 
 of the cured invalid has no similar upon this 
 earth. 
 
 Ariella could not keep still. Her feet had 
 wings. Her hair seemed electric with life, and 
 floated about her on whims of its own. Waves 
 of exquisite color ran over her pale face, as if 
 learning their way to tint her cheek ; then they 
 would retreat suddenly, like strangers. Life 
 came to her lips; they curved into childlike 
 smiles. She nodded and laughed aloud at little 
 things like a little girl. She ran to and fro. 
 She called and sang. She was absorbed ; she 
 was intoxicated. 
 
 It was a hard thing to Baruch that she was in 
 
132 COME FORTH. 
 
 such a hurry to get away. He would have been 
 glad if she had stayed, or had even wanted to 
 stay, beside them, his mother and himself, for 
 that one day, that first day of her delight. 
 This well Ariella he did not understand. The 
 old Ariella was gone. In her place what had 
 he? 
 
 " Is it possible," thought the blind man, " that 
 I have lost her ? What is this recovery ? Does 
 it cost me Ariella?" 
 
 He bowed his patient head. But to himself 
 he said : 
 
 " So be it, if so be that Ariella suffer not. 
 I am content. I have had my will. She is 
 healed." Ariella did not understand the thought 
 of Baruch. She meant to be very grateful and 
 loving to him. But health and joy were too new 
 to Ariella, they dazzled her. She could see 
 nothing else. To be sure, she said : 
 
 "Baruch! Dear Baruch! I am well. I 
 walk. I fly. I suffer nothing. Oh, Baruch, 
 what do I owe thee ! " 
 
 But Baruch answered nothing. He felt be 
 reaved of Ariella. 
 
 She had insisted on going home alone, for 
 some whim she had about it. But Rachel over 
 ruled her, and accompanied the maiden, who 
 yielded carelessly. What difference did it make ? 
 What did anything matter ? She could walk. 
 
COME FORTH. 133 
 
 When she departed from the house, she took 
 the hand of Baruch, and said some words to 
 him, she knew not what. But the blind man 
 turned away, and thought : 
 
 " She hath forgotten me." 
 
 Ariella trod the roads of Bethany like a spirit. 
 Her feet did not seem to touch the ground. 
 She walked on air. She held her head like a 
 bird. She wished that she knew everybody she 
 met, and could call out and say : 
 
 " Behold me ! I am Ariella. I am well. I 
 walk." 
 
 But Ariella knew few people ; she had been 
 a prisoner of the couch so long. She bounded 
 along uninterrupted. Rachel puffed and la 
 bored, but could not keep up with her. It was 
 perhaps half a mile to the house of Malachi. 
 Now as chance had it, the first person known to 
 Ariella, whom she met that wonderful morning, 
 was a young man walking slowly, with his head 
 bent and eyes upon the ground. 
 
 "What a handsome fellow!" thought the 
 girl. When she came up to him she saw that it 
 was a neighbor unseen of her for a long time, 
 but well enough remembered. In fact it was 
 Lazarus. He had a strange expression. His 
 look was high and distant. His eyes were 
 radiant and full. His face was quite pale. 
 His talith was wet with dew and crumpled, as 
 
134 COME FORTH. 
 
 though he had spent the night without upon 
 the ground. The decorous citizen, the man of 
 proprieties and customs, presented an unprece 
 dented appearance. 
 
 Ariella was not veiled. She had, to tell the 
 truth, forgotten all about it ; veils, not being 
 useful in the sick-room, were without her in 
 stincts, which were, therefore, natural. Laz 
 arus turned upon Ariella the unseeing eye of 
 him who has not slept the entire night. Rachel 
 came panting up. Then Lazarus said slowly: 
 
 " Why, Ariella ! Ariella ? " 
 
 "It is indeed Ariella," said Rachel. "Be 
 hold what wonder God hath wrought upon her." 
 
 "I walk ! " cried Ariella. " I fly ; behold me. 
 I am healed. I walk from the house of Rachel 
 to the house of my father I Ariella ! " 
 
 " What meaneth this ? " demanded Lazarus, 
 now aroused to the extraordinary nature of the 
 scene. 
 
 " The Nazarene bade me," answered Ariella 
 more quietly than she had yet spoken that 
 morning ; " he commanded, and I do walk." 
 
 The countenance of Lazarus expressed a bat 
 tle of emotions as Rachel, in defiance of Jewish 
 conventionality, for such a thing as this did 
 not happen every day, and the proprieties did, 
 paused, and related to their neighbor what had 
 occurred. If Lazarus had ever cherished any 
 
COME FORTH. 135 
 
 reserved opinions about the reported cures 
 wrought by his friend and Master, and it is 
 not impossible, for the strongest of powers were 
 tugging at the faith of the young man, the 
 sight of Ariella was confounding and convincing. 
 Ariella he knew, and her piteous fate. What 
 wonder was this? Ariella treading the streets 
 of Bethany ! What manner of man was he who 
 wrought the deed ? 
 
 Lazarus congratulated Ariella cordially, and 
 hurried away from her. He could not talk 
 about the matter ; his brain seethed with the 
 crowding impressions of the last twenty-four 
 hours, for this was the dawn of the day 
 succeeding the confession of Zahara. Laza 
 rus had spent the entire night wandering over 
 Olivet, sleepless, staggering, drunken with rap 
 ture. On that solitary mountain-top now sacred 
 to history, where the most devout man in Judea 
 too often exhausted himself with nights of 
 prayer and with the fervor of consecration to 
 a lonely and terrible fate, his frailer friend, for 
 love of a woman, kept a wild and fevered watch. 
 
 When Lazarus reached home that morning he 
 learned that Jesus had spent the night in the 
 house of Simon the Leper, that he had rested in 
 the upper chamber, and had departed at dawn, 
 before the morning meal, setting his face to 
 ward Jerusalem. 
 
136 COME FORTH. 
 
 " And we could not even tell him where you 
 were, Lazarus ! " complained Martha coldly. 
 " I was thoroughly ashamed of you." 
 
 " But he asked no questions," said Mary 
 gently. "He scarcely made mention of thy 
 name, my brother." Lazarus bowed his head in 
 silence ; he felt helpless before his own nature. 
 He had made vows enough. He did not say 
 to Mary this time, " I will see the Nazarene 
 as soon as possible." He made haste to change 
 the subject by reporting the wonder wrought 
 on Ariella. But far from changing, this only 
 seemed to accentuate, the great topic upon which 
 in this, as in hundreds of Jewish families at 
 that time, the force of daily interest powerfully 
 centred. 
 
 " He that can put Ariella on her feet is a 
 prophet, verily ! " cried Martha. " She is more 
 care to her mother than any girl in Bethany." 
 But Mary s eyes shone peacefully. It was quite 
 what she was prepared to believe. Why be so 
 surprised about it ? " Happy Ariella ! " she 
 whispered. Mary thought it might be worth 
 nine years of misery, to be healed as Ariella 
 was. Martha set forth at once to the house of 
 Malachi to gossip about the news, and Laza 
 rus retired to his own portion of the house. He 
 tried to sleep. He was thoroughly uncomfort 
 able. Two faces, like statues graven from his 
 
COME FORTH. 137 
 
 heart, filled the silent, shaded room. Zahara s 
 was the one ; but the other was the likeness of 
 the Nazarene. The girl seemed to regard the 
 Kabbi haughtily. But he looked with gentle 
 dignity at Lazarus, and at the scowling beauty. 
 
 * I am torn in twain ! " cried Lazarus. 
 
 Ariella reached home in wonderful time. No 
 feet in Bethany trod that half mile so swiftly on 
 that fair morning. Radiantly swaying, flying, 
 flushed and beautiful, the girl who had gone 
 forth borne upon the litter, moaning with pain, 
 ran up the slope, and flashed into the door of 
 her father s home. 
 
 Hagaar threw down the dish in which she 
 was preparing leavened bread, and shrieked 
 mightily. 
 
 " A spirit ! A spirit ! Malachi, come hither ! 
 Ariella is dead, and her spirit is running about 
 the house ! " 
 
 " I 11 teach her better manners, then ! " 
 growled Malachi, who came lumbering in with 
 his fists clenched. Malachi was one of the peo 
 ple who do not believe in ghosts, and are afraid 
 of them accordingly. 
 
 Panting behind the girl came Rachel, and 
 up the street Martha hurried as fast as the dig 
 nity of a wealthy widow permitted. Other 
 neighbors had by this time learned the news, 
 and a little crowd might be seen gathering, mov 
 ing toward the house. 
 
138 COME FORTH. 
 
 " I walk ! " cried Ariella. " I run. The 
 Nazarene commanded, and I fly. Kiss me, O 
 my mother ! Bless me, father, for I am like 
 other girls." 
 
 " Wouldst thou believe it? " demanded Ra 
 chel, with holy indignation, when she came home 
 to tell the tale to Baruch. " What thinkest 
 thou of such a father ? Malachi swore a great 
 oath, and vowed by Jehovah that the girl did 
 make sport of them, and might have walked any 
 day if she had wanted to." 
 
 " Impossible ! " cried the blind man. 
 
 44 And more than that is possible," continued 
 Rachel, " for when he was forced to perceive that 
 the wonder had come upon Ariella, he fell with 
 a mighty rage. He let loose the vials of his 
 wrath upon me for stealing his daughter so 
 he said from her shelter in her father s house ; 
 and upon thee for the trick, he called it, thou 
 didst play upon him. The impostor hath be 
 witched the girl ! he shouted to the neighbors. 
 Go ye to your homes, disperse, and trouble an 
 afflicted house no more. Leave us alone in our 
 disgrace, said Malachi. But Hagaar said " 
 
 " What said the mother of the maiden ? " 
 asked Baruch, in the greatest distress. 
 
 " Hagaar did go up to her husband and seize 
 him as if he had been a rebellious little boy. 
 Before all the neighbors, the wife of Malachi 
 
COME FORTH. 139 
 
 the Pharisee did shake her husband to and fro. 
 And she did clutch his beard and pulled upon it 
 so he was fain to utter a yell of pain ; and she 
 took the courage of a man upon her woman s 
 lips, and she did say, and a noise she made in 
 saying it, I testify, Malachi, all these years 
 thou hast been lord unto me, and I have served 
 thee as thine handmaid ; but now thou shalt not 
 lord me, for I am a woman, and the mother of 
 the maiden, and I say, Look upon her ! Look 
 upon her ! She is like other girls poor Ari- 
 ella walking about ! and he that is her 
 father, and does not bless God for the sight of 
 her to-day, he deserveth to be crucified ! And 
 Martha, in a stately voice, cried, Amen. And 
 all the neighbors did say, Amen. And Mala 
 chi was ashamed ; but he was the more wroth 
 insomuch as he vms ashamed, and he turned 
 him about, and cried aloud, 4 Ye shall see her on 
 her couch again, ye people of Bethany, for all 
 this pretender pretendeth ! Look ye to it ! Ye 
 shall see if Ariella riseth and goeth about to 
 morrow ! 
 
 " Oh, horrible ! " cried Baruch. " What did 
 she say ? " 
 
 " Why, she said, Shame on you, my hus 
 band ! And" 
 
 "What did Ariella say?" interrupted Baruch. 
 
 " Naught," said Rachel, " naught. She did 
 
140 COME FORTH. 
 
 turn as pale as the dead, and quail before her 
 father. And fiagaar, her mother, enveloped 
 the girl in her &rms, and shielded her, and all 
 the people cried out upon Malachi." 
 
 " Poor lamb," moaned Baruch. " Poor qui 
 vering little lamb ! " 
 
 " Well, if she be a lamb, Hagaar is a consid 
 erable sheep," said Rachel dryly. " Thou mayest 
 trust the woman with her young, my son. Then 
 is she a mighty power. As for Malachi, verily 
 I believe he would rather tie the girl upon her 
 bed than to permit the Nazarene to cure her." 
 
 Baruch replied with an inarticulate sound of 
 distress. 
 
 " And Lazarus said " continued Rachel. 
 
 " When sawest thou Lazarus? " demanded Ba 
 ruch quickly. 
 
 Rachel related the details of the meeting be 
 tween Lazarus and Ariella on the way to the 
 house of Malachi. 
 
 The blind man turned away. His face fell, 
 but his lips were silent. Lazarus could see. 
 
 And Ariella, in the excitement of the wild 
 scene at home, had omitted to send any message 
 back to Baruch by his mother. Baruch went 
 away, and sat under the olive-tree, alone and 
 patient. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE relation of Lazarus to the Nazarene had 
 been always peculiar. No other person among 
 the friends of the Rabbi had a similar experi 
 ence. The acquaintance of the two had begun 
 on this wise. 
 
 Lazarus had a contract for some fine carving 
 upon a portion of the Temple, that always 
 growing and never completed pride and glory of 
 the Jews, upon which ten thousand men worked 
 for over forty years, and in which there always 
 remained the next touch possible to the patient 
 artist of a beautiful thing. 
 
 Lazarus needed for his purpose some special 
 carpentering of a high order of skill ; and, being 
 a conscientious workman, sought for some time 
 the hand required. There was finally recom 
 mended to him a young man, bearing the very 
 common name of Jesus, a resident of a low, un 
 popular locality known as Nazareth. This per 
 son, it was said, exhibited a skill beyond his 
 fellows, executing work of a fine degree. Laz 
 arus found him, and set him to work in the 
 Sacred Building. This might have been five or 
 
142 COME FORTH. 
 
 six years before the time of our story. The 
 young man performed his task with a skill and 
 effect unknown to the experience of the builder 
 with any common workman. 
 
 " Verily thy tools fly to do thy bidding," 
 said the employer to the employee, one day, 
 when he had stood silently watching the Naza- 
 rene for a long while. Jesus laid down the tool 
 in his hand, and regarded the builder with a 
 strange look. He replied that this might be 
 possible. Lazarus, in amazement, inquired the 
 meaning of these words. The young man made 
 further answer to the effect that many things un 
 known and un wrought were possible, for which 
 the times and the hearts of men were not ripe. 
 
 " I comprehend thee not," said Lazarus. 
 
 The carpenter was silent. 
 
 "But I do desire it," continued the builder. 
 " I perceive that thou art a high-minded man, 
 occupied with thoughts, not pleasure. Thou 
 hast reflected more than I. I would hear this 
 explained, if thou thinkest me worthy of thy 
 confidence," added Lazarus, with the modesty 
 of a truly delicate nature, capable of recog 
 nizing its superior in an inferior social posi 
 tion. 
 
 The young workman responded quietly to this 
 tribute, which seemed neither to elate nor to 
 surprise him. 
 
COME FORTH. 143 
 
 " Thy touch is not the touch of a mechanic," 
 said Lazarus uncomfortably. "Yet had I de 
 pended on thee to complete this service in the 
 Temple " - 
 
 He felt embarrassed before his carpenter, as 
 if he had given a servant s commission to a 
 niagian in disguise. 
 
 " Behold," said the Nazarene, quietly resum 
 ing his own work. "Now do I follow thee. 
 The time cometh when thou shalt follow me." 
 
 While they were conversing on this wise, it 
 chanced that Lazarus made an awkward slip 
 with his hand against the tool, and it cut him 
 heavily, entering the artery in the wrist. The 
 blood flowed abundantly, and the injury had a 
 serious look. The Nazarene uttered an exclama 
 tion of sympathy, and, clasping the wound in his 
 own sensitive hand, held it firmly, and bowed 
 his head over it, murmuring to himself gently 
 as he did this. 
 
 " What sayest thou ? " asked Lazarus un 
 easily. 
 
 But Jesus made him no reply. 
 
 " Unclasp thy hand from me, that I may seek 
 some remedy or physician for my hurt," urged 
 Lazarus, " for methinks it is a considerable 
 one." 
 
 The young carpenter obeyed silently. And 
 when he had unclasped his hand from the 
 
144 COME FORTH. 
 
 wound, lo ! it was healed beneath his touch. 
 And he said to the wounded builder : 
 
 " See thou tell 110 man. Speak not of these 
 things ; for the time is not ready for it." The 
 two young men looked each other solemnly in 
 the eye. 
 
 " What art thou ? " demanded Lazarus, paling. 
 
 But Jesus made him no reply. 
 
 " Who art thou ? " persisted Lazarus. 
 
 " Time will teach thee," answered the other. 
 
 From this hour a friendship sprang between 
 the two young men. It was closely felt rather 
 than closely cultivated ; for their ways led them 
 apart. Lazarus remained true to the confi 
 dence of the Nazarene : he made mention of it 
 to no person from that time forth ; in fact, even 
 between themselves, as is the way of reserved 
 men, the wonder was never again discussed. 
 
 Lazarus regarded that incident in the Temple 
 with a certain awe ; but his mind never insisted 
 on an explanation of the phenomenon. The 
 Oriental accepts mystery naturally ; Lazarus 
 was not ignorant of the marvels of his country, 
 but in anything of this nature he was totally 
 inexperienced. He never forgot it. In later 
 years, when the Nazarene grew into his tremen 
 dous popularity as a traveling Rabbi ; when the 
 wonders that he wrought were brought as a tale 
 that is told almost every week to the ears of 
 
COME FORTH. 145 
 
 Lazarus, that little scene in the Temple came 
 back to him significantly. Probably it had 
 prepared the prosperous, busy young Jew the 
 more seriously to consider the awful claims of 
 his friend when the time came that these were 
 presented to Jewish society. 
 
 During the public career of the Nazarene, the 
 two had met, but less often than had been ex 
 pected. Both men were absorbingly busy, and 
 in divergent ways. A strong tenderness, how 
 ever, remained ripe between them. It had been 
 the pleasure of Lazarus boldly to entertain Jesus 
 at his house as often as possible ; yet it was 
 not very often. Lazarus had shown no pusil 
 lanimity in this matter. When the muttering 
 began which menaced the usefulness, and was 
 doomed to threaten the very life, of the young 
 religious teacher ; when Sanhedrim and Court, 
 Priest and Pharisee, marked the most spiritual 
 man in Judea with their dangerous displeasure, 
 the rich and influential citizen remained loyal to 
 his early affection for the poor itinerant. Laza 
 rus had been hospitable and affectionate to Jesus. 
 He called himself true. Up to this time he had 
 been as attentive to his friend as circumstance 
 permitted. 
 
 Now, to him as to thousands of live young 
 natures, this had happened : the sea of love had 
 overwhelmed him, and in it friendship was afloat 
 or drowning, struggling for dear life. 
 
146 COME FORTH. 
 
 The final evening at the palace instituted a 
 duel of rapture and despair in the soul of Laza 
 rus. At first, delight dominated. Zahara loved 
 him. Heaven and earth could not change that. 
 But when the next day wore on, and the next, 
 and another, and the barricade of circumstances 
 between himself and the High priest s daughter 
 took on the full strength of common reality, 
 Lazarus succumbed to his misery. The work 
 was done. There was now no excuse for going 
 to the palace ; there was now no opportunity 
 to go to the palace. There was, therefore, no 
 Zahara. 
 
 What could the lover do? To advance like a 
 man, and woo the maiden of her father, was im 
 possible. The High priest gave no daughter to 
 a carpenter. A suspicion of the truth would be 
 fatal to everything. Annas was quite capable 
 of sending his daughter on a visit to Egypt, 
 Rome, or wherever, beyond the reach of an 
 ineligible lover; for Zahara, his youngest and 
 dearest, was now the only child left in the old 
 priest s home. He might be capable of designs 
 upon the lover, who knew ? Lazarus was a 
 man of the world, of his little world at least, 
 and he shrewdly estimated the character of An 
 nas ; a man at once attractive and repellent, 
 good-natured and cold, frank and scheming, af 
 fectionate and relentless. If a love affair in his 
 
COME FORTH. 147 
 
 household got beyond his indolent observation, 
 nothing would be easier than for Annas to atone 
 for a little negligence by extreme measures. In 
 the state of society then existing in Judea, the 
 power of a dignitary like Annas was uncon 
 trolled and dangerous. What he did would not 
 be questioned, and what he chose would be ef 
 fected. The disposal of an objectionable person 
 would be made as comfortable as possible for 
 the disposer : methods would not matter. What 
 would the disappearance of a builder signify ? 
 
 Lazarus fully realized his position. It seemed 
 to be a hopeless one ; but youth and love are 
 eager, and despair uncomfortable. Lazarus 
 found in himself interludes of perfectly unrea 
 sonable hope. 
 
 During these he haunted the region of the 
 palace, drawing as near as he dared without de 
 tection. He never saw her ; not once. He 
 watched for her litter in the streets. He min 
 gled with people, and listened to the gossip about 
 the movements of her father. He neglected his 
 business ; he eat little ; he slept less. One day, 
 after a long tramp over the mountain and up to 
 its top, whence he could look down upon the 
 palace of the High priest, when Lazarus turned 
 to go home it was nearly high noon, and he felt 
 the vengeance of the sun upon his head. He 
 grew blind and dizzy ; and looking abroad for 
 
148 COME FORTH. 
 
 the familiar outline of the scenery in the valley, 
 suddenly he could see nothing, and a faintuess 
 seized him. 
 
 "There floweth the brook Kidron," thought 
 Lazarus, " and yonder should be the palace, and 
 there must be the house of Simon the Leper. I 
 am not well. I have walked too far. I cannot 
 distinguish objects. My head hath a singular 
 sense of heat and pain. I must rest me, and 
 shield me beneath the first spot of shade that I 
 can reach. Verily, I am over-worn." 
 
 Now with these thoughts half muttering upon 
 his parched lips, the young man sank to the 
 ground. The full power of the sun scorched his 
 brain and body ; and he became unconscious 
 where he lay, a prone and helpless figure, face 
 down, upon the hot side of Olivet. 
 
 There was a little garden near him, toward 
 which Lazarus had been struggling. It was the 
 property of a friend of his, a spot of rich 
 foliage, thick and cool, a pleasant, secluded 
 place. It went by the name of Gethsemane. 
 
 Lazarus fainted just without the walls of this 
 garden, if we should call it a faint ; his con 
 dition had too many causes, and was too serious 
 to be lightly named. He remained unconscious 
 for a long time. 
 
 When he came to himself, the grateful sense 
 of shadow overhung him. The deadly sun was 
 
COME FORTH. 149 
 
 quite shielded away from his burning head. 
 Olive-trees folded their massive shelter, a green 
 and graceful tent, above him ; the slender out 
 line of the long leaves quivered on the edge of 
 a bough against a fiery sky ; the gray tints of 
 the under leaf added to the impression that the 
 olive was a cool tree. A soft air played, like 
 unseen fingers, upon these delicate leaves. The 
 scents of richly cultivated fruits and flowers met 
 in a pleasant, nondescript perfume, which was 
 probably as intelligible to the stricken man as it 
 would have been at any time ; for Lazarus had 
 handled too many tools to be familiar with 
 flowers. It was Zahara he cared for, not the 
 lily. He turned his eyes idly about the familiar, 
 gorgeous garden. He was quite alone. He 
 recognized the spot immediately, and the fact 
 that unknown hands had brought him thither. 
 
 But whose ? And where were they ? 
 
 " Amos ? " called Lazarus faintly, naming the 
 name of his friend. There was no answer to 
 the call, and Lazarus repeated it several times 
 before the proprietor of the garden appeared. 
 When he did so, he came leisurely through the 
 fig-trees, walking with the comfortable step of 
 a well-to-do man of agricultural temperament. 
 He was a middle-aged, thoughtful Jew, a person 
 of some social importance, and deeply in sympa 
 thy with the religious movement in which Laz 
 arus had been of late a delinquent. 
 
150 COME FORTH. 
 
 " Ah, there thou art," said Amos. " I left 
 thee to sleep it out. Thou hast had a bad time 
 of it, Lazarus, and verily thou hast escaped a 
 worse." 
 
 " What aileth me ? " demanded Lazarus feebly. 
 
 " A stroke of the sun, and nothing less," said 
 Amos shortly. " I wonder not. How earnest 
 thou on the top of Olivet at noon of a day like 
 this?" 
 
 " I meant to get home," murmured Lazarus. 
 "I forgot myself." 
 
 " Meant ! Forgot ! " cried Amos. " These 
 are pretty words for a busy, sensible fellow. I 
 know thee not, Lazarus, in these days ; I under 
 stand thee not." 
 
 " Nor I myself," replied Lazarus faintly. He 
 really felt too ill to be scolded. But Amos took 
 the opportunity to hit his friend while he was 
 down ; it is a very old custom, as old as friend 
 ship. 
 
 " So it was thou that broughtest me hither," 
 said Lazarus. "I thank thee, Amos. In fact I 
 think I was hard bestead. But how didst thou 
 manage it ? I am a heavy fellow." 
 
 " In faith I did not manage it at all," replied 
 Amos. " It was not I, Lazarus, who brought 
 thee here to Gethsemane." 
 
 " Who then ? " cried Lazarus, starting from 
 the ground, and staring about the garden. 
 " Where is he ? Who is he ? " 
 
COME FORTH. 151 
 
 " He who took that burden upon himself hath 
 departed from thee," said Amos gravely. " He 
 watched thee till the signs of consciousness ap 
 peared. He did watch thee, and minister to 
 thee as man doth not minister to man except he 
 loveth him. When thou didst move, and sum 
 mon thy senses back to thy countenance, he 
 arose and went his way. I go/ he said ; * stay 
 me not. I go before he waketh. But he com 
 mended thee to me and to my tenderness in 
 words that would have wrung thy heart ; and 
 he did bless thee, Lazarus, and departed from 
 thee." 
 
 " Tell me his name," demanded Lazarus. 
 "Who did so serve me, and so depart from 
 ine?" 
 
 "I name thee no names," replied the pro 
 prietor of Gethsemane severely. " Thou askest, 
 verily, a flippant question, Lazarus, to my think 
 ing. Who would he be? Who must he be? 
 What man is he who climbeth Olivet, not on 
 fool s business like thine own, but on awful 
 errands with his God ? Who seeketh this my 
 garden and spendeth whole nights herein that 
 he may pray here ? What man is he who seeth 
 a sufferer upon the wayside afar off, and suc- 
 coreth him, and hath saved him before the eye 
 of any other man hath so much as attended to 
 his calamity ? What man is he who beareth 
 
152 COME FORTH. 
 
 with the coldness of a friend and forgiveth it 
 unto him, and guardeth him, and shieldeth him, 
 and overwhelmeth him with tenderness, and will 
 not obtrude his presence to receive from obli 
 gation that which love did not offer ? Is there 
 more than one man in Judea builded after this 
 manner, Lazarus ? " 
 
 And Lazarus was silent before Amos. For 
 he knew that there was no man but one who 
 would have served him and saved him as he had 
 been served and saved. 
 
 " When thou seest the Nazarene " began 
 Lazarus, with emotion. 
 
 " When thou seest him," interrupted Amos, 
 "thou canst speak for thyself. In truth, it 
 occurreth to me that between himself and thee 
 no third man should intermeddle." 
 
 " Thou art right, Amos," said Lazarus rever 
 ently. " I shall soon have an opportunity of 
 speaking with him." 
 
 " Love maketh its opportunities," replied 
 Amos. So blindfold, so hand-bound, is friend 
 ship ! This was the most unfortunate thing 
 which Amos could have said. His words swung 
 the mind of Lazarus hotly in the last direction 
 in which, at that moment, it should have turned. 
 Love opportunity Zahara ! A mob of 
 maddening images possessed the lover s fevered 
 brain. He longed to get away alone, that he 
 
COME FORTH. 153 
 
 might gloat upon them. The respectable Amos, 
 the decorous garden, seemed phantoms of the 
 sunstroke ; Jesus of Nazareth, a gentle appari 
 tion. 
 
 Only Zahara was too real to be thrust out of 
 the sensibility of Lazarus by any interruption of 
 feeling. Zahara dominated his being, a splendid 
 force, as the sun of the East had smitten him to 
 the earth. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 IT was sunset at Capernaum. The lake was 
 quite smooth. She carried a broad sheen of 
 colors upon her quiet face, and looked more like 
 a huge tinted sail spread to dry among the hills 
 than the vixen sea she was. Capernaum was a 
 thriving place, being on the highroad from 
 Damascus to the South, and gay with travelers 
 and summer residents. It was the favorite wa 
 tering-place of Jerusalem, and the sun-smitten 
 country round it was a picturesque place, with 
 effective houses built of black and white stones, 
 and a caressing scenery decorated and tapestried 
 with myrtle, rock-rose, tamarisk, and acacia. In 
 fact, Capernaum had many of those points 
 appreciated by wealthy people in search of sum 
 mer houses, and, when united to a lake-breeze, 
 liberally paid for. 
 
 Upon the heights at the northwest end of the 
 town stood one stately villa conspicuous for its 
 elegance. The stones which composed it were 
 of white and rose, outlined with black upon the 
 facade : the architecture was inspiring if not 
 imposing, the grounds extensive and liberally 
 
COME FORTH. 155 
 
 cultivated, and the whole place had the unmis 
 takable air of un grand Seigneur. 
 
 Walking in the fruit-garden at the cool of the 
 day, like the Almighty after creation, an old 
 man viewed his country-seat with elderly and 
 opulent satisfaction. His venerable beard flowed 
 to his breast. His important costume had a 
 dignity of its own. His well-kept, not to say 
 well-fed, hand fatly took on the gesture of ben 
 ediction as he moved among his family and 
 slaves. His comfortable eye wandered over the 
 hills and the sea to return easily to the little 
 horizon of his villa, which he regarded with the 
 supreme complacency of wealth and position 
 and ease from affairs. It was known in Jerusa 
 lem that the High priest was at home at his 
 country-seat in Capernaum for a matter of some 
 weeks. 
 
 Upon the Sea of Galilee, at that calm and 
 alluring hour, a dainty, painted shallop, rowed 
 by slaves and well filled with women, attracted 
 much attention. Gennesaret was crowded with 
 sails. She always was. But this sultry and 
 silent evening had added the pleasure-seekers to 
 the bread-seekers, the summer guests to the fish 
 ermen. 
 
 The little fleet was so great that boats became 
 entangled at the landings and beaches, and had 
 there been a breeze, skillful steering would have 
 
156 COME FORTH. 
 
 been needed to avoid collision in sailing. But 
 of breeze there was hardly enough to stir the 
 pretty toys of the pleasure-people, or the clum 
 sier wings of the fishing-boats. One floated, 
 that evening, drifted, idled, dreamed, but did 
 not expect to sail. 
 
 The lady, mistress of the gay shallop, 
 which, by the way, bore a purple sail, and was 
 tied or trimmed with golden ropes, sat among 
 her maidens haughtily. She seemed dissatisfied 
 and distraite. 
 
 " It is a dull place, this Capernaum," she 
 said. " Why did we come, Eebecca ? " 
 
 " It will be livelier when the new wing is 
 added to the villa," replied Rebecca. 
 
 " That does not follow," said Zahara indiffer 
 ently. " Who buildeth the wing ? My father 
 hath omitted to mention to me. It should be 
 decently done, at least, if we have to spend the 
 winter here." 
 
 But Rebecca did not know who should build 
 the wing. She understood that he who did re 
 pair the palace at home had other engagements, 
 and was not expected ; but that the work should 
 be begun at once by somebody, the damsel knew, 
 for behold the tents of the workmen, erected 
 yonder on the hill. They had arisen since the 
 spring of to-day s sun, said Rebecca. 
 
 " It does not matter," said Zahara. She 
 
COME FORTH. 157 
 
 looked idly at the little group of tents which 
 Rebecca pointed out behind the villa of Annas. 
 The shining water lay between. Zahara glanced 
 across it, and then gazed into it. Her brilliant 
 face had a subdued, gentle expression. Life 
 seemed unimportant to the High priest s daugh 
 ter. For the first time in her history, Zahara 
 was sad. 
 
 " It is a stupid sea," said Zahara, " and what 
 a stupid boat ! One might as well go home and 
 take a nap on a prayer-rug. Bid the fellows 
 take the oars, for we shall drift all night. Get 
 out the oars, and have me rowed across to the 
 other shore. I desire to see a new ripple, if 
 nothing more is possible, in this town where 
 nothing happens." 
 
 At the moment when this order was given, 
 and the rowers of the lady s boat took to their 
 oars, and made a marked course away from the 
 rest of the pleasure-fleet heading across the lake, 
 a young man came out of one of the tents which 
 Rebecca had pointed out to her mistress and 
 walked rapidly down to the beach. His eyes 
 were on the water, but no special interest in 
 anything he saw appeared upon his countenance 
 until by chance he overheard a bystander ob 
 serve carelessly : 
 
 "The daughter of Annas saileth to-night. 
 Yonder is her shalfcp." 
 
158 COME FORTH. 
 
 " Ah ! " cried the young man, stopping short, 
 " which one ? Yes. I see. The sail is a sail 
 of purple. Is that the lady s shallop ? " 
 
 " Verily, yes," said the bystander ; " she goeth 
 to the opposite shore. She is rowed by the 
 slaves of her father." 
 
 The young man bowed and passed on. His 
 eyes now sought the water as a king corn- 
 man deth the world. His face had grown vivid 
 and beautiful. His lips moved tenderly under 
 neath his bright beard. His eyes melted. He 
 breathed, but did not articulate the word : 
 
 "Zahara!" 
 
 Now Annas was a cautious man, not accus 
 tomed to make known his purposes to the wo 
 men of his household, and Rebecca was entirely 
 ignorant of the fact that the master builder, 
 Lazarus, had accepted the job upon the villa, 
 and would himself oversee it, having quartered 
 his men in tents upon the hillside, and taken 
 lodgings for himself at the khan, or village inn. 
 
 Lazarus had done this with precipitation, al 
 most without reflection. When the summons 
 came from Annas, whose fancy had lightly for 
 gotten the proposed repairs at the palace, and 
 substituted others in his villa with the facile 
 absorption of a man in his country-seat, the 
 builder had responded with such promptness 
 that the High priest took quick advantage of 
 
COME FORTH. 159 
 
 the situation to beat him down to an easy price. 
 Lazarus accepted it without protest, almost 
 without consciousness that he, the first master- 
 builder in the vicinity of Jerusalem, was under 
 bidding the trade to the point of absurdity, one 
 might almost say of indecency. What could it 
 matter? Lazarus would have given Annas a 
 villa to be at Capernaum just then. 
 
 On this evening, as he walked nervously up 
 and down the strand, following the sail of Za- 
 hara, he observed a man stop and watch the 
 same with something more than casual atten 
 tion. The man was a fisherman. He cast the 
 deep and always grave eye of his calling upon 
 the sea. " I hope those fellows will not row the 
 women too far," he said ; " we are to have a 
 change in the wind." 
 
 Then Lazarus perceived that he knew the 
 man, and spoke to him. 
 
 "I salute yon, Peter. Tell me. The lady 
 yonder is not likely to get into any trouble, is 
 she?" 
 
 "Lazarus, I salute you. Your face is a 
 stranger of late to me. As to the lady, all I 
 can say is, that these pleasure-boats are poor 
 affairs. It is a singular thing to me that the 
 richer a man is the more doth he tempt danger 
 upon the face of the waters. Never yet did I 
 know property to supply mariners sense." 
 
160 COME FORTH. 
 
 With these words Peter passed on, for he was 
 a busy man. Peter was now at home for a few 
 days, and had fish to get to market. But Laza 
 rus had Zahara in a crazy little boat. The 
 two men parted, as unconscious of each other s 
 thoughts, almost as indifferent to them, as if 
 they had been separate and divergent planets 
 swinging in space, neither knowing that the time 
 and the topic were to come upon which their 
 natures would beat as one pulse, and that a 
 throbbing artery. 
 
 Peter the fisherman had hardly turned the 
 curve of the beach toward the town, when a light 
 breeze tickled the surface of the lake, as fingers 
 play with sensitive flesh. The water seemed to 
 shrink and writhe a little playfully. Then a 
 sound like a slight, protesting laugh whirred 
 across from shore to shore. This was followed 
 by a little shriek of rising wind. Then, in a 
 moment, came whirl and darkness, foam and 
 fury, uproar and confusion. One of the violent 
 and dangerous squalls to which Gennesaret was 
 subject had struck the lake. The peaceful tints 
 of the water darkened into angry masses of 
 color ; pearl and rose and gold became slate and 
 black and iron. 
 
 Cries arose from the pleasure-boats. The 
 clumsy sails of the age struggled in the tornado, 
 and came down. People made for the shore as 
 
COME FORTH. 161 
 
 fast as their senses permitted. These flaws 
 from the gorges among the hills were greatly 
 feared upon the shores of the lake, and there 
 was little trifling with them. Cries of excite 
 ment or fear arose from the boats and from the 
 beaches. One mad little boat capsized, but a 
 couple of*sturdy young Jews were the only pas 
 sengers, and, being nearly ashore, they swam 
 for it comfortably and attracted but little atten 
 tion. 
 
 The wind had now beaten itself into a mani 
 acal temper, and a vicious-looking storm-cloud 
 swung over the sea and hung in mid-heaven. 
 In the midst of the uproar the sun sank, and 
 the sudden darkness of a hill country was added 
 to the dismal scene. 
 
 Among the crowd upon the beach a scurry 
 ing mass of incoherent men, these landing and 
 those shouting, some pushing up the shore to 
 get away, and others pushing down to it to see 
 what was going on one man stood in a kind of 
 stupor, straining his eyes over the black belt of 
 the water, where the foam w r as flying wildly. 
 It was Lazarus. He was transfixed with agony. 
 Zahara s boat had become invisible. 
 
 "A boat!" cried Lazarus, suddenly starting 
 to his senses. " A boat to save a lady ! A 
 boat and boatmen ! I pay a price for it ! " 
 
 But the bystanders shook their heads, look- 
 
162 COME FORTH. 
 
 ing dogged and sullen through the half-light. 
 No man stirred. Lazarus ran down to the 
 water and seized a skiff, and began to push it 
 out. Half a dozen hands snatched it away from 
 him. 
 
 " You get no boat and no boatmen from a 
 Galilean fisherman in a blow like this," said one 
 of the men imperiously. " If you would kill 
 yourself, which is contrary to the law, you get 
 no help from us." 
 
 At this moment an authoritative voice came 
 crashing into the crowd. 
 
 " A boat ! A boat ! Fifty denarii for a boat 
 and the rowers thereof ! " It was the voice of 
 the High priest. His venerable figure trembled 
 with terror ; his long beard blew in the wind ; 
 his face was convulsed. A Roman standing by 
 said carelessly : 
 
 " Some of his women are across the lake." 
 
 Lazarus ran up to Annas, and poured forth 
 wild words, a torrent of them, offering his ser 
 vices, himself, his body, soul, all Lazarus to 
 save Zahara. 
 
 " But wrench thou the boat from these craven 
 fellows, and I will reach her, by the God of our 
 Fathers ! I save Zahara ! " 
 
 Annas, in the naturalness of the awful mo 
 ment, held out his hand and grasped the hand 
 of the builder. The two men swayed together 
 
COME FORTH. 163 
 
 on one great impulse. They ran down into the 
 water, wading out. The High priest flung a 
 handful of gold into the face of a fisherman, with 
 a force that knocked the fellow flat ; and, snatch 
 ing his boat from him, hurled it into the water. 
 Lazarus sprang in. Then the senses of the 
 High priest returned to him. 
 
 " Are you familiar with seacraft ? " he asked 
 suddenly. " Can you row well ? " 
 
 " No," answered the inland mechanic, " not 
 well. But I have handled oars. I can get to 
 her." 
 
 " She is safer without you," answered the 
 High priest coldly. The storm was now a tem 
 pest. It bellowed at the two men, so that they 
 could with difficulty hear each other s voices 
 through the blast. The lake had become a cur 
 tain of cloud, and wind, and night. The High 
 priest stood distractedly, calling certain slaves 
 of his, and urging them into the boat. 
 
 " Ho, there ! In with you ! Row forth ! Row 
 yonder to your mistress, ye dogs ! " 
 
 Lazarus, moved by one of the uncontrollable 
 impulses that madden or inspire men, turned 
 from the disheartening scene, and dashed off 
 down the shore on his own responsibility. 
 Scarcely knowing what he did, or why he did 
 it, but urged by the longing to get as near as 
 possible to the endangered boat, the young man 
 
164 COME FORTH. 
 
 rushed along the edge of the lake on the lee 
 ward side of the storm, making mad haste, 
 scrambling over rock and wreck, and beating 
 onward blindly. Of course, if Zahara had 
 crossed the lake, it was a hopeless undertaking 
 to reach a sight of her. But suppose she had 
 been blown out of her way, the boat might even 
 be in sight, as soon as the clouds should lift ; 
 and the course which the lover s instinct took 
 proved not so aimless as it seemed. 
 
 Lazarus made, in this reckless way, a long 
 distance, miles or leagues, for aught he knew; 
 he had lost all estimate of time or space. 
 Whether it were midnight or morning, if he 
 were in Capernaum or in Jerusalem, he knew 
 not, when suddenly, to his blurred and blood 
 shot eyes, there appeared a vision of a little 
 beaten boat, laboring heavily in the sea, and 
 blown directly toward him, half a league out. 
 Lazarus flung all his soul into his voice and 
 called : 
 
 "Zahara!" 
 
 But he might as well have summoned the shade 
 of Sarah, the wife of Abraham, from the tomb, 
 as Zahara from that raging expanse of night 
 and sea. 
 
 He could see, or he seemed to see, the pretty 
 purple sail of the toy boat, rent and ruined, 
 flapping to the gale ; the silly craft careened 
 
COME FORTH. 165 
 
 like the shell of a dove s egg. and lo, while he 
 stood helpless and shouting, and perishing of his 
 anguish, the boat did overturn before his eyes, 
 and human figures were spilled into the water 
 like beetles. Then the storm burst with a roar, 
 and he saw no more. 
 
 When Lazarus came to himself, it had light 
 ened a little. A cleft in the mass of angry 
 cloud showed a single star. He crawled to his 
 feet, and waded out into the water madly, call 
 ing and pleading for Zahara. He waded out up 
 to his neck, and tried to swim toward the wreck ; 
 but he was a poor swimmer, and the waves beat 
 him back. He sank upon the sands, and tried 
 nothing more. Despair took him. He no longer 
 even wailed her name, but lay like a dead man, 
 with his face upturned to the awful storm. 
 Now, as he lay there, suddenly a singular silence 
 fell upon the raving scene. The huge violence 
 of wind which was over his head came to a 
 stop, with a concussion. It was a tremendous 
 concussion, like thunder ; but thunder it was 
 not, nor was it any sound with the like of which 
 his ears were familiar. The storm simply ceased, 
 as if at a military " Halt ! " The cloud over 
 head lightened, brightened, and burst. Sky 
 shone through. The water, still unconquered, 
 leaped, like rebel forces, high to meet it. As 
 the young man crawled to his knees, to watch 
 
166 COME FORTH. 
 
 the turmoil of the sea, straining for a sight of 
 the doomed boat, he perceived a remarkable 
 thing. 
 
 Straight between the shore and the spot where 
 the boat had overturned, a long narrow line of 
 light and calm appeared, cut like a path between 
 billows and foam. Upon this fair and shining 
 water-way a majestic figure moved. It glided 
 toward the shore, with light feet treading the 
 water as a man treadeth the solid sand. The 
 face of the man could not be seen ; but his mien 
 was mighty. In his arms he bore a helpless 
 human form a woman s dripping from the 
 sea. 
 
 The heart of Lazarus beat as if it would 
 strangle him. His breath came in gasps. He 
 struggled to his feet ; then sank again, and fell 
 upon his knees. In the outline and attitude of 
 that commanding figure something familiar and 
 pathetic seemed to appeal to him. It advanced 
 solemnly. It spake no word. God was it, or 
 man, or angel ? 
 
 It moved on majestically. It reached the 
 shore. It stooped above the young man, and 
 gently laid the woman at his feet. 
 
 Then Lazarus came to himself, and sprang 
 and cried out mightily, and clutched after the 
 two figures, the woman s and his who carried 
 her, and his cry rang to the skies, and pierced 
 
COME FORTH. 167 
 
 the shore of Galilee. But this was the order of 
 the cry : 
 
 " Zahara ! " 
 
 " Master ! " 
 
 And, whether God, or man, or angel, the 
 vision answered not, but bent above the young 
 man and the woman in the attitude of benedic 
 tion, and departed from them in the thick foliage 
 of the lake shore. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 WHEN Lazarus had come forth from Gethse- 
 mane, the garden of Amos, his heart was sore 
 and tender with remorse and with love. His 
 feeling toward the Nazarene rose into ardent 
 longing; and he made all haste at the first 
 possible moment to meet the generous and for 
 giving friend, whose attitude toward himself 
 was one of such nobility and fidelity. The op 
 portunity did not arrive until the evening of 
 the second day thereafter ; then it was that the 
 hour of evening prayer found Lazarus actively 
 searching for Jesus in his usual haunts at Jeru 
 salem. The search was unsuccessful. In the 
 course of it, Lazarus happened to come upon 
 John the . fisherman, who informed him quietly, 
 somewhat coldly, Lazarus thought, that his Mas 
 ter journeyed to Tiberias, whither he himself 
 should follow, with other disciples of the Rabbi, 
 upon the succeeding day. It did indeed occur 
 to Lazarus that he might go to Tiberias him 
 self ; but at that precise time came the order 
 from the High priest to improve the villa at 
 Capernaum. 
 
COME FORTH. 169 
 
 Lazarus responded to it without a moment s 
 hesitation. 
 
 Thus again had fate, or that movement of 
 our own to which we are apt to give the com 
 fortable name of fate, interposed between the 
 young man and the teacher whom he idealized 
 and neglected, revered and grieved. Now, in 
 this tremendous moment, in night and storm 
 and wreck, and in the face of death, the two 
 had met, and yet had met not. Lazarus had 
 not even seen the countenance of his friend ; it 
 was so dark, and his own eyes so dimmed by 
 those tears that come of seaward gazing and 
 straining. He had only felt that benignant 
 and wondrous presence, as one might feel the 
 passing of an angel in the darkness. Jesus him 
 self had not spoken an audible word. Lazarus 
 fancied that his breath came quickly, either in 
 agitation or from exhaustion : but he was so 
 used to associating the Nazarene with the signs 
 of power, achievement, and self-possession, that 
 it was difficult for him to attribute these indica 
 tions of effort and pathetic sensitiveness to that 
 mysterious Personality. 
 
 At any rate, whether aggrieved or rebuking, 
 whether in tenderness or in displeasure, the 
 Nazarene had gone. 
 
 The first movement of Lazarus, it must be ad 
 mitted, was toward Zahara. To discover whether 
 
170 COME FORTH. 
 
 she still lived, this instinct dominated every 
 thing. He caught her delicate, wet hand in his ; 
 it dropped heavily at her side. He bent above 
 her, reverently daring to put his ear upon her 
 sacred breast ; her heart beat, weakly, but 
 steadily enough, like the heart of a strong girl 
 whom shock and shipwreck do not easily kill. 
 
 " She lives ! " murmured Lazarus. " She is 
 saved. Zahara lives ! " 
 
 Then, to his credit let us record it of him, be 
 fore Lazarus made another effort in behalf of 
 Zahara, he did make one to recall his friend. 
 
 " Master ! " cried Lazarus. " Lord, return to 
 me ! Eeturn ! Stay with me but a moment, 
 Kabboni, that I may worship thee, thou Hope of 
 Israel ! " 
 
 But the solemn movement of the oleanders 
 against the dying wind was the only answer 
 which the young man received. Jesus did not 
 return. 
 
 The storm was now abated, as suddenly as it 
 had arisen. The wind had sunk like a whipped 
 hound. The waves were restless still ; but that 
 pathway of light, upon which the mystical vision 
 of the Nazarene had trodden, widened slowly, 
 broadened solemnly, until it lay upon the lake 
 like holy oil, and quelled the water. Whatever 
 might be the fate of Zahara s companions in the 
 little pleasure-boat, Lazarus did not ask ; it must 
 
COME FORTH. 171 
 
 be owned that he had forgotten to care. Zahara 
 breathed. Zahara lay at his feet, a lovely, sob 
 bing, living woman, coming to her senses with 
 all sorts of pretty frights and signs of distress 
 that drove every other consciousness from his 
 nature. 
 
 It was night. It was solitude. It was Zahara. 
 No hand could snatch her from him now. Nei 
 ther law nor priest could rob him of that one 
 hour. It was his own. 
 
 " Lazarus ? " moaned Zahara, " am I drowned ? 
 Are we dead together, thou and I ? " 
 
 " By the shade of Abraham ! thou livest, and 
 we are together," cried Lazarus ; " and which is 
 the greater miracle I cannot tell thee, for I know 
 not. . . . Tell me, Zahara, art thou hurt ? Dost 
 thou suffer pain ? How can I comfort thee ? " 
 
 " I am very wet," said Zahara, " and it was 
 terrible, and I suffer such fright as might kill a 
 woman ; but I will be stronger than my fright. 
 I shall arise and get me to my father." 
 
 She struggled to her feet and stood before 
 the young man for an instant, full in the star 
 light. Her wet drapery clung to her from neck 
 to ankles. Lazarus looked up at her from the 
 sands where he knelt at her feet. His brain 
 whirled. Beautiful creature ! . . . He held up 
 his arms to her. Zahara tottered. 
 
 " Help me, Lazarus," she said faintty. " I 
 
172 CO. WE FORTH. 
 
 cannot walk alone. Help me homeward, for I 
 would fain " 
 
 What would Zahara fain have done? She 
 never told him. Lazarus never asked. Still 
 kneeling, he lifted his appealing arms ; and 
 Zahara, like a princess, stooped to them. 
 
 He caught her and drew her gently to him. 
 She came right royally, a strong surrender, 
 womanly and wise. It was as if Zahara scorned 
 to be coy, and to play with the love which was 
 great enough to conquer her. 
 
 " Lazarus ! " she murmured, " I am alive, and 
 I love thee ! " 
 
 " And we are alone, and I love thee ! Come 
 to me, Zahara, for I would shelter thee." 
 
 He gathered her to his arms, to his shoulder, 
 to his breast, slowly, delicately ; afraid, not of 
 men or of angels, only of his own love and of the 
 maiden s holy nature. The queenly girl crept 
 to him as gently as the meekest woman of them 
 all. Dark as it was, he closed his eyes instinc 
 tively, that he might for that supreme moment 
 see nothing, not even the dim outline of her 
 drooping face ; that he might only feel the timid 
 motion of her round arm as it stole around his 
 neck, the approach of her velvet cheek to his 
 own, her fragrant breath upon his beard, the 
 delicate beating of her pure heart, the ecstasy of 
 her surrendered lips. Presently, he would look 
 
COME FORTH. 173 
 
 at her. One sense at a time was enough ; how 
 could man bear too manifold a joy ? To touch 
 her, that was Eden. That first embrace he 
 chose in sacred darkness. 
 
 ..." Now would I behold thee, now would 
 I look upon thy face. I would gaze into thine 
 eyes, for they are mine. I would feed my sight 
 upon thy lips, for 1 have kissed them with the 
 kisses of my mouth ! A blight upon the night, 
 that it is too dark to see the glory of thy face, 
 my own ! " 
 
 " Were it not dark, then were we not together, 
 O my lover. Curse not the gloom that gives me 
 to thine arms. Why, Lazarus, I am happy to be 
 here ! Dear, my lord I love thee." 
 
 " I bless the night, I bless the storm, I bless 
 the wreck, I bless the dark and thee I bless, 
 Zahara. I enfold thee and I worship thee." 
 
 "Lazarus?" 
 
 " Zahara ! " 
 
 " I must depart. I must return. I must get 
 me to my father " 
 
 " Zahara, thou must stay, thou must remain, 
 thou must rest upon my heart." 
 
 " How long, my lord ? " 
 
 " Till I release thee." 
 
 " That must be immediately, sweet sir." 
 
 " That shall be when I elect, fair lady." 
 
 " Thou art a Herod. Thou playest the tyrant 
 with a maiden." 
 
174 COME FORTH. 
 
 " If thou art not happy of such tyranny, thou 
 art as free as the bird that flieth above the tree- 
 top." 
 
 "Zahara?" 
 
 " What wouldst thou, Lazarus ? " 
 
 " Thou answerest me not. Wouldst thou be 
 free of me ? Rebellest thou against thy Herod ? 
 Then leave me. Go, Zahara. By the oath of 
 Isaac, who did honor and love Kebecca, I stay 
 thee not, if thou mislikest thy tyrant. Wouldst 
 depart, Zahara ? Wouldst thou go from me ? " 
 
 " Nay, then, Lazarus, for I cannot." 
 
 " I constrain thee not. See ! My arms re 
 lease thee. Why dost thou not escape them ? " 
 
 " Dear, my lord, I have said it. I go not, be 
 cause I cannot. A power greater than the force 
 of a man s arm constraineth me. Nay, I escape 
 not." 
 
 " Name me the name of this power, Zahara." 
 
 " Behold, I know not, Lazarus. Perhaps men 
 call it love." 
 
 " Zahara ! Princess ! Bright One ! Shining ! 
 Thou dearest ! Thou Divinest ! I clasp thee ! 
 I control thee ! Thou nestlest to my heart like 
 a little slave." 
 
 " Behold me ! I am the slave of my love, and 
 thou art its lord, and mine. Lazarus ! . . . Be 
 unto me as thou wilt, and what thou wiliest, that 
 am I to thee. , . I love thee ! " 
 
COME FORTH. 175 
 
 With joy that blotted out life and death, and 
 heaven and earth, from the young man s con 
 sciousness, he sealed those womanly words upon 
 her warm, uplifted lips. When from the hin 
 drance of ecstasy his breath returned to him, 
 and the voice thereof, he sought to try the mai 
 den, what should be the meaning of her soul to 
 him. 
 
 " Zahara, thou knowest me what I am, Laz 
 arus the Builder, an honorable man ; but thou 
 art the daughter of the High priest. Thine am 
 I utterly and always. What art thou to me and 
 to the love of my heart, for it is mighty ? Man 
 and woman born of one rank, and unhindered^ of 
 their will, these wed ; but that thou wouldst 
 not. Thou couldst not stoop to me." 
 
 " I have said it," whispered Zahara timidly. 
 
 " What hast thou said ? The ears of my soul 
 are deaf. I am stunned with joy. Lovest thou 
 me, Zahara . . . enough for that ? " 
 
 " My lord, behold thine handmaid. Be it unto 
 me as thou electest." 
 
 So said Zahara, not inaudibly, but in a strong, 
 sweet voice. She lifted her face from the breast 
 of her lover, and threw her fine head back, that 
 she might regard him, or try to regard him, 
 through the dark. For a moment, silence, 
 sweeter than speech, succeeded to her incredible 
 words. Delirious with delight, Lazarus leaned 
 
176 COME FORTH. 
 
 toward her. She drew away from him a lit 
 tle, in a kind of sudden terror, whether of 
 him, or of herself, or of the thing which she had 
 said. 
 
 " Now neither Annas nor any man shall say 
 me nay," vowed Lazarus, " but I will have thee 
 to wife." 
 
 A few men and women know for one hour in 
 their lives, and one only, and most of us at no 
 time, moments such as came that night to this 
 youth and maiden, cast by accident into that 
 precious solitude which they wrested from fate 
 as hid treasure. In an age and a state of society 
 where honorable man and woman may converse 
 without a witness, the rarity and value of that 
 meeting between Lazarus and Zahara can hardly 
 be appreciated. 
 
 Who can blame them that they forgot all else 
 but each other, saving the reverence of their 
 great love ? The storm, the shipwreck, the res 
 cue, the rescuer, the poor bondsmen floating to 
 w r ho knew what fate, the old man agonized on the 
 distant shore, these were as if they were not to 
 the lovers. Was not Zahara drenched through 
 all her pretty, flimsy clothes ? She thought not, 
 knew not, cared not. Was she not chilled to 
 the heart, and shivering with cold ? 
 
 "Nay, my love, thou warmest me. Thine 
 arms are robes and cover me. Thou command- 
 
COME FORTH. 177 
 
 est, and I am at ease. Thou breathest upon me, 
 and I am strong." 
 
 " Thou lovest me, and I am deified ! " cried 
 Lazarus. 
 
 Ah, then, arms meet, and lips linger, and 
 vows are breathed, and longing whispered, and 
 hope and reverence and rapture sway and con 
 trol the loving, to whom this snatch of joy may 
 be the first, the last, the only concession that 
 they can wrest from fate. How long they 
 stayed in that desolate, storm-swept spot neither 
 of these lovers ever knew. Zahara came to her 
 self first, gently unclasped his fingers from her 
 yielding arms, and staggered to her feet. 
 
 " This time," said Zahara, " I shall go." 
 
 "One more," pleaded the lover, "one little 
 moment more." 
 
 " My poor old father ! " said Zahara. 
 "Wouldst thou love me better, Lazarus, if I 
 forgot him altogether ? All this time, while we 
 have been so happy, he mourneth for me as 
 among the dead. Shall I be the better wife to 
 thee, my lord, for being so poor a daughter ? " 
 
 Lazarus, at these dear words, yielded utterly. 
 Without further protest, he took Zahara home 
 at once, as he should have done long ago. 
 The walk was long, yea, blessedly long. The 
 maiden smiled thereat. Though now, exposed 
 to the night wind, she began to feel the effect 
 
178 COME FORTH. 
 
 of her shipwreck, yet she made no complaint. 
 Lazarus wrapped her in his talith, and shielded 
 her, and held her to his heart, half lifting her 
 and half supporting her over the rough way. 
 
 As they walked, they discoursed more quietly, 
 as the mood fell upon them ; and it now seemed 
 to Lazarus that he must, if ever, make known 
 to the maiden the mystical manner of her res 
 cue. With some hesitation, he inquired of her 
 what she remembered of the shipwreck. 
 
 " The boat overturned and Rebecca screamed 
 
 and the slaves cried out. Poor Rebecca ! I 
 forgot Rebecca. I hope the fellows saved her. 
 She did cling upon the boat. But I fell over 
 into the water, and it was colder than death, 
 
 and I prayed Jehovah to save me. And then 
 I began to sink ; and then some person caught 
 me and that is all I know." 
 
 "Who dost thou suppose saved thee, my 
 own," asked Lazarus tenderly, "and how 
 thinkest thou such a deed was done ? " 
 
 " Verily, I know not," answered Zahara care 
 lessly. 
 
 " But who brought thee from the wreck unto 
 the shore, Zahara? It is a long space; two 
 stadia at least, I think." 
 
 Zahara shook her head perplexedly. 
 
 " Was it thou ? " 
 
 " Alas, Zahara, I swam about a boat s length 
 
COME FORTH. 179 
 
 to thee. The waters beat me back. I could do 
 no more for thee than thy silken sail." 
 
 " It is singular," said Zahara. " Was it one 
 of the slaves ? " 
 
 " It was the King of kings ! " cried Lazarus 
 abruptly. Zahara lifted her large, warm eyes. 
 They looked a little critically at him, through the 
 gloom. Was Lazarus subject to mania? Had 
 the shipwreck disordered his intellect ? 
 
 There was nothing less to do, and Lazarus 
 told her the amazing facts. He expected them 
 to overwhelm Zahara ; perhaps to convert her 
 to his own faith in the wonderful Rabbi. To 
 his perplexity, Zahara received the story coolly. 
 
 " Thou madest some mistake, my love," she 
 answered ; " thy fright and the darkness did de 
 ceive thee. Some of the slaves swam ashore 
 with me." 
 
 " Impossible ! " cried Lazarus. " He whom I 
 name did walk the sea and carry thee, and lay 
 thee at my feet, and disappear. Sawest thou 
 ever a slave do that ? " 
 
 " Some of these fellows have wonderful art," 
 said Zahara incredulously. " They do extraor 
 dinary things." 
 
 Zahara s beautiful face, lifted to Lazarus, bore 
 the high-bred skeptical expression of the culti 
 vated doubter. Lazarus was terribly pained by 
 it for the moment. Then she smiled, and he 
 
180 COME FORTH. 
 
 kissed her and forgot it, for the lights of Caper 
 naum gleamed through the night suddenly at 
 a curve in the shore ; and yonder was the villa, 
 and they must part who knew when, who 
 knew how, to meet again ? 
 
CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 WHEN Lazarus and Zahara reached the town, 
 the last trace of the storm had ceased. The 
 stars were out, and their cold light glanced upon 
 the subsiding waves tin sympathetically. The 
 lake wore her commonplace face. Danger was 
 gone as suddenly as it had come. Boats were 
 out in search of the shipwrecked party. 
 
 The streets were nearly vacant, for all who 
 could leave their homes were crowded on the 
 beach. Lazarus and Zahara entered the town 
 unnoticed, as separate and safe as two ghosts. 
 Had they, in fact, gone down in the lake that 
 wild night, and had their spirits returned from 
 their drowned bodies to mingle with the living, 
 they could not have met a more quiet reception. 
 This, under the circumstances, was delightful. 
 They clung to each other as they trod the open 
 streets, and in the shadows of houses they lin 
 gered to exchange the maddening words of love 
 and separation. The young man lifted the 
 maiden and helped her weary feet along; and 
 she clung to him, haughty Zahara ! and nestled 
 to him, as he had said, " like a little slave." 
 
182 COME FORTH. 
 
 She was so wet, and now began to be so 
 chilly, that he hurried as fast as might be with 
 her toward her father s villa, staying for nothing, 
 not even to search for the High priest upon the 
 shore ; for Lazarus felt that the more quickly 
 and quietly the maiden should be restored to her 
 home, the better pleased the old man would be. 
 
 Within the walls of her own garden, Zahara 
 took the last touch from her lover s lips. 
 
 When could there be another moment like 
 this ! She clung to. him, delaying its agony and 
 ecstasy, and had well-nigh unmanned him by 
 her emotion. 
 
 " Oh, my lord," murmured Zahara, " I am 
 the happiest woman and I am the saddest wo 
 man in all Judea." 
 
 " And I the proudest man and the most 
 wretched in all the world ! " 
 
 " Farewell, my own, sweet my lord, farewell. 
 I give thee my face, and my lips I give thee for 
 the last time ! " 
 
 " Then shall there be a thousand last times ! " 
 vowed Lazarus, " for I will take nothing less of 
 earth or heaven than thee, Zahara." 
 
 " But how, sir, wilt thou do this thing ? 
 Verily, I know the High priest, my father. His 
 will staiideth like an open tomb between us." 
 
 " Then into it I step," cried the lover, " but 
 I will have thee. The man who loveth as I 
 
COME FORTH. 183 
 
 love, Zahara, becometh as a god. He taketh 
 power into his soul and into Ms body that other 
 men know not. He createth and he destroyeth, 
 and means and hindrances are not to him as 
 unto common men. Thou crownest him with 
 thy love, and he is a king. Thou givest him 
 the treasure of thy life, and he hath divinity. 
 Leave the way to me, Zahara, but mine thou 
 shalt be. Nor will I be contented with the least 
 of thee nor a portion of thee, but I will have all 
 Zahara, as Heaven heareth me ! " 
 
 Zahara made him no answer, in so far as the 
 answer of words counteth, but she lifted to him 
 lips that a man might have died for, and clasped 
 him with arms that a king might have lived for ; 
 and Lazarus spoke no more ; but, trembling 
 with their love and grief, they passed on silently 
 across the deserted gardens, and so Lazarus 
 bore her to her father s house. 
 
 Great agitation prevailed in the villa. The 
 officers and servants hurried to and fro, going 
 on fruitless errands, and ordered wildly about 
 by a distracted old man, whom some one had 
 been discreet enough and powerful enough to 
 lead home. He was said to have become quite 
 useless on the shore, having gone frantic with 
 grief when the storm shut the lake from sight ; 
 and the persistent refusals of the bystanders 
 to man a relief boat in the height of the gale 
 
184 COME FORTH. 
 
 emphasized the desperateness of the situation 
 to his mind. The High priest was accustomed to 
 being obeyed, to controlling masses of people, to 
 achieving the difficult or apparently impossible, 
 and it took him longer than it would an ordi 
 nary man to understand that his daughter was 
 probably drowning, and that nobody could save 
 her. 
 
 The house was lighted abundantly for an 
 Eastern house of those times. The old man or 
 dered candles and lamps scattered everywhere ; 
 he seemed to believe that the boat might per 
 ceive the light, the house standing so high and 
 being visible from the lake, and cheated him 
 self with this pitiful expedient, while his messen 
 gers were running to and fro between the lake 
 and villa with commands and reports. At the 
 moment when Zahara arrived, the news preceded 
 her that the pleasure-boat had been found cap 
 sized, with one of its occupants clinging thereto. 
 This was Rebecca the handmaid, who had acci 
 dentally been caught in one of the ropes of the 
 boat, and so had been rescued and brought 
 ashore. Of her mistress, who was pitched vio 
 lently in the raging sea, nothing could be found. 
 The oarsmen were gone. The two slaves, whom 
 the High priest had ordered off from shore in 
 a little rescuing boat, had been swamped and 
 drowned ; but this incident scarcely excited any 
 
COME FORTH. 185 
 
 remark. Human life, at best, was cheap in 
 those days, and slave life a cipher in the sum. 
 
 Annas stood in his brightly lighted portico, a 
 trembling, weakened old man, as pale as any of 
 his drowned slaves at that moment tossing in 
 the lake. The messengers from the beach had 
 torches, and their wild flare shot over the High 
 priest s face and figure. He presented a piteous 
 picture. When some one from the rear of the 
 group pushed forward the drenched and weep 
 ing Rebecca, the excitement of the wretched 
 father culminated in an outcry which shook the 
 souls of those who heard it. 
 
 "You, and not she ! Your miserable life, 
 of less value than the least tassel that tossed 
 upon the silken fringes of her garments ! How 
 dare you show your paltry face above the waters 
 that have overwhelmed hers ? The least you 
 could have done were to have gone to your doom 
 beside her. It was the last act of service you 
 could render to your mistress. Shame upon 
 you, that you did it not ! A curse upon the mis 
 erable crew of you that had the impertinence to 
 live when death selected Zahara ! 
 
 "Father," said a rich, deep voice from the 
 shadow of the garden, " do not scold poor little 
 Rebecca. It was no fault of hers ; and I am 
 quite safe." 
 
 Zahara stepped forward in her stately way : 
 
186 COME FORTH. 
 
 she stood as calmly as a Greek statue in a 
 heathen temple, and with a very similar grace. 
 In the outcry and confusion that followed her 
 sudden appearance, Zahara maintained a su 
 preme quiet, which acted powerfully upon the 
 excited scene. 
 
 In point of fact she was elevated above it by 
 excitement beside which this looked small to her. 
 The experience of the last hour seemed to the 
 girl to belittle all others. What was this fret 
 and chatter about human life, compared to the 
 existence of such a love as she and he who loved 
 her knew ? 
 
 The pure face of Zahara, pale with emotion, 
 shone brilliantly ; her wet white robes caught 
 the glare of the torches, and flung it back. She 
 seemed to scintillate, as she stood there, like a 
 great gem, many faceted and nobly set. A 
 weaker woman, or a less royally builded one, 
 would have sunk with exhaustion by this time, 
 fainted in her father s arms, or sobbed, like 
 Rebecca the slave. 
 
 Zahara had never felt so strong in her life. 
 The kisses of her lover were warm yet upon her 
 rich lips. Her chilled blood tingled with his last 
 caress. His firm, imperious hand had but just 
 now released her own, as he helped her forward 
 boldly into the group, and stood reverently but 
 insistently beside her, that he might lead her to 
 
COME FORTH. 187 
 
 her father s breast. His presence was fire, 
 light, warmth, food, strength, life. Zahara felt 
 lifted above everything. She feared no one. 
 The High priest was no more formidable than 
 any common father. She ran into his arms like 
 any plebeian daughter, and fondled him girl 
 ishly, and Annas, like any unimportant parent, 
 broke down and wept, and clasped the girl, and 
 blessed her, and blessed the God of his priest 
 hood and of his people for her dear life. 
 
 "And behold," cried Zahara, "him who did 
 save the life of thy daughter, O my father ! " 
 
 Lazarus uttered an involuntary protest. This 
 movement of Zahara s was totally unexpected to 
 him. Who could count upon Zahara ? What 
 was Lazarus to do ? Words sprang to his lips, 
 he knew not what, honest, manly, mad denial. 
 But Zahara turned her high head and gave him 
 one look. That look sealed his lips. It said 
 more than man could battle against, or more 
 than he could fight against at that exhausted 
 moment. Of the two, the young man seemed 
 more exhausted than the woman. 
 
 " The lady doth overestimate my slight as 
 sistance," murmured Lazarus, bowing before 
 the High priest. " But I was so fortunate as 
 to be able to help her across a difficult portion 
 of the shore, which I did to the best of my poor 
 ability." 
 
188 COME FORTH. 
 
 At this instant something tinkled at the 
 young man s feet. Stupidly he stood staring 
 down. A brilliant bauble shone on the wet 
 pavement; his foot all but crushed it as he 
 moved to examine the thing. 
 
 " Pray, sir," said Zahara imperiously, " be so 
 courteous as to pick up for me the bracelet 
 which has fallen from my arm." 
 
 As Lazarus stooped to do this, the lady bent 
 a little above him or toward him that she might 
 receive the trinket (a glittering band of emerald 
 and jacinth) from his hand. In doing so she 
 contrived to breathe a few words, inaudible to 
 any ear but that of the maddest love or the 
 wildest jealousy, but perfectly distinct to the 
 bewildered and perplexed young man. 
 
 "Contradict me not. Who saveth the 
 daughter serveth the father. For love s sake, 
 leave the matter to me." 
 
 "Father," added Zahara, "I have been 
 thanking the young man for my part, for my 
 debt to him is mighty. See thou to it, for thine 
 own part now, that his high deed is well re 
 garded ; for I am wet and weary, and would 
 get among my maidens and seek rest. Thy 
 daughter would have been tossing yonder in the 
 lake, with thy doomed slaves, O my father, but 
 for his valor and his strength who has returned 
 me to thine arms. I know not how he did the 
 
COME FORTH. 189 
 
 deed," added Zahara, with an apparent simpli 
 city which was none the less effective because it 
 happened to be the truest thing she said. " I 
 cannot tell thee how I am saved ; but saved I 
 am, and by his hand whom I do honor for the 
 doing of it, I am restored to thee. If he swam 
 for me," concluded Zahara prettily, "he is a 
 mighty man. At all events I do know him for 
 a brave one and an honorable, and I do bless 
 him in thy hearing and that of all thy house 
 hold ; and now farewell, good sir. A woman s 
 gratitude go with thee! My father, sir, will 
 entertain thee for my sake, and for that of the 
 service thou hast done to the house of the High 
 priest in the salvation of rny poor life." 
 
 With these words Zahara departed very 
 gracefully and sweetly with her maidens, leav 
 ing the astounded Lazarus to his conscience and 
 his perplexity and the High priest. 
 
 Annas advanced to him with outstretched arms. 
 His venerable countenance stirred with powerful 
 emotions ; these contradicted each other, and 
 made a battle-ground of his eyes and lips. The 
 two men regarded each other with the mingled 
 impressions usual to their meetings. Each 
 attracted to each, midway of his attraction met 
 repulsion ; or perhaps it were truer to call it dis 
 trust or recoil. Annas could not explain why 
 he held such reserved opinions of the young 
 
190 COME FORTH. 
 
 man to whom he felt consciously drawn. But 
 Lazarus knew quite well why he shrank from 
 the High priest, the powerful enemy of the 
 religious movement dear to so many of the mid 
 dle and lower classes of Jewish society ; and yet 
 why he could have loved Annas, the father of 
 Zahara. On that night the two came together 
 swiftly and heartily. The tide of the occasion 
 swept distrust away. Father love and lover s 
 love united them instinctively. The High priest 
 overwhelmed the young man with expressions of 
 gratitude for the rescue of his daughter. 
 
 " Nay, but I deserve not such tribute of the 
 High priest," protested Lazarus in embarrass 
 ment. "What I have done was but a trifle. 
 You do overrate my share in the salvation of the 
 lady." 
 
 "You speak courteously, sir," replied the 
 High priest, waving the protest away with a 
 magnificent hand. "But the word of my 
 daughter suffices. I recognize in you the saviour 
 of her life, and I pray you to allow me to 
 regard you in accordance with the facts." 
 
 Lazarus was silent from sheer perplexity. 
 How should he contradict the testimony of Za 
 hara, and to her father ? What should he, what 
 could he do ? 
 
 " By your leave," he answered, with some 
 awkwardness, " I will now return to my khan. 
 
COME FORTH. 191 
 
 I had forgotten the circumstance, but verily I 
 believe my garments are wet also. I should seek 
 shelter and rest." 
 
 " And by your leave," returned the High 
 priest, with great courtliness of manners, " you 
 will seek no shelter, while you remain at Caper 
 naum, save the roof of the High priest, father 
 to Zahara, whose life you have preserved." 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 IN the village of Bethany gossip was agog. 
 The extraordinary rumor of the healing of Ari- 
 ella had scarcely been set in motion before it was 
 overtaken by another of a startling character. 
 
 Upon the day following the wonder, the neigh 
 bors flocked to the house of Malachi, and de 
 manded to see proof of the case. But the maiden 
 remained invisible. The house was inhospi 
 tably closed. No visitor was allowed entrance. 
 No excuses were offered. Silently and sullenly 
 the barred door replied to all advances. The 
 people grew restless at this treatment and be 
 came clamorous, raising a cry without : 
 
 " Malachi hindereth the maiden ! He deni- 
 eth the deed, and refuseth the proofs thereof ! 
 Shame on him ! Shame on the Pharisee ! " 
 
 Malachi, who loved to stand well with his 
 neighbors, and at all events, if he did not, ob 
 jected to being told of it, presented himself 
 promptly at this turn of affairs. He opened 
 the door and stood without it, a scowling man, 
 too evidently on the defensive for his smooth 
 words to be received with easy admission. 
 
COME FORTH. 193 
 
 " Alas, my neighbors, and alas, my friends ! " 
 said Malachi, u condole with me for the calamity 
 that has overtaken my house. The damsel my 
 daughter, whom the Pretender hath so basely 
 wronged by false hopes and injurious excite 
 ment, which might even prove fatal to so sick a 
 person, has no miracle to offer you. No healing 
 hath been wrought upon her. As she was, she 
 is and remains. Ariella cannot lift her head 
 from her couch. I have reasoned with her to 
 come forth and show herself to her neighbors, 
 and offer proof of the marvel which was reported 
 to the village yesterday. But she ariseth not. 
 She is helpless upon her bed. A condition hath 
 set in, consequent upon the excessive agitation 
 to which she has been subjected, which causes 
 me the deepest anxiety. If she becomes danger 
 ously ill, or if, indeed, her former helplessness 
 increaseth, as I fear me it may do, I promise 
 you this fellow shall be arraigned for sorcery 
 and evil charms." 
 
 " How can that be ? " interrupted a cool voice 
 from the crowd, " when it seems he hath wrought 
 no wonder in the maiden ? " 
 
 The speaker was Amos, the proprietor of Geth- 
 semane, a calm man, accustomed to weigh his 
 words, and habitually undisturbed in his loyalty 
 to the Nazarene. 
 
 " At least," replied Malachi, in some embar- 
 
194 COME FORTH. 
 
 rassment, " if it be not sorcery, then call it ille 
 gal interference with the sick. I stand not upon 
 the name : it is the deed I do withstand. And 
 the deed wrought upon my daughter is beyond 
 the law, and an ignorant fellow hath exposed her 
 to the consequence thereof. I demand punish 
 ment upon him, for the state of the damsel is 
 worse than ever, since he did meddle with her 
 case." 
 
 " Let us converse with the damsel," demanded 
 Amos. " Let some women of the neighborhood 
 be admitted to her." 
 
 " I would deal with Ariella myself," said 
 Rachel, the mother of Baruch. " I was witness 
 of the healing, and I would be witness of the 
 relapse, if such it be in deed and truth. The 
 honor of my own word is at stake in the matter. 
 I do greatly petition that I may be admitted to 
 the maiden." 
 
 " That you shall not, then ! " cried Malachi, 
 with a clench of the fist. " But for you and 
 your accursed son, smitten of God at his birth, 
 as plainly he deserved, and she who bore him, 
 my daughter had not been in this case more 
 wretched than in her first estate." 
 
 A mutter of rebuke arose from the group at 
 this brutal speech. The instinct of the neigh 
 bors began to close about Rachel, protectingly, 
 as they did bodily gather in a little group around 
 her. Rachel was greatly distressed. 
 
COME FORTH. 195 
 
 " At least, Malachi," she besought, " if I may 
 not see the poor girl, permit me to exchange a 
 word with Hagaar, her mother." 
 
 But Malachi replied, sharply, that Hagaar his 
 wife was in close attendance upon the urgent 
 needs of Ariella, and could receive no person. 
 With this he retreated, closing and barring the 
 doors of his house, as before. 
 
 Excitement now ran high in the hamlet. Ru 
 mors of the event had reached Jerusalem, and 
 many sight-seers and curious folk came out from 
 the city, and swelled the little group of residents 
 interested in the affair. Lazarus, absorbed at 
 that time in the excitement of love and business, 
 took no part in the public tremor over his in 
 valid neighbor ; and Mary his sister was always 
 a home-keeping, quiet woman. Martha made 
 several efforts to approach the facts of the mys 
 terious case ; but, being adroitly baffled by Mal 
 achi, soon abandoned the subject, for the more 
 satisfactory interests of preparing sweetmeats of 
 dates and figs for the winter supply of her fam 
 ily. Rachel and Baruch alone, of the neighbors 
 of Ariella, persisted in their attempts to obtain 
 a personal interview with her. But these were 
 as persistently foiled. 
 
 Baruch was in a state of pitiful agitation. As 
 days swelled into days and Ariella remained 
 invisible, his misery became so acute that his 
 
196 COME FORTH. 
 
 mother s sympathy with Ariella wavered in sheer 
 sorrow over her own flesh and blood ; and she 
 added to her son s distress by bewailing the hour 
 in which she had consented to the execution of 
 the miracle within her gates. Baruch s position, 
 take it altogether, was a hard one, and growing 
 worse, when the news reached the blind man 
 that public opinion had taken a decided turn. 
 
 Malachi was flatly accused of imprisoning his 
 daughter, that the recovery should not be veri 
 fied of the people, and the claims of the Naza- 
 rene emphasized by so merciful and beautiful a 
 cure. 
 
 This view of the case did not seem to lessen, 
 but rather to increase, the unhappiness of Baruch. 
 Between his vision of the old Ariella, flung 
 down from the heights of hope to the old, sad, 
 familiar fate, and the new Ariella, condemned, 
 in the first thrill of recovery, to a brutal, mock 
 assumption of that fate, he had not much to 
 choose. Either was bad enough ; and either, at 
 moments, seemed worse than the other. Worst 
 of all was the cruel shock given by the turn 
 events had taken to the touching faith of Baruch 
 in the Nazarene. 
 
 It was impossible to say what was the effect 
 of this shock. His mother observed him with a 
 motherly impatience which vitiated her power 
 to interpret his condition. The blind man, al- 
 
COME FORTH. 197 
 
 ways possessed of the reticence of his infirmity, 
 sank into a systematic silence and inner solitude 
 in which a sensitive nature may easily perish. 
 He frequented the environs of the house of 
 Malachi patiently ; but for admittance he had 
 ceased to hope or ask. Ariella remained invisi 
 ble ; nor did any reliable report of her condi 
 tion reach the villagers, among whom curiosity 
 and indignation were increasing steadily. 
 
 One afternoon, Baruch, being led by the lad 
 with whom he was accustomed to go forth, dis 
 appeared altogether from Bethany. He did not 
 return at dusk. Night fell, and nothing was 
 seen of him. At parting from his mother he 
 had bidden her feel no concern at his absence, 
 nor expect him until she should see him. 
 Rachel, therefore, awaited him with no more 
 than the inevitable uneasiness of a woman in 
 such a position. Baruch occasionally took these 
 notions, and demanded his freedom, like a man 
 with eyes. The woman, like the rest of her 
 kind, had nothing to do but to bear it. 
 
 Midnight came ; but Rachel sat alone. Morn 
 ing followed, noon, dusk again ; but Baruch 
 did not return. A second night s absence suc 
 ceeded to the first. The third evening set in. 
 Rachel was now thoroughly uncomfortable, in 
 asmuch as her poor boy had sent her no sign 
 or message. So long an absence he had never 
 
198 COME FORTH. 
 
 made from home, in a fashion so unprotected. 
 It occurred to Rachel to seek the advice of the 
 Nazarene, for it was said by the common* peo 
 ple that he was never too weary, or too busy, or 
 too indifferent to give counsel to any person 
 who did need and ask it ; but she learned that 
 he was absent from Jerusalem ; some said this 
 way, some that ; he was in Tiberias, Capernaum, 
 Jericho, this place or the other, no one knew, 
 and every one knew where ; but he was not to 
 be found. 
 
 Meanwhile, the situation at the house of Mal- 
 achi remained unaltered. Crowds gathered daily 
 before the doors, and cries and jeers arose from 
 the people whenever the big figure of the Phari 
 see appeared in sight. Malachi had lost so 
 much sleep by dint of noisy demands that he 
 should come forth and give account of the con 
 dition of his daughter that he became at length 
 overcome with drowsiness and ill temper, and, 
 abandoning all attempts to treat for decency s 
 sake with the crowds, barred his door, and 
 threw himself upon a rug before it to rest. The 
 women of his household remained closely con 
 cealed : whether by choice or of necessity who 
 could say? 
 
 Two days following the one upon which 
 Baruch disappeared from Bethany, a stout but 
 tired ass, ridden by a man and a boy, might 
 
COME FORTH. 199 
 
 have been seen in the outskirts of Tiberias, 
 stopping to rest. The animal was an excellent 
 one, capable of making a forced journey; but 
 he looked as if he had made it. The lad was 
 tired out and fretful. The man was blind. All 
 three bore signs of the need of sleep. 
 
 " Go yonder, Enoch," said the blind man 
 wearily, " unto the first house thou passest, and 
 inquire for food and drink and fodder for the ass. 
 I will pay for it whatever is required. Thou art 
 weary, and needest food at once. Bring to me, 
 but partake first thyself. I wait here with the 
 animal. He whom we seek cannot be far away. 
 We shall accomplish our errand to-day, God 
 willing, and return home as we came." 
 
 When the lad had departed, the blind man 
 sank upon the ground beside the ass ; and, keep 
 ing his hand closely upon the rein, that the crea 
 ture might not stray from him, he yielded him 
 self, without the little disguise that he maintained 
 before the boy, his guide, to the saddest of his 
 thoughts. It had been a hard, and so far a fruit 
 less journey. Traveling in the rear of a large 
 caravan passing that way, he and his little com 
 panion had been, as chance had it, well pro 
 tected from such dangers of the trip as their 
 defenseless condition might have exposed them 
 to ; but the object of the journey was still un- 
 attained. He was disheartened and perplexed. 
 
200 COME FORTH. 
 
 " Baruch," said a gentle voice close to the 
 blind man s ear, " whom seekest thou ? " 
 
 A vivid color shot violently across the helpless 
 face which Baruch lifted to the speaker. 
 
 " Master ! Thee." 
 
 " And to what end ? " 
 
 u Master, that the wonder that thou wrought- 
 est may be confirmed." In hurrying, broken 
 words Baruch began to tell the tale of the 
 events which had overtaken Ariella ; but in the 
 midst of his own recital he checked himself 
 abruptly, and in a tone of piercing conviction 
 said : 
 
 "Lord, I do but cast drops of water upon the 
 Lake of Gennesaret, in making words with thee. 
 Thou knowest my speech before it mounteth unto 
 my mouth ; and all that occurreth to the maiden 
 thou knowest. Master, I am dumb, as I am 
 blind, before thee. Be merciful unto me, and 
 save the maiden from her plight." 
 
 Then he who stood beside the blind man did 
 converse with him in a tone that was wondrous 
 fine and kind, and infinite pity dwelt within his 
 voice, and it was like none other of the voices of 
 men upon the earth. The exquisite ear of the 
 blind man quivered beneath it, with a sense of 
 pleasure richer than the sight of those who saw. 
 The Nazarene spoke with him of the length and 
 weariness of the journey, of the uncertainty of 
 
COME FORTH. 201 
 
 his errand, of the persistence of his trust ; and 
 demanded of him whether he had felt no doubt 
 of the wisdom of the undertaking, in view of 
 the difficulty of finding whom and what he 
 sought. 
 
 " I expected to find thee," answered Baruch 
 simply, " and thou art here." 
 
 " Believest thou," asked the Nazarene, with a 
 sudden change of tone, into which something 
 almost like sternness had crept, " believest 
 thou that it is with the maiden as I wrought 
 upon her ? " 
 
 " Lord," said Baruch, " had I not believed, 
 had I been here ? " 
 
 " Then do thou return," commanded the Naz- 
 arene, in a deep voice, " unto thy place in Beth 
 any. Follow my bidding, and go thou back unto 
 thine own house. There shalt thou be justified 
 of thy faith ; for it is mighty." 
 
 The blind man started immediately. This 
 seemed a poor ending to all his toil and travel. 
 But he arose, and turned his face about. 
 
 " If the lad who guideth me were here," he 
 said, " I would depart at once." 
 
 " Baruch, Blessed of God ! " cried the Naza- 
 rene, with evident emotion. " Again I say unto 
 thee, hast thou naught to ask of me for thy- 
 self?" 
 
 "Lord," said Baruch humbly, "what have I 
 
202 COME FORTH. 
 
 to ask? What thou doest to the maiden thou 
 doest unto me." 
 
 " But," insisted the Rabbi, with what seemed 
 to Baruch to be a break in his own voice, " art 
 thou then without a need or a desire like other 
 men, that thou forge ttest thyself in the case 
 of another as a star is forgot in the midday 
 sun?" 
 
 " Lord," said Baruch, after a long and trem 
 ulous silence, " if I had a thing to ask of thee, 
 it were that I might look upon her face for the 
 space of so much as goeth between the opening 
 and closing of an eyelid, before I die. But I 
 was born blind." 
 
 " Go upon thy way," replied the Nazarene 
 solemnly. " Take the lad who cometh, and re 
 turn in peace. Safety travel with thee, and 
 speed bring thee unharmed to thine own house ! 
 At the door of thy house, in Bethany, at the 
 hour of thy return, fall upon thy knees, and call 
 upon my name, and between the opening and 
 closing of an eyelid thou shalt be Blessed of 
 God, for thy faith s sake." 
 
 But when the lad came, the Nazarene had 
 departed, and Baruch stood alone beside the 
 ass. So they saddled the animal at once, and 
 returned as they came. And Enoch, the boy, 
 wondered at this greatly ; but Baruch said no 
 thing to explain himself. 
 
COME FORTH. 203 
 
 Upon the sixth evening after the departure 
 of her son, Rachel sat in her house at Bethany, 
 oppressed at heart. A summons at the gate 
 startled her strained ears, and she answered it 
 herself, with the nervous haste of the anxious. 
 
 " Let us within, Rachel," loudly whispered a 
 familiar voice eagerly. " Let us within, quickly, 
 and shelter us in the name of the Nazarene." 
 
 Rachel s face fell, for it was not Baruch. 
 Two women stood there, trembling. These were 
 Hagaar and Ariella. 
 
 " In the name of the Nazarene, enter ye ! " 
 cried Rachel. Hospitably and heartily she drew 
 the two women within her door, breathlessly 
 demanding : " How came ye here ? " 
 
 "We walked," said Hagaar laconically, in 
 her bass tone. 
 
 " But how came she here ? " 
 
 " Ariella walked all the way like other 
 people." 
 
 " Then the Rabbi was as good as his word. 
 Baruch thought so all the time. I confess, when 
 I heard the tongue of the people wag, I knew 
 not what to think ; but enter ye, enter, my neigh 
 bors, and sup with me." 
 
 "I go as I came," said Hagaar hurriedly. 
 " I return to the house of Malachi, for he is 
 my lord, and I am subject to him. But over 
 Ariella he shall tyrannize no longer, since I am 
 
204 COME FORTH. 
 
 her mother, and have legs of my own and a 
 mind to move them. All these days we have 
 been prisoners in the house of Malachi, my hus 
 band, shame to him that I must own it to the 
 neighbors ! To-night, as God willed it, he did 
 fall asleep until he doth snore, praised be Je 
 hovah, upon the rug before the door. Then I 
 arose, and did pinch him to make sure of him, 
 and I did pinch as hard as I dared, for I found 
 it agreeable ; but he awaked not. So I fled in 
 the dark with Ariella. And she moved as if 
 she had wings upon her feet, and we ran here 
 all the way that we might free her. Take the 
 maiden, neighbor Rachel, I pray thee, and shel 
 ter her till I demand her again of thee." 
 
 With these words Hagaar departed as unex 
 pectedly as she came, leaving Ariella with her 
 friend. 
 
 " I told Baruch," observed Rachel dryly, 
 " that he might trust a she-animal with her 
 young, and Hagaar, the mother of Ariella, 
 against Malachi, who is naught but a hus 
 band." 
 
 But Ariella did not reply. She was cruelly 
 excited by all that she had undergone. Her 
 eyes and cheeks blazed. She seemed like a 
 creature on fire. She could neither speak nor 
 rest. Her feverish glance shot about the room 
 inquiringly. 
 
COME FORTH. 205 
 
 " She misses Baruch," thought Rachel, " but 
 she will not say so. Sit down, Ariella. Sit 
 and rest, and tell me all about it." 
 
 Ariella obeyed so far as to seat herself upon 
 the nearest divan. But she told Rachel nothing 
 at all. She looked at her appealingly. She 
 seemed unable to articulate, for weariness or 
 fright. 
 
 " Thou art a poor lamb ! " cried Rachel, in a 
 more motherly tone. " How shall I comfort 
 thee ? I would that Baruch were here. My 
 heart is sore over Baruch, my son, for he hath 
 been lost from me, this is the sixth day." 
 
 " Baruch ? " cried Ariella, suddenly finding 
 her voice. " Baruch lost ? Let me go and find 
 him ! " 
 
 She sprang to her feet and bounded to the 
 door wildly, flung it open, and dashed out into 
 the night. Rachel followed her with a cry of 
 dismay. 
 
 The blind man reached Bethany at dark of 
 the sixth evening. He dismissed his weary lit 
 tle guide with the ass and the wages at the foot 
 of the familiar hill that rose to his mother s 
 house ; and, being quite sure of his way where 
 every pebble, nay, every grain of sand, was bet 
 ter known to him than neighbors and friends to 
 men who see, he climbed the ascent alone. 
 
206 COME FORTH. 
 
 He was exhausted ; but he was quiet, and his 
 face was filled with a divine light. He walked 
 slowly, with his head bent ; his heart was full of 
 high thoughts ; he put out his hand and groped 
 for the latch of the gate. 
 
 As he did this it was flung open suddenly, 
 and a girl s voice cried : 
 
 " Baruch ! I come to seek thee, and thou re- 
 turnest to me. Baruch ! Baruch ! " 
 
 Then the blind man remembered the saying 
 of the Nazarene, and he fell upon his knees at 
 the gateway of his own home, and he bowed his 
 head and clasped his hands in prayer. 
 
 " Lord," he said aloud, " I call upon thy name 
 that thou mayest be justified of thy works, and 
 mercy come to the maiden who is dearer to me 
 than eyesight to the blind." 
 
 Now, when this had happened, Baruch opened 
 his eyes and lifted his face, and t; between the 
 opening and shutting of an eyelid " the man 
 born blind looked, and behold he saw. 
 
 And what he saw was the fairest sight in all 
 the world to him : the maiden of his heart s 
 desire, Ariella, bending forward, panting a lit 
 tle with her flight from the house to the gate ; 
 Rachel, his mother, behind her, holding high a 
 torch that she had snatched to follow the girl ; 
 and the fire-red light of the torch shining all 
 over Ariella s face and body. Her eyes burned 
 
COME FORTH. 207 
 
 like stars in mid-heaven ; her delicate lips were 
 parted ; her cheeks were as red as the roses of 
 Sharon ; and her soft hair floated in the wind 
 over her forehead and about her sweet face. 
 Her slender form swayed toward the kneeling 
 man ; her white robe was blown against him ; 
 she stretched out her thin little hands. 
 
 " Thou God of my people ! " cried the blind 
 man, " have mercy upon me, for I do behold an 
 angel!" 
 
 Now, at this, Rachel, his mother, gave a 
 mighty cry, and flung down her torch in ecstasy 
 and terror. But Ariella restrained her, took it 
 from the ground, held it aloft, and stood re 
 splendent and self-possessed, as if she had been 
 an angel indeed. 
 
 " She whom thou beholdest is only a girl, dear 
 Baruch," said Ariella gently, " and blesseth 
 thee." 
 
 Baruch stretched out his arms to her. He did 
 not touch her. But he lifted seeing eyes to 
 Ariella. Wonder, awe, delight, delirium, dwelt 
 in them. The two women who loved him stood 
 dumb before that transcendent look. 
 
 " Lord," said Baruch, " I bless thee that be 
 tween the opening and closing of an eyelid I 
 have beheld the maiden. Now do with me as 
 thou wiliest. . . . Now, though I return unto 
 my darkness forever, yet am I blessed of God 
 among all seeing men." 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE guest of the High priest at Capernaum 
 could not sleep. The rich Eastern starlight re 
 garded him soothingly ; the wind had fallen ; 
 the angry waters of the lake were appeased ; the 
 luxurious couch of Lazarus wooed him to rest ; 
 perfect stillness brooded upon the household of 
 Annas ; it was more like the silence of death 
 than of life, so exhausted were the members 
 of the High priest s family. The experience of 
 the evening had been onerous to the comfort- 
 
 O 
 
 able, Oriental nature, which likes to take things 
 easily; and from Annas to the lowest slave 
 within the villa, the reaction of stolid slumber 
 succeeded to the nervous excitement of the day. 
 Zahara herself slept like a little tired girl. Only 
 Lazarus kept watch. 
 
 For him it was the wildest stimulant to rest be 
 neath the same roof which sheltered the woman 
 of his love. Accident had thrown to him the 
 treasure of a chance which, in the ordinary social 
 course of events, would never have been his. 
 He dreamed and trembled over it. His heart 
 thrilled with the tenderest fancies, and sank 
 
COME FORTH. 209 
 
 into the saddest despair. The situation, seen 
 from the lonely shore of the lake, in shock and 
 storm, and in the teeth of death, with Zahara 
 clasped upon his heart, was one thing : the au 
 tocracy of love took hold of it, and dashed it 
 into the rainbow colors and shapes of hope. 
 That Zahara must be his, somehow, somewhere, 
 seemed then only a matter of course, the simplest 
 axiom in the problem of life. Now, viewed from 
 the villa of Annas, and from the solitude of mid 
 night, and from the renewal of social conven 
 tions, the position of the lovers looked to be an 
 other matter. Lazarus stood aghast at it. How 
 in the name of love s dearest dream was he ever 
 to win for wife the daughter of the High priest ? 
 If he could have snatched the girl, and seized 
 her, and away with her upon the fleetest camel 
 of the desert, with Ishmaelite guards, unto some 
 Ishmaelite home, and there cherished and pro 
 tected her, and adored her, and kept her to him 
 self forever 
 
 Visions such as his maddest moment had 
 never known beset the quiet soul of Lazarus. 
 His nature had struck a tempest. In storms 
 like these, the calmest, the gentlest, the purest 
 hearts go to wreck. Lazarus was in a moral 
 whirlwind. 
 
 His situation was complicated by the too 
 ready subterfuge of Zahara concerning the man- 
 
210 COME FORTH. 
 
 ner of her rescue. He had fallen into her lov 
 ing trap at the moment in sheer happiness and 
 bewilderment. How contradict a lady ? and 
 she the idol of his life and the daughter of his 
 host ? But solitude criticised Lazarus. Mid 
 night reviewed his position with severity. Sleep 
 lessness said strange things to him. Darkness 
 held mute reproaches before him. Friendship 
 and love wrestled together in his tormented sen 
 sibility. A touch calmer than Zahara s recalled 
 him. A face graver than hers regarded him. 
 Colder, purer, higher, than the delirium of love, 
 the eyes of duty looked into his own. That sol 
 emn figure, tall and stately, treading down the 
 tempest, walked with sacred feet throughout his 
 thoughts* He remembered the Nazarene with a 
 profound self -scorn. 
 
 As soon as it was dawn, Lazarus hastened 
 from his chamber into the pure, pink air. It 
 was a peaceful morning. The lake lay like a 
 sleeping baby in the cradle of the hills. The 
 storm had freshened all the world. The colors 
 of the trees and gardens seemed to throb with 
 life. Lazarus stepped out among the dew- 
 dripping fruit-trees with bowed and saddened 
 head. 
 
 It was with a sharp emotion, half pain, half 
 pleasure, that he saw, as he turned back toward 
 the villa, the figure of the High priest advancing 
 
COME FORTH. 211 
 
 to meet him. Annas was alone. The two men 
 met with unprecedented cordiality. The heart 
 of Lazarus warmed toward the father of Zahara, 
 and that of Annas melted toward her saviour. 
 The High priest passed the courtesies of the 
 morning with his guest in terms of unusual 
 heartiness. He began at once to renew his 
 expressions of gratitude for the rescue of his 
 daughter. It was then that Lazarus suddenly, 
 almost violently, interrupted him : 
 
 " Sir, I do wrong myself and you. No 
 longer can I endure this miserable position. If 
 I tacitly accept the false, falseness enters into 
 me. I must undeceive you at once." 
 
 " Pray, sir," said the High priest, looking 
 slightly startled, " to what circumstance or cir 
 cumstances can your language possibly refer ? " 
 
 " To the strangest of circumstances, and the 
 most difficult to explain to yourself." 
 
 " Why, indeed, to myself ? " asked the priest, 
 with a haughty curl of the lip. " Am I so dull 
 of intellect that the events of life may not be 
 made comprehensible to my mind ? " 
 
 Lazarus bowed, with a deprecating motion of 
 the hand, which was reply enough to the sar 
 casm of the priest. After a moment s silence 
 he said abruptly : 
 
 " It was not I who saved the life of the lady 
 Zahara, your daughter. Would that I could 
 
212 COME FORTH. 
 
 claim a privilege too valuable to have been ac 
 corded by heaven to me." 
 
 The High priest gave his guest a narrow look, 
 quick as the flash of a scimitar, and as quickly 
 sheathed. 
 
 " To whom, then, if not yourself, my worthy 
 sir, am I indebted for this heaviest of obliga 
 tions ? " 
 
 " To the last man in Judea from whom you 
 will desire to receive it." 
 
 Lazarus brought these words out in a prompt, 
 ringing tone. The man in him was aroused. 
 His fine conscience was throbbing. At least, 
 truth sat in his soul. To deny his friend by re 
 maining in a false position began to seem intol 
 erable to him. Better even to dis.please Zahara. 
 He had arrived as far as that. His breath 
 came more freely, and he lifted his handsome 
 head. 
 
 " Explain yourself," said the priest curtly. 
 Annas had stopped his lordly pace through the 
 garden, and the two men now stood still, facing 
 each other beneath a clump of thick fig-trees 
 that hid them from the view of the villa. 
 
 " The lady," said Lazarus in a low, distinct 
 tone, " was rescued by Jesus the Nazarene." 
 
 The face of the High priest darkened slowly, 
 but perceptibly. He received this announce 
 ment in utter silence. 
 
COME FORTH. 213 
 
 " My daughter," he observed at length, in a 
 cutting tone, " testifieth otherwise." 
 
 "Far be it from me," hurriedly protested 
 Lazarus, losing something of the dignity of his 
 manner of a moment ago, in the tender tremu- 
 lousness of his desire to protect Zahara, " be it 
 farther from me than from any man in all the 
 world to criticise the lady Zahara, or to question 
 the truth of her words in whose soul honor itself 
 maketh a white home ! " 
 
 "Then be so good," said the priest, somewhat 
 mollified, but more than ever keenly observant 
 of his guest, "as to explain to me the discrep 
 ancy in your own language." 
 
 " The lady," replied Lazarus boldly, " was, in 
 brief, too nearly dead to know who bore her 
 from the water. She was unconscious from the 
 shock and exposure. Judging from her state 
 when I did first see her, I should say she must 
 have sunk already twice beneath the waters of 
 Gennesaret. She was snatched from death it 
 self, and laid upon the shore at my feet, not one 
 moment too soon, believe me. He who did save 
 her left her immediately, and departed from 
 me. I restored the lady, and I brought her to 
 her father. My service to her began and ended 
 thus and there." 
 
 Annas had listened to these words with emo 
 tion, but it was one mixed with displeasure, 
 
214 COME FORTH. 
 
 incredulity, and annoyance of the keenest 
 kind. 
 
 " You were probably mistaken," he observed, 
 " in the identity of the man who rescued her." 
 
 " I was not mistaken," said Lazarus decidedly ; 
 " he is rny friend. I know him well. As well 
 could I be mistaken in the identity of one of 
 the sons of God if I had met one upon the earth. 
 He who did save thy daughter was the Nazarene, 
 and none other; and unto him is thine obliga 
 tion, and should thy gratitude be due." 
 
 " He swam for her, I suppose," remarked the 
 High priest, coldly. u He must be a good 
 swimmer." 
 
 " I did as much as that myself," urged Laz 
 arus eagerly, "but the waters beat me back. 
 You should understand that the lake was a 
 whirlpool. I know no man who could swim a 
 stadium upon a sea like that, and bear a, help 
 less woman on his arm. The Nazarene trod the 
 sea, as you, sir, do tread the path of this garden. 
 He arose and walked and bore the maiden, and 
 stepped upon the waters and conquered them, 
 and trod as a man treadeth a floor, and laid her 
 on the shore and vanished, and was seen no 
 more of me or of the maiden. This is the truth 
 of God," concluded Lazarus, " and I do tell it. 
 Do with me as you see fit." 
 
 " It is an extraordinary tale," said the High 
 
COME FORTH. 215 
 
 priest, not without hesitation. But his counte 
 nance had grown as stern as a stone intaglio. 
 He turned upon his heel abruptly, and without 
 another word left his guest standing alone 
 beneath the fig-tree. 
 
 The position of Lazarus at the villa was now 
 so uncomfortable that he was thoroughly per 
 plexed. For some days the High priest did not 
 again receive his guest. The builder began his 
 work in silent perplexity. Zahara was invisible. 
 Lazarus set himself to his task with an absent 
 mind. Upon the third day he gathered himself, 
 and sent a dignified message to his host by voice 
 of the chief officer of the household, quietly 
 requesting permission to be allowed to return to 
 his khan. Annas responded in person to this 
 message. His manner was studiedly polite, but 
 his eye was cold and guarded. He began by 
 entreating Lazarus to accept his further hospi 
 tality, adorning the request with the full flower 
 of Oriental emphasis, as etiquette from host to 
 guest demanded. 
 
 Lazarus replied with equal courtesy, but 
 repeated his desire to leave the villa. 
 
 " It occurs to me," he said, " that it may be 
 more convenient for several reasons, and I pray 
 your permission to depart. I am too much 
 indebted to your politeness already." 
 
 " The obligation is upon me, and it is heavy," 
 
216 COME FORTH. 
 
 replied Annas, with much manner, " and of the 
 pleasure which it gives me to entertain you, you 
 must allow me to be the judge." 
 
 " I have told you," said Lazarus frankly, 
 " that you are under no obligation to myself. 
 That burden resteth elsewhere, as I did some 
 what tardily explain to you." 
 
 " It is expecting too much of me," answered 
 the High priest, frowning, "to recognize the 
 obligation to which you refer. I prefer to con 
 sider yourself as its representative." 
 
 "I must decline," said Lazarus, in a low voice, 
 " to be the representative of such beneficence and 
 such purity of power as far beyond me as the 
 crown of Olivet is above the basin of Genne- 
 saret. I must decline in any sense to represent 
 One of whose least remembrance I am un 
 worthy." 
 
 " It is amazing to me," said the High priest, 
 in a wary tone, " that a man of your intelligence 
 should be thus deluded. The popular excite 
 ment about this fellow is growing a serious mat 
 ter. Times are ripening wherein it may no 
 longer be a safe play of the tongue for people of 
 your sort to allude, in this way, to so dangerous 
 a political character." 
 
 " I must beg you to understand," replied 
 Lazarus, "that I indulge in no play of the 
 tongue when I do mention the name of him 
 whom above all human beings I do revere." 
 
COME FORTH. 217 
 
 " There are those, I am told," suggested the 
 priest suavely, "who do not regard this pre 
 tender as precisely what may be called a human 
 being. I learn that he sets forth imperious and 
 awful claims. Know you of them ? " 
 
 " Of that to which you refer I know naught," 
 answered Lazarus distinctly. The two men 
 looked each other narrowly in the eye. Lazarus 
 was a poor disciple in those days, but at least he 
 was no traitor. He proceeded with a fearless 
 voice to say : 
 
 " As concerneth his politics, I know naught of 
 them either. I have never regarded Jesus of 
 Nazareth as a politician." 
 
 "As what, then, have you regarded him?" 
 demanded the High priest. 
 
 "As the best man, the wisest public ben 
 efactor, the tenderest consoler, and the truest 
 friend I ever knew," responded Lazarus sol 
 emnly. " But as for me, I am not worthy to 
 testify so much as these poor words concerning 
 him. As I have told you, I have been preoccu 
 pied, I have not acquainted myself of late, as I 
 should have done, with his affairs." 
 
 " So much the better for you ! " said Annas 
 sharply. " See to it, sir builder, that you drop 
 this acquaintance, and you may find that the 
 time cometh when you will thank me for a word 
 of advice, which is the least I can offer to the 
 rescuer of my daughter." 
 
218 COME FORTH. 
 
 " I thank you for your good intentions," said 
 Lazarus, after a moment s hesitating- silence, 
 " and I appreciate them, but nevertheless I beg 
 to be allowed to return unto my khan." 
 
 " Remain at least until the morrow," urged 
 the High priest, looking, nevertheless, relieved 
 by the determination of his guest. 
 
 " I will accept your hospitality," said Lazarus 
 politely, " until the morrow." 
 
 That afternoon, as the builder directed his 
 men upon the walls of the new extension, the 
 slave Rebecca passed upon some errand, draw 
 ing so near that the wind blew her garment 
 against him. She held a little silver cup in one 
 hand, which, as she passed, she was so awkward 
 as to overset upon the ground. The contents 
 were spilled, and Rebecca made a great show of 
 distress. 
 
 " Alas ! " she moaned, " it is the cordial for 
 my lady, and it is destroyed ! " 
 
 Lazarus sprang to help the maiden, and to 
 pick up the silver cup and its heavily chased 
 cover from the ground. The cup was lined with 
 gold. Some cool drink which it had contained 
 was spilled entirely. But pressed to the bot 
 tom of the cup Lazarus saw a bit of white wax 
 upon which writing was inscribed. His fingers 
 closed over it instinctively. Rebecca the slave 
 saw nothing, or made as if she saw nothing. 
 
COME FORTH. 219 
 
 Lazarus scanned the tablet, and concealed it in 
 the folds of his talith. 
 
 As soon as he could make an unobserved mo 
 ment, he read the writing with wild eagerness. 
 It ran like this, in Aramaic characters : 
 
 "Cancel thy contract. Leave Capernaum. 
 At dark-fall of the Sabbath after the Sabbath 
 to come, be on the shore of the lake at the place 
 thou knovtest. ZAHARA." 
 
 Lazarus obeyed this order without a moment s 
 doubt or hesitation. Upon the following day he 
 represented to Annas that inasmuch as their re 
 lations had become strained and unpleasant it 
 might be more agreeable upon both sides if the 
 work upon the villa were deferred. The High 
 priest received this suggestion with courteous 
 regrets, but with evident approval. He ex 
 pressed the wish to protect the builder hand 
 somely from any pecuniary loss to which the 
 sundered contract might make him liable. 
 
 " Pay to my men the wages due them," re 
 plied Lazarus ; " for myself, I prefer to meet the 
 loss. It is naught. I have other engagements. 
 I return to Bethany at once." 
 
 Thus the High priest and his builder parted. 
 Every show of courtesy attended the departure 
 of Lazarus and his men, who were escorted far 
 upon their journey by the officers and servants 
 of the High priest. It was given out in Caper- 
 
220 COME FORTH. 
 
 naum that the work was simply delayed until 
 the family should be absent from the villa ; the 
 inconvenience of building during their occupa 
 tion proving greater than had been anticipated. 
 
 Lazarus sent no message to Zahara. He 
 thought it safer not to do so. Then, as now, a 
 woman often managed such affairs more deftly 
 and with less danger. He returned to Bethany, 
 a silent, abstracted man, counting the hours till 
 the meeting which Zahara had appointed. 
 
 The precious moment came at last. Lazarus 
 had made the journey unattended, except by 
 a single servant, his confidential man Abraham, 
 a fellow silent as the great Sphinx. How Za 
 hara had managed her part of the meeting only 
 Zahara knew. She was quite alone. It was a 
 wild night, stormy and dark ; so stormy that 
 Lazarus had suffered a thousand terrors lest his 
 scanty comfort should be denied him. But there 
 on the beach, in the desolate spot where the 
 Nazarene had left her at his feet, a drowning 
 girl, Lazarus found her, trembling, a brave and 
 loving woman, waiting for her lord. 
 
 They met with tears and smiles, caresses and 
 cautions, hopes and despairs, with all the tumult 
 of the loving and denied. Their words were 
 few. Zahara stood palpitating in his arms. She 
 was frightened at her own brave deed. Every 
 moment now was as dangerous as it was dear. 
 
CO. WE FORTH. 221 
 
 " It stormeth so ! " whispered Zahara. " I did 
 not think it would be quite so wet, but surely no 
 one will suspect me. Who will think I could be 
 without the villa on a night like this ? Rebecca 
 guardeth my chamber and watcheth at the en 
 trance to let me in. I do but fly hither and fly 
 back again, like a dove that returneth to its own 
 nest. I love thee, Lazarus ! I love thee, and I 
 warn thee, trust not the High priest, my father, 
 for he groweth distrustful of thee. And, Laza 
 rus ! O Lazarus, my lord, be not angry with 
 thy Zahara, but I did fly hither to desire of thee 
 somewhat further." 
 
 " Anything ! " cried Lazarus rapturously, clasp 
 ing the wet and trembling form of the girl to his 
 heart. " Anything thou desirest, that do I for 
 love s sake and thine own." 
 
 " Then abandon the Nazarene," whispered 
 Zahara. 
 
 The arms of the young man dropped. He re 
 treated a step from her, and Zahara stood totter 
 ing, alone in the hard weather. It beat upon 
 her, and she looked so tender and delicate and 
 cruelly treated as she stood there, daring the 
 storm, and more than the storm, for his sake, 
 that the soul of Lazarus was wrung within him. 
 
 44 Abandon the Nazarene ! " repeated Zahara 
 plaintively. " For love s sake and thine own 
 and Zahara s." 
 
 " Anything else, Zahara ! " wailed Lazarus. 
 
222 COME FORTH. 
 
 " Ask of me anything but this, my own ! Try 
 not the soul of him who loveth thee as woman 
 was never loved, by demanding of him the only 
 thing he cannot do for thee, Zahara ! " 
 
 " I must return," said Zahara dully. " My 
 errand has been as naught. I am exposed to 
 the storm and the night, and to perils of the 
 road, and to the anger of my father, for thy sake, 
 and thou refusest me, Lazarus, thou refusest 
 me a trifling boon that any slave girl in Judea 
 might demand of her lover, and not be thought 
 presuming. Farewell, my lord, for I do tarry 
 too long with thee, at too great a cost." 
 
 She lifted her wet, sweet arms, and he took 
 her to his breast. She lifted her beautiful lips, 
 and his pressed them. If Zahara had shown 
 anger, or irnperiousness, or cold displeasure at 
 that moment, Lazarus could have withstood her 
 manfully enough ; but her womanly, sad tender 
 ness was a terrible weapon. 
 
 " Zahara ! " he cried, " Zahara ! How can I 
 refuse thee ? And how can I obey thee ? Kiss 
 me, and teach me ! Kill me, or bless me ! How 
 can I wrong my own soul? And how can I 
 grieve thine ? " 
 
 " That is for thee to discover," said Zahara. 
 With a long kiss, and a darting motion quick as 
 a bird s in mid-heaven, Zahara released herself 
 from his arms, and fled back through the storm 
 as she had come. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 "LORD," whispered Baruch, "Lord, I did ask 
 naught of thee, and thou hast given me all ! " 
 
 He uttered these words in an awed, breath 
 less voice, with the manner of a man who spake 
 to some person quite near him. His face was 
 upturned, his hands were clasped, he had fallen 
 upon his knees. 
 
 Ariella stood before him, shining and sweet ; 
 she smiled while Baruch prayed. But his mo 
 ther wept for joy, and bowed her head upon her 
 hands. The man born blind had said : 
 
 " My mother, I behold thee ! Thou hast a 
 dear countenance. Let me look upon it while I 
 can." This was hours ago, and still the wonder 
 held. No return of their lifelong darkness had 
 visited those afflicted eyes. As the night had 
 passed on, the rather Baruch testified that his 
 vision clarified. From cloud and haze, and float 
 ing, shining spots, and wavering phantasms, and 
 dizzy vagaries of light and shade, firm outline 
 grew, and perspective took her place, and the 
 laws of optics slowly and surely asserted them 
 selves. After the first thrill of delight in the 
 
224 COME FORTH. 
 
 sight of Ariella, and the natural movement of 
 tenderness toward his mother, a profound reli 
 gious emotion had seized the devout nature of 
 the blind man. He had passed much of the 
 night in a rapture of prayer which the two wo 
 men dared not disturb. 
 
 " Let him alone," whispered Rachel through 
 her happy tears ; " give him his way. He al 
 ways liked it as well as men with eyes. Pray 
 ing is safe business, and keeps him out of harm s 
 way, till his sight be stronger, if, praise to God, 
 it doth remain unto him. But for my part, I 
 had rather he slept for a space. There s no 
 thing weareth upon the eyes like watching." 
 
 "I would that He were here who hath per 
 formed this marvel," murmured Ariella. "He 
 would direct us what to do. He knoweth all 
 things." 
 
 " If that be the case, he knoweth enough to 
 manage his own cures," retorted Rachel s prac 
 tical sense. " Would that he were here, that 
 I might fall down and worship him ! But I 
 should leave him to attend to his own affairs. 
 I should not say, Lord, shall my son do thus ? 
 Must my son do so? Women do displease 
 men by that manner of prattle ; and I suppose 
 he is a man, after all," added Rachel. " I m 
 sure I don t know what else to call him." 
 
 While the women whispered together, Baruch 
 silently prayed on. 
 
COME FORTH. 225 
 
 Toward morning Ariella slipped away to her 
 own couch, and slept ; for she was weary with 
 the accumulating excitement of the day. To 
 the invalid, for years confined to the little world 
 of the sick-room, the recent events of life were 
 nothing less than tremendous. Her scale of es 
 timate was so fine that such experiences were to 
 her soul as wars to the history of nations. The 
 cure of the blind man, crowning the whole, al 
 most stunned the girl. She slept from sheer 
 exhaustion, long and heavily. 
 
 Mother and son remained together in the 
 familiar room. Rachel watched Baruch like a 
 tigress her young. Baruch seemed almost un 
 conscious of her. He had fallen into a spiritual 
 ecstasy. 
 
 Truly, it seemed that this unusual man cared 
 less, in that hour of his deliverance from the 
 worst of human afflictions, for the newly revealed 
 and precious power of sight than he did that 
 the attitude of his own soul toward the source of 
 this incredible mercy might be the right one. 
 He was, in short, too nearly overcome with 
 gratitude to God and to the Healer to be tri 
 vially diverted by the marvels of vision. 
 
 " If thou wouldst slop praying long enough to 
 get a nap," suggested his mother at last, " thou 
 couldst begin again afterwards." 
 
 " I do but grow stronger as I pray," replied 
 
226 COME FORTH. 
 
 Baruch gently; "behind my eyeballs I feel 
 weakness strengthen, and power eometh upon 
 me, as if it were the moving of an unseen force. 
 But thou art my mother, and I obey thee." 
 
 With these childlike words Baruch turned 
 like a little boy, laid his head upon his mother s 
 knees, and slept. Rachel put her thin, elderly 
 hands upon his curling hair. Her tears fell 
 silently. She dared not move. She sat till 
 dawn, and blessed him. Only she who has 
 borne an afflicted child can understand the 
 thoughts of Rachel. 
 
 Commotion ruled the house of Malachi. It 
 was morning ; in fact, the banners of the early 
 day were well unfurled upon the fairest of skies 
 and unto the gayest of breezes. It was a cool 
 day, when people are easily astir in Eastern 
 countries, and the crowd in front of the house 
 was larger than usual. Rumor had gone softly, 
 but had whispered that unusual occurrences 
 were taking place within the house of the Phar 
 isee. It was impossible to make out what ; and 
 curiosity invented tale upon tale. 
 
 The fact was nothing more than Malachi s 
 discovery of the flight of Ariella. Of this event 
 Hagaar, her mother, was the most innocent 
 woman alive. She had waked her lord from his 
 sonorous slumbers, at a late hour, with the agi- 
 
COME FORTH. 227 
 
 tated announcement that the bed of Ariella was 
 empty. Malachi sprang and cursed. Hagaar 
 paled and wept. He stormed and commanded. 
 She searched and sighed. He accused her of 
 complicity in the trick. She denied it in the 
 name of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, by the 
 souls of the prophets, and by the house of 
 David. He fell into a fury, and she dropped 
 upon her knees. He made as if he would have 
 rushed from the house to discover and secure 
 the maiden. But a glance at the gathering 
 mob in front of his gates deterred him. In 
 vain Hagaar entreated him, shrewdly: "Go, my 
 lord, go forth ! Hasten and seek thy daughter, 
 lest harm befall her. Go thou and gain news 
 of Ariella, or my heart will be broken within 
 me." 
 
 "Nay, then, since thou askest, that I will 
 not ! " retorted her husband. " The damsel may 
 go and crucify herself, for aught I will bestir 
 myself for her ! 
 
 At this moment the clamor of the people 
 arose shrilly : 
 
 " The maiden ! The maiden ! Give us news 
 of the maiden on whom the miracle was wrought ! 
 Come forth, Malachi, thou double-faced Phari 
 see, and account for her ! " 
 
 Upon this, Malachi flung open the door. His 
 disordered appearance and agitated face added 
 
228 COME FORTH. 
 
 to the jeers of the crowd. As soon as he began 
 to speak, a hum of sarcastic sympathy arose. 
 
 " Poor fellow," cried a rough voice, " we are 
 come to mourn with him over his domestic mis 
 fortunes. Such a calamity is it, an invalid 
 daughter ! " 
 
 " And mine, O my neighbors," protested 
 Malachi, " is greatly increased of her infirmity. 
 Ariella lieth in my house, the most helpless, 
 whining woman of them all. But I may not 
 upbraid her, for I fear me for the nature of her 
 disease, which groweth violent upon her. I do 
 greatly fear me that this sickness is unto death. 
 Condole with me, O my neighbors, and spare me 
 these numerous expressions of your sympathy. 
 Go ye your ways, I do entreat you, and leave an 
 afflicted household in peace unto itself." 
 
 At this instant, the crowd parted with a kind 
 of electric shock. The wildest voice hushed. 
 In the silence of stupefaction the people divided 
 to the right and to the left, and fell back. 
 
 Straight through them, erect, strong, fair, and 
 smiling, walked Ariella. She was led by Baruch, 
 the man born blind. He turned his face upon 
 his neighbors, with bright, conscious, seeing 
 eyes. Behind them walked Rachel, quivering 
 with joy. 
 
 " Behold ! " she cried shrilly. " Behold my 
 son, who was born as blind as any mummy in 
 
COME FORTH. 229 
 
 the sepulchres of Egypt ! No man in Bethany 
 seeth better than Baruch seeth on this day. 
 The Nazarene hath wrought the deed. Behold 
 the maiden whom he hath healed ! Behold my 
 son to whom he hath given eyes that nature did 
 deny him ! Behold Baruch ! Behold Ariella ! 
 Bless the Nazarene ! " 
 
 " The Nazarene ! The Nazarene ! " 
 
 The crowd took up the cry. It rose and 
 swelled with a mighty shout. The morning air 
 throbbed with it. 
 
 " He hath wrought a wonder in our midst 
 such as no man knoweth of until this day. 
 Where is the Nazarene ? Bless him ! Crown 
 him ! Call him ! Jesus of Nazareth be glori 
 fied in Bethany from this hour ! " 
 
 But Ariella and Baruch fell upon their knees 
 at the sound of that precious name ; and there, 
 among all the people, they offered thanks unto 
 Jehovah because of him, and forgot the people 
 and forgot the clamor, and remembered nothing 
 but their own once miserable plight, and his 
 power and mercy who had snatched them from 
 it. 
 
 But the mood of the people was not so sol 
 emn ; and another cry quickly replaced the name 
 of the Nazarene. 
 
 " Malachi ! Malachi the Pharisee ! Have 
 him out ! Have out the father who denieth the 
 
230 COME FORTH. 
 
 marvel wrought upon his daughter, and tricketh 
 the people of Bethany and of Jerusalem ! Have 
 him out unto us I " 
 
 Before any calmer spirit could interfere, the 
 roughs of the crowd had burst open the door of 
 the house, and seized the cursing, shaking Mal- 
 achi from behind a curtain where he had ino-lo- 
 
 O 
 
 riously hidden. They had him out, indeed. 
 They tore him out and tossed him to and fro, 
 and, in default of a pool to plunge him in, 
 fetched water, and soused him smartly till he 
 was like to drown. In the sputtering and ex 
 hausted condition consequent on this treatment, 
 they rolled him down the hill till he was clothed 
 with dust and well-nigh suffocated. Somewhat 
 appeased by his abject appearance, and by the 
 hard exercise consequent on the handling they 
 had given him, the crowd now returned the un 
 lucky man to his house. Here they forced him 
 upon his own bed, and tied him thereupon with 
 strips of the coverlets till he lay bound hand and 
 foot. 
 
 " Lie there," shouted a merry voice, " till you 
 have learned what it is like to be bedridden, 
 and arise not till she whom you have wronged 
 shall have the mind to free you ! If the maiden 
 taketh our advice, she will let you stay, where we 
 do leave you, for this many a day to come ! " 
 
 With this, the people departed, leaving the 
 
COME FORTH. 231 
 
 thoroughly subjugated Pharisee to the mercy of 
 his women. 
 
 Now, among the happy marvels crowding the 
 blind man s experience in these wonderful days, 
 certain circumstances may have interest for those 
 who are inclined by nature to view a wonder al 
 ways from its natural or scientific side. Many 
 curious incidents befell Baruch in the first use 
 of his eyesight. Common objects had phenome 
 nal proportions for him. 
 
 " What manner of man is this ? " he asked, 
 when he lifted his eyes to the olive-tree of Beth 
 any. The sight of the mountain-top covered 
 him with perplexity. He said that he had 
 thought it like a timbrel ; but this was like a 
 trumpet. At the view of the great desert of 
 Judea, Baruch was overcome. He remained 
 silent before it for a long time ; and when he 
 was spoken to, he was found to be in tears. 
 
 " The lives of all the blind and sick of all the 
 world lie there, 1 he said. 
 
 At his first sight of the sunset he fell upon 
 his knees. 
 
 " Behold," he cried, " I see the garment of 
 the living God ! " 
 
 When the full moon flooded Judea, Baruch 
 walked forth unto the brows of Olivet. Here he 
 remained for that night, until the dawn, alone. 
 
232 COME FORTH. 
 
 His mother followed him for a space, but, when 
 she saw the high look upon his enraptured face, 
 she turned back and left him to his solitary 
 ecstasy. At dawn, he returned to her, and 
 said : 
 
 " The moon is a lady. She is of high birth. 
 The earth is her lover, and worshipeth her from 
 afar. I have witnessed the loves of earth and 
 heaven." 
 
 " Mother," added Baruch, after some thought, 
 " why might not Ariella have accompanied me 
 to the mountain, as I did beseech her ? I lacked 
 Ariella. I had seen two moons with Ariella. 
 She withdraweth from me." 
 
 "Because thou art no longer a blind boy," 
 returned Rachel, " but a whole man. Thou 
 must deal with the maiden like other men." 
 
 " I deal with her as the earth dealeth with the 
 moon," said Baruch. 
 
 " But that is no way to treat a girl," retorted 
 Rachel. " There is no moonshine about Ariella. 
 She hath as good sense, for that matter, as any 
 girl I know. She knoweth, if thou dost not, that 
 except and until she wed thee, she must withhold 
 herself from thee. Ye are no longer two poor 
 fools of affliction, set apart from the laws of God 
 and men, that ye may be trusted together by the 
 hour, as of old. All Bethany nay, all Jeru 
 salem, for the fame of the wonder hath gone 
 
COME FORTH. 233 
 
 abroad would teach ye better, in the gossip 
 of one day." 
 
 " But why did not Ariella tell me so?" pro 
 tested Baruch naively. " She said unto me that 
 she did not wish to climb the mountain." 
 
 " Why doth a damsel not woo a man, in 
 deed?" cried Rachel, laughing loudly. " Yerily, 
 my son, thou provest thyself born blind in spite 
 of the miracle." 
 
 Baruch blushed, and was silent. In a few 
 moments he said carelessly, as if he sought 
 rather to divert than to continue the conversa 
 tion : 
 
 " When I behold Ariella, I behold two Ari- 
 ellas. This perplexes me. With one eye I do 
 see the old Ariella, a poor maiden, thin and ten 
 der, lying on her long lonely couch. With the 
 other I behold the new Ariella: she springeth 
 and walketh to and fro ; she is like the sunrise ; 
 she hath an eye like a waterfall. Always do I 
 behold the two Ariellas." 
 
 If Rachel had been a modern scientific stu 
 dent, she would probably have suggested " astig 
 matism " to Baruch, as an explanation of his 
 peculiar visual condition. As it was, she only 
 remarked that she supposed this was part of the 
 miracle. 
 
 It could not be said that Baruch s attachment 
 to Ariella had suffered default in consequence 
 
234 COME FORTH. 
 
 of his supreme experience. But it was true 
 for a time, at least, that a higher absorption 
 seemed to add a fine excitement to his condition. 
 Baruch s desire to behold Him who had wrought 
 the wonder upon his own life amounted to a 
 fever. Since his journey he had again sought 
 for the Nazarene everywhere, but this time in 
 vain. It was rumored that Jesus was traveling 
 in Perea, a heathen place, pityingly regarded, 
 where, if there were anything in the new reli 
 gion, it was sadly needed ; at any rate, the Rabbi 
 was beyond reach for the present. 
 
 Baruch fell into the habit of haunting the 
 localities frequented by Jesus, in Bethany and 
 Jerusalem ; the Mount of Olives especially had 
 a fascination for him. He spent many nights 
 there, as solitary as the lonely devotee whom he 
 sought. As the autumn came on, and the 
 nights cooled, his mother remonstrated with him 
 for the exposure, but he said : 
 
 " Stay me not, O my mother, till mine eyes 
 have beheld him who hath blessed me above all 
 living men." 
 
 But Ariella said nothing at all. She was ex 
 periencing in her turn a little of the pang felt 
 by Baruch when she herself was healed. She 
 seemed to be less precious to Baruch than when 
 he was blind. Was it so? Or only that an 
 other was grown more dear ? 
 
COME FORTH. 235 
 
 At all events, Baruch trod the familiar path 
 to Mount Olivet with patient, persistent feet, 
 and there he kept a watch of many weeks. 
 
 One night, at the decline of the moon, it 
 being cool and the dewfall almost frosty, Ba 
 ruch on the brow of Olivet looked down, and 
 yonder, treading the ascending path, he beheld 
 the climbing figure of a solitary man. It was 
 late and deserted on the mountain. No idle 
 visitor had ever interrupted Baruch s seclusion 
 on that lonely spot. When he saw the figure of 
 the man who approached him, his heart beat 
 with a violent, suffocating motion. The figure 
 was tall and commanding, but it bent wearily, 
 as if the ascent proved hard. Baruch watched 
 it climb with a passionate desire to run and help 
 the man and be tender to him, as one human 
 heart doth yearn toward another ; but this he 
 dared not. So he remained as he was until the 
 man had reached the mountain-top. 
 
 The moon, at that moment, fled into a dark 
 cloud, and as the two met one standing, the 
 other kneeling the face bent above Baruch 
 was invisible. 
 
 " Master," whispered Baruch, " this many a 
 night have I sought thee here to bless thee, and 
 now thou hast come." 
 
 The Nazarene stretched out his hand and 
 gently touched or stroked the cheek of the 
 
236 COME FORTH. 
 
 kneeling man. The action was as tender as a 
 woman s. But it had in it more than feminine 
 tenderness, a pathetic, manful longing for 
 sympathy too seldom received, too sorely needed. 
 It seemed as if the man were quite unaccus 
 tomed to gratitude or recognition so delicate as 
 that of Baruch, and as if he, in his turn, had 
 become the grateful one. 
 
 " Lord," cried Baruch, " unto thy mercy I 
 pray thee add one thing more, that I may be 
 utterly blessed among men." 
 
 "Name thou the thing," replied the other, 
 but shrinking a little, and speaking wearily, as 
 if disappointed at the utterance, just then, of a 
 personal request. 
 
 " Master, that I may behold thy countenance ! 
 Only that ! " entreated Baruch gently. 
 
 At this moment the moon shot from behind 
 her dark veil, and blazed in the Face unto which 
 the kneeling man lifted his awed and yearning 
 eyes. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 WINTER came on drearily in Judea that year. 
 There was more rain than usual, and early 
 frosts. The poor houses of the people, ill-pre 
 pared, as is so apt to be the case in hot coun 
 tries, for cold weather, presented sodden and 
 shivering faces to the gray landscape, wherein 
 rock and ridge and mountain, and the sombre 
 regard of the great Desert, seemed to watch the 
 lowering sky. 
 
 Martha, the widow of Simon the Leper, was 
 displeased. Probably the weather contributed 
 to her discomfort ; nobody can be irrationally 
 happy with a sky of cold lead and an atmos 
 phere of cold pottages ; but Martha did not at 
 tribute her discontent to meteorological causes. 
 A man was cause enough. Why muddle the case 
 and chatter of the weather, which anybody had 
 to deal with? Who else had to deal with a 
 brother like hers ? To be sure, there was Mary, 
 who went about like a mute at a funeral, and 
 forgot to shake the rugs. 
 
 u Besides," observed Martha abruptly, " thou 
 never seest any fault in Lazarus. No wonder 
 
238 COME FORTH. 
 
 he thinks he is never to blame, with a woman 
 always at his feet at home. Fortunately for him 
 he has not two to spoil him." 
 
 " I am but one, surely," replied Mary, with a 
 dove-like suggestion of saintly sarcasm in her 
 voice, " but I am quite willing that our brother 
 should be sure of me, that I gainsay him not in 
 his comings-in and goings-out. Lazarus hath his 
 own affairs, and if they are not such as he 
 shareth with me, I do but trust him. It is not 
 much to do." 
 
 " The hours that man keeps," continued Martha 
 complainingly, " since he came back from Caper 
 naum, are a disgrace to the house of Simon my 
 husband, who never departed from me after the 
 evening meal. For sixteen nights hath Lazarus 
 not come home until such time as I could not 
 keep awake to have speech with him." 
 
 " Perhaps," interrupted Mary sweetly, " he 
 did prefer that thou shouldst not take that 
 trouble upon thyself." 
 
 " He is none so considerate," replied Martha 
 comfortably, without apprehension of the gentle 
 sting in Mary s demure words. " But last night 
 I did hear him when he got here, for he did 
 stumble over a jar of my preserved figs, and it 
 clattered all over the court like thunder." 
 
 That Martha intended no ungentlewomanly 
 expletive, but a simple electrical figure of speech, 
 
COME FORTH. 239 
 
 was evident by the serious, matter-of-fact expres 
 sion on her broad, handsome face, with which she 
 proceeded to say : 
 
 " And verily it was an hour after the peal of 
 midnight. I heard the watchman on the Roman 
 
 O 
 
 citadel call aloud, All s well ! at least as long 
 as that before Lazarus showed his face in this 
 respectable court. I would have hastened to 
 have words with him, but he hurried into his 
 own portion of the house, and attended to me 
 not. To-night he is gone again." 
 
 " Whatever be his trouble," sighed Mary, " it 
 weareth upon him, for he groweth pale and thin 
 as never my eyes beheld my brother. It griev- 
 eth me so rely. He eateth not, and I fear me 
 he sleepeth not." 
 
 " Most people can t sleep unless they be in 
 their beds I " snapped Martha. " Thou mayest 
 be sorry, if thou choosest, Mary. Thou hast the 
 sorrowing nature. But Lazarus maketh me 
 downright angry." 
 
 Martha spoke in excellent Aramaic, and the 
 word with which she closed her sentence was the 
 nearest synonym to our own useful but perhaps 
 more modern monosyllable, mad. 
 
 " Gone again," as Martha had said, Lazarus 
 surely was. Thus stood the story of this young 
 man s unprecedented and erratic disappearances 
 from his sister s respectable home. 
 
240 COME FORTH. 
 
 After his return from Capernaum, he had 
 spent a few weeks in a mechanical effort to live 
 without Zahara. This was really all that life 
 amounted to. To his business he attended dully : 
 it rolled along like a pebble on a smooth board, 
 a little inclined by long habit. Absence from 
 Zahara had a profound effect upon Lazarus. 
 Most men mope a little under such circum 
 stances. This sensitive and passionate nature 
 despaired. Lazarus was even, capable of dying 
 for love s sake. Such things exist, and have 
 always existed. The case was complicated for 
 Lazarus by Zahara s final demand upon him in 
 their stolen interview upon the shore of the 
 lake. " Abandon the Nazarene ?" A thousand 
 times a day the intimate friend of Jesus cried, 
 " Impossible ! " A thousand times the lover of 
 Zahara temporized, " But how tell her so ? " 
 From dark to dawn his nature argued with 
 itself : " He ruleth my soul ! " " She ruleth 
 my heart ! " " Unto him is my duty." " Unto 
 her is my troth." " Him will I never deny." 
 " From her can I never part." " He is my 
 lord." " She is my queen." " To him I am 
 loyal." " To her I am true." 
 
 The strength of Lazarus, of which he had 
 once a goodly, manly store, began to decline 
 rapidly. It is just to this tossed and tempted 
 soul to say that, with his force of body, his force 
 
COME FORTH. 241 
 
 of will began to weaken. This is a common 
 calamity : it is the sorest and saddest feature of 
 physical unfitness, and one that commands, in 
 all ages and in any state of society, the least 
 sympathy. 
 
 One day, without a sign of warning, he met 
 her suddenly in a bazaar in Jerusalem. 
 
 Her maidens were with her. She and Rebecca 
 were purchasing silk and gold fringes. Her 
 litter waited without. Lazarus, who was traf 
 ficking with the owner of the shop over some 
 minor matter of decoration needed in the palace 
 of the Maccabees, turned violently pale. His 
 love rushed upon him, at the sight of her, like a 
 torrent that no man withstandeth. His hands 
 were full of tapestries, and, bending over his 
 purchases, he managed to approach her and to 
 say in a thrilling whisper : 
 
 "Zaharaf" 
 
 " We are returned to the palace," murmured 
 the lady Zahara, toying leisurely with the pur 
 ple silk. " Forgettest thou me, Lazarus ? " 
 
 " If I see thee not, I die ! " breathed Lazarus. 
 
 Zahara arched the pretty eyebrows which 
 were distractingly distinct above her silver veil. 
 
 " Bid thy Rebecca be on watch for my Abra 
 ham," Lazarus continued to say. " I have pur 
 poses, and them shall I enforce." 
 
 Zahara drew herself up haughtily ; then flut- 
 
242 COME FORTH. 
 
 tered a little with a throb of feminine respect 
 for this masterful speech. She said nothing ; 
 the merchant spoke : 
 
 " Will the most worshipful princess deign to 
 consider the dyes used in this silk of purple ? " 
 
 Lazarus examined his tapestries in palpitating 
 silence. When he raised his head Zahara was 
 drifting to her litter.- She did not turn her 
 head. Too swiftly she was gone. 
 
 At that moment was born the daring venture 
 which Lazarus and Zahara afterward put into 
 execution with a determination and a reckless 
 ness that had effects inconceivable by them upon 
 certain of the chief actors in this tale. 
 
 When Lazarus had been employed upon the 
 Temple about a year before, he had been called 
 apart from the workmen to inspect a matter re 
 quiring the master s eye. Lazarus was more 
 than a carpenter or a master-builder. He was 
 an intelligent man, with an eye trained to pro 
 portions : his was equal to any artisan skill im 
 ported by Herod from Greece or Rome, From 
 foundation-stone to marble turret, he was a re 
 lentless inspector of work. A column in the 
 inner Temple had departed from the true per 
 pendicular. Its carven base had sensibly shifted, 
 and Lazarus was sent for to inquire the cause 
 and prescribe the remedy. He had been led to 
 a heavy piece of tapestry that ornamented an 
 
COME FORTH. 243 
 
 alcove in the High priest s vestment-chamber. A 
 door was revealed behind the embroidery, as Laz 
 arus was guided through a passage by a priest of 
 high rank, into the damp darkness of the subter 
 ranean chambers below the Temple. Here were 
 the foundation-stones placed by Solomon. Near 
 by was the treasure-chamber, known to but a 
 sacerdotal few, and there was the crumbling 
 masonry for which the skillful eye was search 
 ing. Lazarus spent the morning in surveys and 
 calculations ; the priest departed, and bade him 
 follow when his work was done. Lazarus had 
 privileges beyond the mechanics. Was he not 
 a Jew among Jews, and a famous Pharisee ? 
 
 When he started back through the same 
 vaulted passage, his trained eye could not help 
 wandering, by the light of the cedar torch, along 
 the neatly laid blocks of limestone. Just as he 
 was about to emerge, behind the tapestry, he no 
 ticed a bar of bronze that projected from a block 
 larger than the rest. He stopped, and musingly 
 pushed and then pulled it. Silently the stone 
 moved out upon a brazen hinge, and the new 
 draught almost extinguished his light. No one 
 was there. He glanced within. Curiosity and 
 youth take no long time to decide. Lazarus 
 bent and entered, and softly closed the secret 
 door behind him. Soon the passage became 
 high enough for him to stand and walk. It was 
 
244 COME FORTH. 
 
 in excellent condition, and showed signs of fre 
 quent use. Down, down it went. The adven 
 turer reflected. Did it lead to Sheol ? He 
 heard frequent sounds of rushing water, but the 
 passage was dry. After descending and wind 
 ing for a time, the avenue began to lead up. 
 The air was fresh and cool. Could it be that it 
 led to the tomb of David? A thousand conjec 
 tures arose in the imagination of Lazarus, as he 
 toiled stubbornly up the steep ascent. Soon 
 steps helped him. Then another block of stone 
 barred his way. He had reached the mysteri 
 ous end. He drew a breath and pushed. The 
 light of the hot sun greeted him. He was in 
 the midst of deep shadows. He looked, and 
 half-grown clusters of grapes smiled at him. 
 With cautious step he parted the twining vines. 
 He looked upon a well-kept terrace. Opposite 
 was the glorious Temple. This was the terrace 
 of Annas the High priest. Above, frowned the 
 palace. 
 
 Lazarus examined this strangely protected en 
 trance curiously. He took quick and careful 
 note of its location. He quietly returned, re 
 placed the stone in position, and walked back as 
 swiftly as the unequal way would allow. Once 
 only he stopped : that was when he heard the 
 rushing as of a torrent above him. He did not 
 look up, but only wondered where the water 
 
COME FORTH. 245 
 
 came from and whither it went. Had Lazarus 
 but raised his hand he could have felt a brazen 
 disc that divides the waters from the passage by 
 no more than the width of a thumb. A hun 
 dred cubits farther ascent, and he cautiously 
 emerged from this impressive corridor. His 
 discovery was undiscovered. He kept his coun 
 sel, as the subterranean passage did her own. 
 The secret did not pass his lips, nor did the 
 mystery deeply concern his curiosity. The agi 
 tated nature of the times and the autocratic 
 authority of the Sanhedrim left little occasion 
 for wonder at any expedient or subterfuge, 
 light or dark, upon the part of the ecclesiastical 
 princes. Whether this passage had been built 
 for prayer or villainy, for the disposal of burnt- 
 offerings or idolaters, for vigils, fastings, or 
 amours, who could say ? Lazarus never knew, 
 and never greatly cared. His discovery oc 
 curred to him now with a mental flash and 
 a crash like lightning and thunder. It shot 
 through him there in the bazaar while Zahara 
 was blushing over the purple silk. When his 
 soul started and said, " If I see thee not, I die ! " 
 the whole scheme seemed to spring to meet him. 
 To make the story short, he confided in his 
 fellow Abraham. Zahara trusted Rebecca. The 
 man and the maid met. Abraham revealed the 
 situation. Rebecca bore the tale to her mistress. 
 
246 COME FORTH. 
 
 Upon the seventh night following the interview 
 in the bazaar, the daring lovers met below 
 ground between the palace and the Temple. 
 
 To accomplish this end, it had been necessary 
 for Lazarus to renew work upon the Temple. 
 This he had found little difficulty in doing, for 
 his services were always in demand. It had 
 been less easy to make a job behind the priests 
 quarters, but this obstacle, too, the young builder 
 had finally conquered. Upon the plea of late and 
 solitary labor performed more skillfully by the 
 master without the men, Lazarus had managed 
 to obtain access at an early hour in the evening, 
 to the subterranean passage, from the Temple 
 entrance. He replaced the stone behind him. 
 The drowsy priests did not notice whether or 
 when the builder left the Temple. Lazarus 
 pushed through with hot haste, and with bound 
 ing heart reached the extreme end of the pas 
 sage and stirred the grass-grown slide, moved 
 it quickly and quietly aside, and stretched out 
 his hand into the grape-vine. This was the 
 signal of meeting. Midway of the vine he 
 grasped the soft fingers of Zahara. Zahara had 
 a spice of the adventuress in her: she liked this 
 daring business ; it stirred her soul and body. 
 She darted behind the grape-vine, and allowed 
 her lover to draw her into his forbidding tryst- 
 ing-place without a quaver. Abraham stood 
 
COME FORTH. 247 
 
 sentry in the dark at the mouth of the passage : 
 Kebecca watched the palace. Lazarus and Za- 
 hara were alone. He clasped her in the gloom 
 without a word, and when he had suffocated her 
 with kisses, in silence and darkness, he raised a 
 temple lamp, and stared upon her beauty, like 
 one gone mad with love and joy. Zahara was a 
 little pale, but she shone resplendent in that 
 dreary place. 
 
 " Zahara ! Brightness ! Bright one ! " cried 
 Lazarus. " I risk my life for thy lips ! " 
 
 " And I my liberty for thine," replied Zahara, 
 with a sweet pride. Then they clasped, and 
 spoke no more for the closeness of their em 
 brace; and that first meeting gave space for 
 little speech or language between them but the 
 language of the lips and arms. They met rap 
 turously and parted soon and safely : Zahara and 
 Rebecca returned together to the palace, while 
 Abraham and Lazarus departed by different 
 ways to their own place. All went as smoothly 
 as a canoe over a torrent. Nothing happened 
 to hinder or alarm the lovers. The escapade 
 was undiscovered and repeated. In fact, it was 
 repeated for many an evening. 
 
 These meetings were always necessarily short, 
 but they lengthened insensibly and dangerously. 
 Zahara enjoyed herself supremely, without di 
 verting fears. The girl was born for a wider 
 
248 COME FORTH. 
 
 life than the poor prison of experience accorded 
 to Oriental maidens. She had possibilities in 
 her which the palace of the High priest recog 
 nized no more than the theologians recognized 
 her ecclesiastical capacity to be voted into the 
 Sanhedrim. This adventure delighted her. She 
 waived its dangers away like a queen, and kissed 
 the tenderer for them. 
 
 As the two became more accustomed to each 
 other s precious presence, they managed to intro 
 duce some articulate communication into the 
 wild scene. In their damp and ghastly rendez 
 vous, with the light of the lover s lamp flaring 
 upon their faces, and their strained ears, grown 
 refined by their new exercise, listening to every 
 sound beyond their own heart-beats, Lazarus 
 and Zahara did the first conversing of their 
 lives. 
 
 Zahara returned quickly enough to the subject 
 which had now mounted far beyond their per 
 sonal case, and had become the main source of 
 excitement, amity, or enmity in Judea, the 
 career of the Nazarene. Zahara remained firm 
 in her repulsion toward this man, and toward all 
 which he represented in the movements of her 
 times. She had the instinct of the high-born 
 against the low, of culture against rudeness, of 
 the conservative against the progressive, of the 
 Sanhedrim against the dissenter, of ecclesiasti- 
 
COME FORTH. 249 
 
 cism against religious liberty, of a young and 
 haughty woman against that which she had not 
 been educated to respect. She demanded of 
 Lazarus nothing less than his entire desertion 
 of the dangerous itinerant agitator. 
 
 " Have I not done enough that is disloyal for 
 thy sake ? " inquired Lazarus mournfully. " For 
 thee, I have not had converse with the man for 
 now longer than I dare reflect upon. Each day 
 I vow unto myself that I will see the face of 
 this Jesus, and pray his forgiveness for ingrati 
 tude that the man thou lovest ought to be 
 ashamed of, O my Zahara ! Each night I kiss 
 thee, and I behold him not." 
 
 " That is all very well as far as it goes," 
 replied Zahara, with a little feminine self-satis 
 faction at her conquest of her lover, " but that 
 is not enough. I like not to see thee the dupe 
 of such pretenders. Thou art not like low-born 
 men, deceived by sorcerer s antics, as children 
 and old women." 
 
 In vain did Lazarus reason with Zahara 
 touching the true nature and achievements of 
 his friend. When he spoke of the modesty, 
 the sincerity, the tenderness, the exquisite sym 
 pathy, the godlike unselfishness, of the man, 
 Zahara stopped his lips with a kiss ; and when 
 he related the marvels wrought by the Rabbi, 
 Zahara arched her pretty brows. When he 
 
250 COME FORTH. 
 
 urged his thrilling neighborhood histories of the 
 sick girl and the blind man, Zahara said cures 
 were common things. When he insisted upon 
 her own personal indebtedness to the saviour of 
 her life at Lake Gennesaret, Zahara smiled in a 
 chilly, well-bred way, strongly suggestive of her 
 father, except that her expression was so thor 
 oughly ladylike. 
 
 " What wilt thou ? " cried Lazarus in despair, 
 one night. " What wilt thou, then ? Is there 
 any test which thou wilt take of the honor of 
 my words, or of the sanity of my judgment, or 
 of the wondrous power and character of him 
 whom thou despisest and I revere, whom thou 
 scornest and I obey ? Our hearts are one, 
 Zahara. Our minds should not be twain. Thy 
 pertinacity grieve th me for love s sake. Tell 
 me, then, what proof wilt thou take, of him or 
 of me, that thou shalt consider the claims of this 
 holy and self -forgetful man ? " 
 
 "When with mine own eyes I behold him 
 give life unto the dead, O my lover, I will con 
 sider," laughed Zahara lightly. 
 
 " Thou imperious Zahara ! " groaned Lazarus. 
 " Thou demandest the impossible of nature and 
 the Nazarene." 
 
 Their lamp went out this moment, and Zahara 
 clung to him in a pretty fright. In the dark 
 his lips felt for hers, and he said no more about 
 the Rabbi. 
 
COME FORTH. 251 
 
 Before he lifted his face, a low voice without 
 upon the terrace called him urgently. It was 
 Abraham the slave. 
 
 " Rebecca warneth me," whispered Abraham. 
 " The High priest in the palace calleth for the 
 lady Zahara." 
 
 The trembling lovers pushed aside the grass- 
 grown slide, and boldly ventured out. Lazarus 
 drew Zahara into the open air, it was raining 
 violently, and they stood for an instant with 
 held breath, palpitating behind the shield of 
 vines. Quivering, they listened and stared for 
 sound or signal which should decide the nature 
 and extent of their danger. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THERE was merriment in the house of Mal- 
 achi. The people of Bethany were once again 
 wending their ways to his now notorious door, 
 ready to forget a scandal for a feast, and to for 
 give an unpleasant reputation for a frolic. The 
 neighbors collected one bright winter day, and 
 salaamed across the Pharisee s threshold politely 
 in gala clothes. The occasion was no less than 
 the marriage of his daughter. 
 
 It was a question of much local interest when 
 or how Ariella and Baruch had effected the pre 
 liminaries to this event. Their betrothal, which 
 was a solemn affair, according to the customs of 
 their people, had taken place scarcely six weeks 
 before the marriage day. Malachi had surren 
 dered to the situation after the hardest struggle ; 
 but he had surrendered thoroughly. Malachi 
 was a shrewd fellow, who took no long time to 
 perceive the pit of unpopularity into which he 
 had dropped. Something must be done to re 
 trieve himself among his neighbors and acquaint 
 ances. Why, his very rentals had begun to 
 decline ! Gossip gave him the name of a hard 
 
COME FORTH. 253 
 
 man, and tenants were afraid of him. This 
 would clearly never do. Malachi consulted what 
 he called his own soul, kept his counsel, confided 
 in nobody, admitted nothing, but against the 
 growing intimacy of his daughter and Baruch, 
 to the amazement of Hagaar, he offered no pro 
 test. In fact, he seemed to see or know as little 
 as possible of the love affair, treating it with a 
 cold indifference which would have wounded to 
 the quick a daughter whose affection he had ever 
 chosen to cultivate. When Hagaar timidly 
 announced, one night, that Baruch had formally 
 made request for the hand of Ariella, her father 
 scornfully replied : 
 
 " The girl is naught but a nuisance about the 
 house since all this sorcerer s business hath set 
 her against her own flesh and blood. Let her 
 marry the beggar, if she will. I shall be only 
 too glad to be rid of her." 
 
 It was more difficult to say when the lovers 
 themselves had reached the definite mile-stone 
 of marriage in their vague and somewhat aerial 
 courtship. Tormenting and blessing each other 
 by turns of devotion and withdrawal, they had 
 at last come to the limit of a kind of spiritual 
 caprice, who could tell how? They them 
 selves, perhaps, least of all. Fate had led them 
 by strange ways into the common human cir 
 cumstance of fortunate love. Marriage, for so 
 
254 COME FORTH. 
 
 long the impossible, nay, the inconceivable, in 
 their afflicted lives, was the last thing to make 
 itself practicable ; the last, perhaps, to make 
 itself necessary to their new and happy lot. 
 The possession of the simplest human faculties, 
 the unregarded preciousness of sight, the unesti- 
 mated mercy of the power of locomotion, trea 
 sure so usual that other loving men and women 
 noted it not, this was paradise enough at first 
 for Baruch and for Ariella. 
 
 The thrill of health, the delirium of vision, 
 the late sweet consciousness of having become 
 like others of God s creatures, here was the fruit 
 upon the tree of life. Slowly they came to the 
 knowledge of the good and the evil in unshared 
 experience. They arrived at the necessity of 
 uniting their blessedness by those almost unap- 
 parent stages which sometimes make the period 
 of courtship as delicate and as fair as the prism 
 in an opal, and sometimes set it with sharp 
 pangs and perils that go too far to destroy its 
 delight. 
 
 At any rate, however they did it, they came 
 to the old familiar turn in the winding road of 
 love ; and, insensibly as one foot follows another 
 in a long march, they passed with extraordinary 
 sensitiveness into ordinary happiness. 
 
 The wedding of Ariella was a great event in 
 the hamlet of Bethany. Her father unexpect- 
 
COME FORTH. 255 
 
 edly developed a stubborn vanity in the matter, 
 and insisted on as much show as possible ; part 
 ly, Hagaar suspected, as a taunt to the poverty 
 of the bridegroom, who naturally, poor fellow, 
 had not yet so much as a trade to show for him 
 self, though he had prospective opportunities 
 to acquire the delicate handicraft of constructing 
 musical instruments, for which both his taste 
 and his refined fingers were well adapted. But 
 at all events Ariella was ceremoniously mar 
 ried. 
 
 The girl bore herself through the gayeties of 
 the evening like a white flower, still and sweet. 
 There was something singular about her beauty, 
 which seemed less bridal than celestial to look 
 upon. The rudest eye regarded the pale, slight, 
 serious bride with reverence ; and the rudest 
 tongue, which, alas ! sometimes gave itself free 
 dom at the weddings of these times, was bridled 
 before her. 
 
 "Verily," said Martha, the widow of Simon 
 the Leper, " the marriage of those twain is like 
 unto the marriage of two ghosts. This wedding 
 seemeth to me like the rising from the dead." 
 
 " It seemeth to me as happy as a resurrec 
 tion," said Mary, smiling, " if that be the mean 
 ing of thy thought." 
 
 The pleasant tumult, the laughter and jesting, 
 song, music, dance, and feasting, circled about 
 
256 COME FORTH. 
 
 Baruoh like the movement of fays, or beautiful 
 witches, or beings of another race. He found it 
 confusing to become akin to his kind by all this 
 commonplace festivity. It made him silent, 
 like a spectator. Yet perhaps Baruch liked it 
 all well enough, in his own way. The goodliest 
 saint has a throb of pleasure in finding himself 
 forced to share in human merriment like other 
 people. Baruch looked on with a remote smile. 
 He heard the quick, soft breath of Ariella. He 
 took her by the hand, before all the world ; he 
 gazed upon her spiritual beauty, intoxicated. 
 What eye that was used to seeing could look 
 upon a bride like that ? 
 
 As one stirreth in a vision, Baruch led her 
 from her father s house. The procession formed 
 in swift, bright links to bear her away. The 
 home of his mother would receive the bride 
 groom and bride. Chaplets of myrtle crowned 
 the heads of the bridal party. All the flowers 
 that the season yielded were showered before 
 their happy feet. Perfumes filled the air. Tim 
 brels sounded shrilly. Sweet singers chanted 
 love-songs. The light-bearers bore brazen and 
 carven lamps, filled with scented oil and fastened 
 to the tops of poles. These flickered gently 
 upon laughing faces, and rich robes, and the 
 wavering outline of dancing figures. 
 
 "Impossible," thought Ariella, "that this 
 
COME FORTH. 257 
 
 bride is I." It seemed to her every moment as 
 if she should make a misstep, stumble, and fall 
 back upon that bed of misery, that nine years 
 old grave, and lie there helpless, hopeless, ach 
 ing, and start and sob because she had waked 
 out of such a pretty dream. 
 
 " Incredible," said Baruch, " that this en 
 raptured man is I." He looked at Ariella. Her 
 long fair hair flowed like sunlight down her 
 shoulders ; it rippled in the light breeze like a 
 brook. Her veil was of silver-white tissue, half- 
 transparent and shining. Her delicate throat 
 was visible. A chain of gold encircled it. The 
 chain stirred with the heaving of her breast. 
 Her hands and white arms trembled. Baruch 
 said to himself : 
 
 " I shall turn my head, and darkness will blot 
 it all out. The vision will shatter before me. 
 I shall strain my sightless eyeballs till they burn 
 into my brain. I shall move in blackness. I 
 shall be guided of a lad upon a solitary way." 
 
 But when he saw the lad Enoch verily stand 
 ing upon his valuable head, in a prominent place 
 at the front of the procession, and wearing his 
 chaplet of myrtle upon one wagging foot, Baruch 
 concluded that his situation possessed the ele 
 ments of reality. He recovered himself, and 
 crushed the hand of Ariella, like any common 
 bridegroom, and was only uncommon in this, 
 
258 COME FORTH. 
 
 that he blessed God because of his earthly joy, 
 and remembered that it wa s of heaven. 
 
 In the bliss of Ariella and Barnch there 
 was one sturdy disappointment. First in their 
 thought had been the great Benefactor of their 
 afflicted and blessed lives. To welcome him 
 among the marriage guests would have added 
 the last throb to delight, and the last solemnity 
 to the sacredness of the hour. His benediction 
 would have brought their joy to its highest and 
 most solemn level. The Rabbi might even have 
 married them, Ariella thought ; but the Rabbi 
 was not to be found. He was traveling in dis 
 tant villages, followed by blessing and maledic 
 tion, by trust and suspicion, by adoration and 
 enmity, by a few faithful friends and by a fickle 
 crowd ; by the scorn of the socially influential, 
 the espionage and hatred of ecclesiastics ; by the 
 loving tears and smiles of the poor, the sick, the 
 crippled, unlucky, unhappy ; by the outcast, err 
 ing, and despised of men. 
 
 The Rabbi was about what he called his Fa 
 ther s business. These were strange words to 
 the followers who so blindly loved, but so darkly 
 comprehended, that mystical life. Perhaps few 
 were constituted so as to have understood them 
 better than these two young people, whose ex 
 perience of suffering had refined both the imagi 
 nation and the spiritual vision necessary to the 
 
COME FORTH. 259 
 
 case. Yet their conception of it was vague and 
 poor enough. As one looks back upon that sub 
 lime history, the most touching thing about it 
 seems to be the heart-breaking solitariness of 
 the man, whose nearest friend could not appre 
 hend his simplest motive. 
 
 His motive for not appearing at the marriage 
 festivity of Ariella and Baruch was probably a 
 complex one. For one thing, the excitement 
 caused by these two memorable cures was enor 
 mous. Jerusalem felt it, and Bethany thrilled 
 with it. A hint of the probable presence of the 
 Healer would have turned the village into a 
 camp, and the bridal party into the centre of a 
 mob. True, it might have been a mob of re 
 spectable intentions enough, but every poor 
 wretch within call would have swelled it ; crip 
 ples and lepers crawled in the bridal train of 
 Ariella ; and as to Jesus himself, who could say 
 what would have been done unto him by the 
 clamorous people ? They were capable of snatch 
 ing him to death or to a throne. 
 
 As the marriage train approached the house 
 of the bridegroom, a traveler, coming from the 
 direction of Jerusalem, observed it at a distance, 
 and stopped suddenly. It was the beautiful 
 custom of the Jews that whoever met the bridal 
 or the burial party should turn his steps and 
 follow it. Etiquette required this courteous act 
 
260 COME FORTH. 
 
 of every stranger no less than any friend. He 
 who stood watching the bridal procession of 
 Ariella and Baruch was a grave and weary man, 
 with the aspect of one who had traveled far 
 and needed rest. He had a certain homeless 
 look, pathetic to see, which showed itself in his 
 very attitude, and the slow, sad motion of the 
 head with which he turned to view the happy 
 scene. His first purpose seemed to be to shrink 
 from it, step into the shadow of trees by the 
 roadside, and there remain concealed. This he 
 did for such space of time as the procession re 
 quired to pass him. No person observed him. 
 When the bridal train had swept by the man 
 stepped forth and followed it. He walked at a 
 little distance, slowly, almost shyly, making no 
 sign of his presence. This man was the Naza- 
 rene. When Ariella put her foot across the 
 threshold of her husband s house, he stood still, 
 and extended his hands in silent benediction. 
 Having given this mute and beautiful expression 
 of his sympathy with the happiest marriage that 
 Judea had known for many a year, he returned 
 as he had come, and no man had knowledge of 
 his presence. 
 
 When Lazarus and Zahara came forth from 
 the subterranean passage at the alarm of the 
 slave, no person but Abraham was found to be 
 
COME FORTH. 261 
 
 in sight. Lazarus deftly and swiftly replaced 
 the slide, and drew the thick grape-vine closer to 
 it. The night was very dark. The rain beat 
 against the vine, and dropped heavily from leaf 
 to leaf upon- the trembling form of Zahara, who 
 shrank within the frail shelter, not daring to 
 venture she knew not what. Lazarus, having 
 exchanged a few whispered words with Abra 
 ham, said abruptly : 
 
 " Zahara, my own, there is no gainsaying the 
 matter, we must part, and that at once. One 
 kiss, my love, one more one more one more. 
 Now return thou to the palace of thy father 
 with all speed. Rebecca awaits thee at the 
 upper terrace. I go, but I go not too far to 
 watch for thy safety, and see that thou inakest 
 thy way to thy handmaiden unmolested." 
 
 They clung, and parted. Each felt what 
 neither dared to say, that this might be their 
 last meeting. They clasped and sobbed, and 
 turned their faces from each other, and went 
 their ways. Lazarus and Abraham ran along 
 the terrace, keeping close in the shadow till they 
 were beyond immediate danger of detection. 
 Then dismissing the slave to the highway, Laz 
 arus concealed himself in some shrubbery, and 
 watched the palace and its spacious grounds. 
 
 At first he could see nothing, it was so dark 
 and the storm beat so in his face. Suddenly, a 
 
262 COME FORTH. 
 
 light flashed, and went out. It was a single 
 torch, extinguished by a quick order ; but the 
 momentary gleam had revealed the figure of the 
 High priest, followed by a guard. Annas was 
 searching the grounds. 
 
 From his hiding-place Lazarus could hear 
 occasional voices, but no words. Nothing was 
 to be seen or heard of Zahara. Lazarus suf 
 fered torments of anxiety. 
 
 Presently, the sound of quick, light feet ran 
 across the wet terrace. A woman s garments 
 fluttered in the storm. The shrill voice of Re 
 becca called to the High priest : 
 
 " My lord, I bear thee good tidings. I have 
 found my mistress the lady Zahara. She sleep- 
 eth soundly on a cushion in the inner chamber 
 of the women s apartments. She hath so hidden 
 herself behind a curtain that I did overlook her. 
 I pray thee pardon me, my lord, and hasten 
 to her, for she waketh, and awaiteth thy com 
 mands." 
 
 The torch flared out again. The High priest 
 and his guard, none too amiably, patrolled the 
 grounds and returned to the palace. Lazarus 
 fancied that they lingered at the mouth of the 
 underground passage too long ; but he dared 
 not stay to decide this point. He made his own 
 escape (in the darkness this was not a matter of 
 difficulty), and gained the public road unob- 
 
COME FORTH. 263 
 
 served ; and so, across the valley and the moun 
 tain, drenched and dreary, he reached home and 
 drew breath. 
 
 Danger for the present was over. Bat the 
 result of this alarm was serious enough. Laza 
 rus dared not, for Zahara s sake, repeat their 
 audacious meetings, until all suspicion, if any 
 existed, were worn from the mind of the High 
 priest by time. The lovers were now entirely 
 separated. Beyond an occasional message ven 
 tured through their confidential slaves, they had 
 no communication. Winter set in. Zahara re 
 mained, or was retained, closely in the palace of 
 her father. It seemed to Lazarus that death 
 could not be worse than this. He grew ghastly. 
 
 One day he sent her a scroll, on which was 
 inscribed ; 
 
 " If I have thee not, I die," 
 
 Zahara responded by a piece of papyrus, on 
 which was written, " Live thou for Zahara." 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE winter was nearly over. About that 
 time in the year which corresponds to the first 
 week of the month of February, as known to 
 our calendar, the underground corridor between 
 the Temple and the palace of Annas became 
 the stage of a thrilling scene. 
 
 The impatience of the separated lovers had 
 now silenced the warnings of prudence. Laza 
 rus and Zahara had agreed to meet at the old 
 rendezvous ; Abraham and Rebecca, faithful 
 tools of the adventure, and the only medium of 
 communication, had done their docile and sym 
 pathetic part in the affair. The evening and 
 the hour had arrived. 
 
 Lazarus found both more difficulty and more 
 ease than he had anticipated, in approaching the 
 corridor from the Temple. Priests were abun 
 dant and attentive. The builder was obliged to 
 watch his chance by the wariest. It even oc 
 curred to him that his motions were observed by 
 special order ; but he abandoned this theory 
 when a sleek young Levite, with whom he was 
 conversing, deliberately interrupted the inter- 
 
COME FORTH. 265 
 
 view, and, begging his pardon for leaving him 
 for a moment, moved off to obey some summons 
 from the altar, promising to return immediately. 
 It is needless to say that when the Levite came 
 back Lazarus had disappeared. 
 
 If the priest had looked at the tapestry which 
 hung before the marble slab that closed the cor 
 ridor, he might have seen the fine material trem 
 ble slightly, as a thing does which has recently 
 been set in motion. Whether he cast an eye in 
 that direction or not, however, Lazarus was not 
 there to see. 
 
 He reached the extreme end of the passage 
 something past the hour appointed. It was 
 empty and still. He pushed the great slide 
 softly. It was a cold night, and fortunately 
 dark, but without rain ; there was frost upon 
 the grape-vine, which hung with shriveled leaves, 
 a scantier shield than it used to be. Lazarus 
 dared not speak : he listened in an agony which 
 mounted to ecstasy when he heard the delicate, 
 quick fluctuations of a woman s panting breath. 
 Two passionate whispers crossed each other. 
 
 "ZaharaJ" 
 
 " Lazarus ! " and he had her in his hungry 
 arms. 
 
 Of what do lovers talk after a three months 
 separation, and in face of detection, disgrace, 
 and death ? At first it seemed to Lazarus that 
 
266 COME FORTH. 
 
 words were as idle as the dripping of the dew 
 from the dank roof of the vault. It was frosty, 
 by the way, for so much dew, and it occurred to 
 him once to wonder where it came from ; but 
 neither this nor any other coherent thought had, 
 for some time, any distinct lodgment in his 
 mind. His lips groped in the dark for her 
 eyes and mouth and soft cheek. Her sweet 
 breath mingled with his own. He had not 
 dared bring a lamp into the passage this time, 
 and the lovers put up their hands and felt for 
 and felt over each other s features, like blind 
 people. 
 
 " It is like meeting in the tomb," said Laza 
 rus, with a sudden shudder. 
 
 " Thy cheek hath grown thin, my dear lord," 
 whispered Zahara mournfully. "It is hollow 
 beneath my finger-tip. Thou palest; thou 
 weakenest ; thou diest." 
 
 " Better death than life without thee, Za 
 hara," replied her lover hopelessly. 
 
 " Nay, then, my love, thou losest courage and 
 the heart of a man. Have cheer, my own. 
 Take it, from my lips ! " 
 
 She lifted her warm face. 
 
 " Thy kiss would give a man life though he 
 did lie in the sepulchre ! " breathed Lazarus, in 
 a different tone. "Now, by the memory of 
 Eden and the love of our first parents, Zahara, 
 
COME FORTH. 267 
 
 I will not die for thee, neither will I live with 
 out thee, but I will have thee to wife ! " 
 
 "But how?" asked Zahara, with a sweet 
 timidity. She had no faith in the possibilities 
 of the situation, but she liked her lover s willful 
 words. Less princess, now, and all woman, she 
 gainsaid him not, but clung to him and trembled 
 silently. 
 
 " There is but one way, Zahara," cried Laza 
 rus vehemently ; " I know none other, and thou 
 must take it if thou lovest me as woman loves 
 who will wed and obey her lord. Thou must 
 leave all and follow me." 
 
 " But whither ? " demanded Zahara character 
 istically. Zahara was very much in love, but 
 she had the calculating temperament. She did 
 not plunge headlong even into delight. She 
 might have made a very good Arab, but she had 
 been a princess too long. She temporized, and 
 reasoned, and objected, even while she clung to 
 her lover cheek to cheek, with soft arms about 
 his neck. 
 
 " Break loose from it all ! " entreated Laza 
 rus. " Thy palace, thy father, thy past, thy 
 world ! Let it go, Zahara, for love s sake ! 
 Enter thou mine ! Accept thou the life of thy 
 husband and thy worshiper ! " 
 
 " Tell me, then what life ? How do we 
 manage ? What dost thou mean ? " persisted 
 Zahara. 
 
268 COME FORTH. 
 
 " Yield these accursed beliefs and follies that 
 separate us ! " demanded Lazarus more imperi 
 ously. " Come thou bravely unto me, and say 
 unto the world, I follow the faith of my hus 
 band. Let us away from the whole barking 
 crowd, priests, temple, people. Let us choose 
 the better faith, the simpler life. Let us join 
 the career of the best and noblest man in all 
 Judea, and go forth from this place, as his disci 
 ples go, respected and free, into other lands " 
 
 " I do not understand thee," interrupted Za- 
 hara, shrinking a little from Lazarus. 
 
 " O my love, play not with me," pleaded Laz 
 arus. " I do but speak plainly. I see no other 
 road to happiness for thee and me. Remain 
 thou in the world of thy father the High priest, 
 and of the Temple, and of the Sanhedrim, 
 and of the rank and the faith to which thou 
 art born, and thou canst no more be mine than 
 the sun in mid-heaven, and that thou knowest 
 well. As we meet here, beneath the surface 
 of the sweet earth, at peril of thy good name 
 and my poor life, so must our love crawl under 
 ground, a dark and deadly corridor in which 
 two souls shall grope and stifle unto death. 
 Break thou forth right bravely ; be thou most 
 womanly, Zahara, and choose the path that thy 
 lord s feet must tread. I have worldly goods ; 
 thou canst not suffer at my hands for the daily 
 
COME FORTH. 269 
 
 needs of thy delicate life. Follow me, Zahara ! 
 Follow me among the people who will reverence 
 thee, and me, and the love we bear each other. 
 Follow me to a new life, new hopes, new faith, 
 new deeds, new joy." 
 
 " And call the Nazarene my Master ? " asked 
 Zahara, in a cutting tone. Her arms dropped 
 from the neck of her lover. She turned coldly. 
 He could feel her pliant figure grow rigid and 
 straighten haughtily. 
 
 Suddenly she trembled, all her muscles re 
 laxed, and she began to sob. 
 
 At this moment an ominous sound reached 
 the ears of the absorbed and distressed lovers. 
 It was not the falling of the drops from the roof 
 of the vault ; it was not the flitting of a stray 
 bat nor the rustle of any creature of the dark 
 ness, companion of their hiding-place. It was 
 the stealthy groping of a human hand. The 
 slide which closed the mouth of the passage 
 stirred from the outside. 
 
 " Hide thee, hide thee, Zahara ! " commanded 
 Lazarus, in the hissing whisper of agony. " Fly 
 thou down the corridor, where tis darkest to 
 the eye. When the light enters, keep thou me 
 in sight, but stay thyself beyond it. Farewell, 
 and God keep thee ! " 
 
 A little to his surprise, for there was no count 
 ing upon Zahara, the girl obeyed him ; with one 
 
270 COME FORTH. 
 
 swift penitent kiss she darted and fled as he 
 had bidden. 
 
 Lazarus stood still in his place, and watched 
 the slide open. He was unarmed. He could 
 only meet his fate, like a woman, he thought, 
 or a coward. The slide moved cautiously. The 
 faint starlight fell in, the night air rushed, the 
 leaves of the grape-vine rustled crisply. A fig 
 ure, like the figure of a guardsman, knelt be 
 tween the vine and the passage, peering in. 
 Behind this appeared a form resembling that of 
 the young Levite who was called away so oppor 
 tunely in the Temple. Lazarus made no motion. 
 The figures retreated ; voices consulted in whis 
 pers ; feet crushed the vines. 
 
 A torch flared, and the High priest, tall and 
 awful, towered against the light. Lazarus had 
 not abandoned his position near the entrance. 
 He had made up his mind to face alone whatever 
 happened. Annas and Lazarus looked each 
 other silently in the eye. Both men were deadly 
 pale, one from rage, and one from mortal peril. 
 Both were perfectly self-possessed. 
 
 The High priest spoke first : 
 
 " I pray your pardon, sir builder, but may I 
 be so bold as to inquire your errand in a spot 
 sacred to the temple of Jehovah and the service 
 of His ministers? It must needs be an impor 
 tant one that finds an honorable man, such as 
 
COME FORTH. 271 
 
 yourself, sneaking like an assassin upon privacy 
 which a son of the desert would respect." 
 
 " My errand is without dishonor," answered 
 Lazarus composedly. " It is needless for me to 
 explain it. My word would scarcely have value 
 for you under these circumstances." 
 
 " Possibly not," returned Annas, with a sneer. 
 " But is this all you have to say for yourself ? " 
 
 " I pray," urged Lazarus, with a change in 
 his tone, which suddenly broke into an agonized 
 appeal, " I pray, for the most sacred of reasons, 
 which would be urgently appreciated by your 
 self did you comprehend them, I pray you to 
 allow me to depart in peace until I reach the 
 Temple exit. I give you my word that I will 
 return again unto you and meet your demands, 
 if you will allow me to do so without the scan 
 dal of interference." 
 
 " The honor of a skulking man is a poor 
 guaranty," replied the High priest frigidly. 
 44 You will not experience surprise if I decline 
 your request." 
 
 "I am in your power," answered Lazarus, 
 bowing drearily. He listened with held breath, 
 fearing some betrayal of her presence on the 
 part of Zahara. She gave no sign. The black 
 throat of the corridor yawned silently beyond 
 the line of lessening light where the flare of the 
 torch died. 
 
272 COME FORTH. 
 
 " I am in your power," repeated Lazarus. 
 
 " Which I propose to exercise," said the 
 High priest coldly. " Guards ! advance ! 
 Whatever be your business, my ex-builder, it is 
 one which deserves the punishment it shall 
 receive. Think you," exploded Annas, sud 
 denly casting off the disguise of icy self-com 
 mand which he had chosen to assume, " think 
 you, Lazarus, that I know not the true nature 
 of your abominable business ? Think you that 
 I have been a gullible, easy old man, blind to 
 the honor of my household, and negligent to the 
 virtue of my daughter ? That I have not pene 
 trated your scandalous design ? That I had not 
 the intelligence to discover that the sacred, 
 secret avenues of the Temple were converted 
 into the scene of a low love affair ? Think you 
 that I do not recognize in you, you dog of a 
 Pharisee, the seducer of the daughter of the 
 High priest of Zion ? " 
 
 "Now, by the great name of Jehovah,, re 
 vered by Sadducee and Pharisee, by priest and 
 layman," cried Lazarus passionately, u and by 
 the honor of a lady, the noblest, the purest, the 
 whitest, the most sacred in the land of our peo 
 ple, I swear that the character of this lady shall 
 be protected! I call you to witness, ye guards 
 of the High priest, that I summon to the death, 
 though I am a man unarmed, him who has ut- 
 
COME FORTH. 273 
 
 tered these base words against the fair name of 
 Zahara ! " 
 
 With this, maddened by very helplessness and 
 blind with rage, Lazarus sprang (as young blood 
 will) desperately and hopelessly upon his tor 
 mentor. A cold laugh replied to his futile and 
 foolish movement. There was a low command, 
 a swift movement, a grating sound, and Lazarus 
 bounded against the solid slide, which closed 
 violently in his face. A few dull strokes, fol 
 lowed by resounding blows, and Lazarus real 
 ized to his horror that the exit from the corridor 
 was forcibly shut, and that he and Zahara were 
 barred in. 
 
 Lazarus gave a mighty push against the inert 
 stone. He tugged with ferocious tenacity at 
 the brazen ring. He listened with ear against 
 the clammy slab. Footsteps deadened to his 
 hearing. A low, jeering laugh echoed in the 
 distance, and Lazarus was left alone. No, not 
 alone ! 
 
 " Zahara ! " he cried in anguish. " Zahara ! " 
 
 There was no reply. 
 
 " God of my fathers ! Where art thou, O 
 my love?" He groped with hands and feet 
 along the black shaft. In its steep descent he 
 stumbled. His fingers touched the hem of a 
 dress. With delicate reverence his hand sought 
 her face. 
 
274 COME FORTH. 
 
 " Zahara, my love ! I am here. I am thy 
 Lazarus. Thou art not dead. Would that 
 thou hadst never seen my face ! Then would st 
 thou be safe in thy father *s house." Never 
 before had Lazarus reproached himself for the 
 love he had inspired in this proud girl. Zahara 
 still stood. Her two hands supported her. 
 Their palms were turned backward, each upon 
 the damp, uneven stones. Lazarus took one and 
 kissed it and warmed it on his breast. Then 
 the girl sighed deeply, and said in an imperious 
 and happy tone : 
 
 " Here, Rebecca. Hurry, my girl. Bring my 
 sweetmeats and my bracelets, my handglass and 
 mine ointments. I will dress me in my splen 
 dor, for Herod suppeth with us to-night. * 
 
 " Jehovah guide me ! " groaned Lazarus. 
 u Her reason hath fled from her." 
 
 He dared not touch the lips of the half-deliri 
 ous girl. Zahara had a courageous nature ; but 
 no woman delicately reared in gold and purple 
 can bear such a situation as this unmoved. The 
 horrible darkness, the deadly dampness, the peril 
 to life and lover, the terrible words of her father, 
 had mounted to her brain like a deadly drug. 
 But Lazarus knew too well that he had no time 
 to lose in the tenderness of anxiety. His only 
 hope now lay in forcing an exit through the 
 Temple, blinding or bribing the priests, and con- 
 
COME FORTH. 275 
 
 juring Zahara somehow to safety in the outer 
 world. Without delaying to restore the girl, he 
 snatched her and dragged her through the shaft, 
 in the direction of the Temple, making such 
 speed with his precious burden as he miserably 
 could. In the necessary roughness of the mad 
 and desperate rush, Zahara s wits began to 
 clarify. The descent had now become perilous. 
 She spoke confusedly : 
 
 " Where are we, Lazarus ? This is not the 
 tomb?" 
 
 " No, sweetheart, follow me. There, take my 
 hand. The way is slippery. Take care. We 
 rush to the Temple. Perchance at the horns of 
 the altar none dare molest us." 
 
 " But I hear the rushing of waters. Is it the 
 river of death ? " 
 
 " Thou nearest naught," said Lazarus. " This 
 horror ringeth in thine ears." 
 
 The descent became steeper. The limestone 
 steps grew more slippery. At any time it was 
 exhausting to Lazarus to run the passage. lie 
 had often fallen heavily. His hands and knees 
 bore many a scar. Just where that hidden way 
 was about to descend under the Valley of the 
 Cheesemongers (for thus deeply was the pas 
 sage excavated in the limestone valley in order 
 to mount to the Temple on the other side), Za 
 hara stopped, clutched Lazarus, and said : 
 
276 COME FORTH. 
 
 " Hearest tliou not the rushing now ? We are 
 coming upon the waters." 
 
 But Lazarus, who had often heard this sound 
 as of a torrent, said again : 
 
 " It is naught, dearest. The waters are above. 
 Thou shalt come to the Temple dry shod. Keep 
 up thy strength, and despair not." 
 
 He had no time to comfort her as his heart 
 would. He felt a dumb fear lest the other stone 
 door were barred, too. He redoubled his pace, 
 and Zahara followed downward. At this mo 
 ment his foot splashed sandal-deep in water. He 
 stopped. They listened : he stood with his arm 
 protectingly over her shoulder, she with her head 
 upon his heart. The maiden s ears had not been 
 deceived. The murmuring of dashing water was 
 now clearly distinguishable. Lazarus thought 
 that they were within twenty feet of the bottom 
 of the descent. They were beneath the Tyro- 
 p03on Valley. He fancied he could hear the 
 breathing of the city as it slept. He could not 
 believe that it was water at his feet. He stooped, 
 and fell backward as he did so. He touched 
 and tasted. u It is icy as the snows of Leba 
 non," he murmured to himself. 
 
 " What is it ? " asked Zahara. " Why go we 
 not on? It is cold, and I am tired. Is it much 
 farther to the Temple ? " 
 
 A low, gurgling noise was now heard. It 
 
COME FORTH. 277 
 
 seemed to come from the ascent ahead of them. 
 Zahara gave a little cry. 
 
 " Water ! " she cried. " I feel it in front of 
 me. I touch it." Lazarus could not answer. 
 The horror of the situation completely unmanned 
 him. He stooped again, and his hands followed 
 those of Zahara, and groped down the descent. 
 The tips of their fingers, their hands, their wrists, 
 were enveloped in a pool of cold water. The 
 depth at their feet increased rapidly. Lazarus 
 lost his head, bade Zahara stand still, and madly 
 plunged down. He slipped. He was waist deep, 
 shoulder deep, before he knew it. The water 
 chilled him to the marrow, and dragged him 
 down. It now flashed upon him for the first 
 time that this was a part of the High priest s 
 diabolical plot to murder them. He called, 
 " Zahara, I drown ! Help me ! " and made a 
 mighty effort to regain his footing. The girl in 
 the meantime had unwound her brilliant Damas 
 cus shawl, which was fully eight feet long. She 
 had retreated so that the flood only bathed her 
 feet. 
 
 " I throw my shawl to thee, Lazarus, my love ! " 
 cried Zahara. " Seize it, and thou art safe ! " 
 
 Lazarus felt the drapery touch the water be 
 side him. He said nothing, but concentrated 
 his weakened body upon the effort to reach the 
 shawl. Zahara pulled as she never could have 
 
278 COME FORTH. 
 
 done before love armed her muscle. Lazarus 
 was soon at her feet. She caught him by the 
 arm. Hers was the clear brain now, and the 
 strong body. Lazarus was an exhausted man. 
 
 " We must away and back, or the flood will 
 overwhelm us," she cried authoritatively. 
 
 The waters bubbled beneath them like an in 
 fernal spring. The torrent chased them and 
 licked their feet. The slippery limestone be 
 trayed their footing, and they fell. Then they 
 crawled upon their hands and knees. They 
 struggled to their feet and feebly ran, and gained 
 a distance hand in hand. Now they stopped, and 
 heard the waters gurgling below, behind them. 
 Then, despairingly, they climbed again. The 
 cataract dashed against them in the darkness. 
 They could but cling, and when they stopped 
 they kissed. They could not speak. Now Laz 
 arus began to grow weaker. Zahara took him 
 by one hand and dragged, and then by both 
 hands, while she struggled up the ascent, sitting 
 on each step, to get a better chance to pull her 
 lover. As she did so, the water hissed and 
 swirled and caught them. There was a roar 
 above. It was the echo of the waters below. 
 Now Zahara panted. Her heart gave way. 
 Then the stairs on which she was crawling 
 ceased, and there was a level walk for a few feet. 
 Lazarus recovered breath. They staggered and 
 
COME FORTH. 279 
 
 ran, if such feeble steps could be called running. 
 The reverberation in the tunnel increased. They 
 heard the waters ripple upon the floor of the 
 passage. Another ascent came. There were no 
 steps. The water poured upon them. It was so 
 steep and slippery that they could not make 
 headway. Zahara led the way. Beaten back, 
 they stopped for breath and courage. The res 
 pite was too much for Lazarus. He fainted. 
 Zahara supported him until the weight proved 
 too heavy for her strength ; then let him sink 
 toward the torrent ; she fell down beside him, 
 and drew his head upon her bosom. She thought 
 him dead. She knew her own end would come 
 soon. She heard the profluence of waters with 
 a kind of large indifference. How long would 
 it take until the pool of death overwhelmed her ? 
 What cared she ? She would die like a queen, 
 for her king was there. The flood arose. Her 
 waist was submerged. She lifted her lover s 
 face higher toward her own. She was ready 
 for the last kiss. 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 FACE to face with a hideous death, Zahara s 
 mind made a sudden bound into a train of 
 thought quite foreign to her. 
 
 " Here is a chance for that Nazarene fellow. 
 If he were what Lazarus thinketh him, I would 
 that he were here to experiment on our calam 
 ity." At this moment the lips of Lazarus 
 moved, and the fainting man muttered some 
 thing with agonized indistinctness. Zahara 
 bent, desperately trying to hear what he said, 
 to catch his last dear word. The water had 
 reached his throat ; she tried to raise his head a 
 little higher on her breast ; her own form rocked 
 in the rising torrent ; as she stooped, the water 
 poured into her mouth, and she gasped with the 
 cold shock. The head of her lover drooped, 
 and fell. 
 
 " Master ! " murmured the drowning man. 
 " Lord, forgive me, for I loved thee all the 
 while." 
 
 " Lazarus ! " called Zahara, with a piercing 
 cry, " arouse thee ! The water recedeth / " As 
 she spoke these words the current sunk sud- 
 
COME FORTH. 281 
 
 denly ; it made a strong sucking sound, as if 
 the water were drawn off by some powerful 
 agency, and whirled away into the darkness 
 of an unknown pit. A torch flared, and light 
 filled the ghastly death-trap, out of which she 
 looked up, trembling, to see the haggard coun 
 tenance of the High priest her father. 
 
 The facts of the situation were covered by a 
 few words. Rebecca the slave had been de 
 voured by agony and indecision. Between dis 
 tress for her mistress and terror for herself, the 
 girl s tongue had halted a little too long. Who 
 could blame her? Death was an easy penalty 
 to inflict upon a disobedient servant in those 
 dark days ; power like that of Annas was royal. 
 A girl s life would have gone out at the beck of 
 his ringed finger, and who would have given it 
 a thought? Rebecca, in short, was afraid to 
 "tell." It was not until a guardsman brought 
 her the terrible report that the High priest, for 
 vengeance on his daughter s lover, had turned 
 the waters of the Temple cistern loose into the 
 shaft that Rebecca fled shrieking to Annas, 
 flinging the words into his cold ears : 
 
 " Thy daughter, my mistress, the lady Zahara, 
 perisheth with Lazarus ! " 
 
 Cursing the girl with every anathema that 
 agony and the ecclesiastical mind suggested, the 
 
282 COME FORTH. 
 
 wretched father ran to the rescue of his mur 
 dered child. The young Levite was dispatched 
 upon the wings of the wind to turn the waters 
 from the vault, by the secret process known only 
 to the Temple and the priesthood. But this, 
 alas ! took time, and time there was none to 
 spare. Annas flung open the slide behind the 
 grape-vine, sick with terror, fully prepared to 
 find that before the waters could be drawn off, 
 Zahara, the princess of the most distinguished 
 priestly house of that age, would have been 
 drowned by the hand of her own father, like 
 vermin in a crack. 
 
 The discovery that the torrent had already 
 been drawn from the tunnel stupefied Annas. 
 For the moment, the question, Who did it ? 
 shot through his mind with a force that dead 
 ened his emotion at the sight of his daughter s 
 living face. At first he did not speak to the 
 poor girl, who crawled to meet him, dragging 
 her unconscious lover in her arms. Had Laz 
 arus learned the secret of brazen screws and 
 hidden springs and dark mysteries known only 
 to the altar and the sacred craft? The High 
 priest flung a glance of scowling hate at the 
 prostrate man. But this one was enough. 
 That limp, helpless figure, that ghastly face, 
 those lifeless arms? Plainly these had never 
 performed the subtle and perilous feat. Clearly, 
 
COME FORTH. 283 
 
 it was almost, if not altogether, a drowned man 
 who lay so piteously at the priest s feet. The 
 countenance of Annas now expressed the acutest 
 confusion. Then who did it ? 
 
 "Father!" moaned Zahara. "Father, we 
 perish ! Save us, if thou lovest me ! " 
 
 The High priest made no reply. He stepped 
 from the vault scornfully, and slowly turned his 
 back. 
 
 "Father!" cried Zahara, " dear father!" 
 The girl abased herself, falling to her face upon 
 the clammy stone ; she caught at the hem of the 
 priestly garment, and kissed it. Then the High 
 priest averted his face, and spoke : 
 
 " Thee I save. Thou art the daughter of my 
 house, and the child of my loins. Death thou 
 deservest, for thou hast brought disgrace upon 
 the name of Annas. But thee I save. Follow 
 me from this place of shame. Him who hath 
 wrought us this scandal I save not. Leave him 
 to his fate, and attend my will." 
 
 "Nay, then! " cried Zahara proudly, "if thou 
 leavest my beloved, thou leavest me. I stir not 
 from this living tomb without him." 
 
 She clasped the unconscious man the closer 
 in her arms, and obstinately seated herself on 
 the wet limestone, as if she intended to remain 
 there. Lazarus had now partially regained con 
 sciousness, but not to such an extent as to recog 
 nize the facts of the situation. 
 
284 COME FORTH. 
 
 His heavy head stirred upon the girl s breast ; 
 his hand sought hers ; delicately he lifted it to 
 his cold lips, and laid it down. 
 
 " Zahara ! " he murmured, " we die together. 
 Thou art a holy woman. Pray thou for my 
 spirit." 
 
 There was something in the reverence of these 
 words and of the unconscious man s refined 
 caress which impressed the High priest in spite 
 of himself. Those were rude times, and love 
 took rude forms among the highest of men and 
 women. The suspicions of the incensed father 
 were fully justifiable ; but had he here the signs 
 of a coarse amour ? Annas hesitated with him 
 self for a perceptible instant, before he spoke 
 again. Zahara made the most of the instant ; 
 she clasped his knees, and clung to him, and 
 made entreaty of him that would have moved a 
 worse father than the High priest to something 
 like relenting. 
 
 " Let us from this ghastly place ! " cried Za 
 hara. " As thou art a man, and a priest, and 
 a father, let us out into God s air ! He dieth 
 here within mine arms, Lazarus dieth in this 
 dungeon. Let us forth, O my father, for I go 
 not forth without him, though I perish." 
 
 " Girl, thou goest as I will," replied the High 
 priest icily. " Guards, take the lady thy mis 
 tress. Deal with her gently, but if she follow 
 
COME FORTH. 285 
 
 not without force, force be it. Eeturn Zahara 
 to the palace of her father." 
 
 Now, for the first time hi all the cruel story 
 of that night, Zahara shrieked ; and a goodly 
 feminine shriek it was. The girl clasped her 
 two beautiful arms stoutly about her lover, and 
 sat like a sphinx, as if she were carveii from the 
 limestone vault. Cry after cry rang from her 
 lips, like the appeals of a dying woman. Re 
 becca, hearing piercing sounds, started the rumor 
 that her mistress was about to be murdered, and 
 in a moment half the slaves and officers of the 
 palace were rushing to the scene. The scandal 
 was becoming too public and too serious to be 
 subdued. Annas uttered a holy oath and turned 
 upon his heel. 
 
 " Out with the dog of a Pharisee, then ! 
 Throw him over the palace-wall into the high 
 way, and leave him to his fate. Take the lady 
 Zahara to her own apartments, and be done with 
 the abominable business, and hold ye your 
 tongues about it, or I tear them by the roots ! " 
 
 This order was quickly and deftly obeyed. 
 Lazarus and Zahara were literally torn apart, 
 and thrust, the one, unconscious, into the high 
 way ; the other, pleading and weeping, toward 
 the palace. The slaves scattered, terrified. The 
 guards followed the miserable princess. The 
 High priest and the young Levite were left 
 alone. 
 
286 COME FORTH. 
 
 " Thou hast been to the Temple and re 
 turned ? " inquired Annas. " And hast done 
 the deed that I commanded ? " 
 
 " The deed was done," replied the Levite. 
 u When I reached the Temple, lo, the waters had 
 been turned off from the hidden passage into the 
 pools before me. Likewise, some power had 
 evidently opened the secret conduit from the 
 bottom of the passage into the Tyropoeon sewer, 
 for the flood receded with strange swiftness even 
 as I whirled niy torch and looked." 
 
 " Mysterious ! " muttered Annas. " I under 
 stand not the matter. No underling now serv 
 ing in the Temple knoweth the secret of the 
 conduits. Who hath handled them ? " 
 
 " There is a tale that goeth among the 
 priests," suggested the Levite timidly. " I 
 scarcely know whether to bear it unto thee. 
 But I did find a curious rumor stirring in the 
 Temple." 
 
 u I demand the whole of it ! " cried Annas 
 imperiously. " Tell me all they chattered of, 
 and instantly ! " 
 
 " It was said," returned the Levite, hesitat 
 ing 
 
 " By the God of our fathers ! the priests 
 prated of a miracle, and mentioned that Naz- 
 arene adventurer ! " 
 
 " But that, we know, is impossible," added 
 
COME FORTH. 287 
 
 the Levite soothingly, " for the fellow is travel 
 ing and preaching somewhere, yonder beyond 
 Jordan, I have heard the rabble say ; at all 
 events, he is not in Jerusalem." 
 The High priest made no reply. 
 
 Toward the middle watch of that night, Abra 
 ham the servant of Lazarus, having been dis 
 patched by the anxiety of Mary in search of her 
 brother, stumbled upon the exhausted man, ly 
 ing helpless at the roadside in a dark spot in 
 the shadow of a tower, wherein it so befell that 
 no person had discovered him, either to molest 
 or relieve. Lazarus had partially recovered his 
 consciousness ; but his mind wandered still, and 
 his physical power was at a very low ebb. 
 
 Abraham managed to procure a litter for his 
 master, at that hour of the night this was no 
 easy task, and took him home as quickly and 
 quietly as was possible under the circumstances. 
 Needing more assistance, Abraham stopped on 
 the way and sought it of Baruch, the neighbor 
 of Lazarus, who gave it heartily, accompanying 
 the slave and the bearers to the house of Simon 
 the Leper. Martha was asleep ; but Mary s 
 sweet face peered anxiously from the doorway 
 as the litter halted. Baruch hastily advanced, 
 and explained the matter to her. 
 
 " No one knoweth the cause of this mishap," 
 
288 COME FORTH. 
 
 he said gently ; " I least of all. But much I fear 
 that Lazarus hath been hardly dealt with. Say 
 thou naught of it. Thy brother is a man of 
 eminence, and the tongues of these times wag 
 easily. Say thou that he is ailing, and keep all 
 men from the doors till he doth recover." 
 
 This caution was of the wisest, but it proved 
 almost impossible to follow the advice. By 
 morning Lazarus lay in his own bed, a very 
 sick man. Rumors of his condition, mingled 
 with wild tales of strange causes for it, had got 
 afloat. Bethany was astir, and Jerusalem gos 
 siped. Talkative neighbors gadded about the 
 hamlet, and messages of curiosity in the name 
 of sympathy besieged the doors of the sick 
 man s house. 
 
 To all of these the sisters of Lazarus returned 
 courteous but dignified replies, indicating their 
 desire that neighborly service should remain at 
 a distance until summoned, and expressing the 
 quiet conviction that their brother s health would 
 be quickly reinstated. By the morning of the 
 second day the condition of Lazarus became so 
 serious that Mary, more sensitive and therefore 
 less hopeful than her sister, was overwhelmed 
 with the acutest anxiety. She now gave her 
 self entirely to the sick-room, which she did not 
 suffer herself to leave even for the most neces 
 sary food and rest. Martha attended to the 
 
COME FORTH. 289 
 
 house, and to the messages from the outside 
 world. The leading physicians of Jerusalem 
 came and went. Servants moved about the 
 court with velvet feet and silent tongues. Laza 
 rus was sinking perceptibly. 
 
 Upon the evening of the fifth day of his ill 
 ness, Lazarus turned his face toward the light 
 and feebly opened his eyes. Between him and 
 the casement a woman s face hung like an an 
 gel s in a blurred cloud. There was Mary his 
 sister, patient and pale. The intensity of her 
 love and anxiety gave dark power to her eyes, 
 which burned like flames of anguish before him. 
 Lazarus weakly lifted his head, and, observing 
 the other persons present in the room, indicated 
 by a motion of his hand and eyelids that he 
 wished them removed. 
 
 His wish was regarded, as the whims of the 
 dangerously sick are, and Mary was left for a 
 few moments alone with him, as he seemed to 
 desire. 
 
 As soon as the sick man had assured himself 
 of this fact, he clutched the hand of Mary with 
 a distressing, appealing clasp, and tried to make 
 over to her some burden weighing upon his con 
 fused thought. This, she saw, he found so dif 
 ficult to do that he despaired of it, and his effort 
 and despair intensified his evident suffering. 
 Mary gathered her wits, and thought swiftly. 
 
290 COME FORTH. 
 
 She knew little of the world and less of love ; 
 but even Mary had divined that a woman might 
 be found at the source of all the miseries which 
 had befallen her brother. 
 
 " Dear Lazarus," she murmured, " I under 
 stand. Whatever thou wiliest I will do for 
 her - or for thee. Tell me her name." 
 
 Struggling to articulate, Lazarus managed to 
 breathe, " Zahara." 
 
 " Zahara ? Thou speakest not of the daughter 
 of Annas ? " 
 
 " It is she." 
 
 " What would st thou, O my brother, that I do 
 for this Zahara ? " 
 
 " Remember Zahara. Shelter Zahara." 
 
 " He wandereth," thought Mary. " How 
 should I ever shelter Zahara?" But she an 
 swered soothingly : " Dear Lazarus, what more ? 
 What else desirest thou ? " Lazarus put his 
 cold lips to his sister s ear, and whispered one 
 word, a name. 
 
 " Oh," moaned Mary. " We have sent for 
 Him. We send in vain. Messengers go hither 
 and thither. Tliey run at our command. He 
 traveleth. He is in distant places. He cometh 
 not. Thou shalt live when He cometh. Thou 
 shalt not die. He loveth thee." 
 
 The gray countenance of the sick man ex 
 pressed a distress amounting to agony. He 
 
COME FORTH. 291 
 
 turned his head feebly to and fro upon his pil 
 low, with a helpless, hopeless motion. 
 
 " I did neglect him," he groaned. " He will 
 not come. I die. He cometh not. Tell him " 
 
 44 What shall I tell him ?" sobbed Mary. Her 
 tears rained on her brother s face. She strug 
 gled to command herself, and dashed them away. 
 Lazarus did not answer. Exhausted by exces 
 sive effort, he sank into something like a swoon. 
 The color of his face took on a mortal hue. 
 Terrified, Mary stirred to call for help ; but his 
 hand held her in a clasp she could not wrench ; 
 Lazarus seemed to try to draw her back ; his 
 lips moved ; she made out that he strove to 
 say: 
 
 "Love Forgive." 
 
 With these, the two most solemn words in the 
 range of human speech, Lazarus lapsed past the 
 power of speaking. He lay as he was, in a 
 stupor, all the night, recognizing no person after 
 this, and giving no further evidence of conscious 
 ness. The physicians bustled about, making a 
 great show of the ignorant art of their times. 
 Martha wept noisily ; but Mary sat as if she 
 were turning to ice. 
 
 At daybreak, without a struggle and without 
 a sign, Lazarus ceased to breathe ; the beating 
 of his heart stopped ; and Mary dully heard 
 voices saying : 
 
292 COME FORTH. 
 
 "He is dead." 
 
 Martha came and tried, with unusual gentle 
 ness, to remove Mary s hand. But the fingers 
 of the corpse had grown rigid about it. It was 
 necessary for the physicians to separate the clasp 
 of the living and the dead. 
 
 Now the most distressing feature of this dreary 
 and mysterious death was one which the sisters 
 of Lazarus strove, as long as they could, to con 
 ceal from public knowledge, and when they could 
 keep it to themselves no longer mourned over it 
 the more bitterly for that. By that last inter 
 view, Mary had been put in a position more 
 difficult and more cruel than her strong self-pos 
 session gave hint of to the consciousness of the 
 dying man. 
 
 It was true that the family of Lazarus had 
 made every effort which influence, opulence, 
 energy, and love could command to communi 
 cate with the great Healer, whose skill they fully 
 believed could have averted their terrible be 
 reavement. It was also true that their messen 
 gers had reached him. 
 
 The piteous fact was that Jesus of Nazareth 
 had refused to come to Bethany. 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 AT all events, from whatever cause, and 
 whether or not the calamity could have been 
 prevented, Lazarus was dead. His sensitive life 
 had gone out like a candle quenched by a breath 
 in the midst of a feast. The torch-bearers stared 
 in each others faces, and glanced into the dark 
 ness behind them with the sick horror that sud 
 den death always produces, and more than any 
 other the death of a young and vigorous man. 
 It is somehow particularly expected of the young 
 and popular that they go on living. The emi 
 nence of Lazarus made this death a matter of 
 deep public interest. His social position, his in 
 fluence, and his wealth added many a mourner 
 to the crowd who poured into Bethany, to pass 
 with the sisters, Martha and Mary, the days of 
 formal sorrow by which it was the custom of 
 their people to bewail the dead. 
 
 Martha accepted the public demonstration ap 
 preciatively. It suited her, as a testimony to 
 the position of the family. She received her 
 friends with many expressions of her own pri 
 vate bereavement. Martha loved Lazarus, and 
 
294 COME FORTH. 
 
 she was really afflicted. But Martha liked to 
 listen and to talk ; and bereavement only empha 
 sizes, but does not change, the nature of the 
 bereaved. 
 
 Mary did not see the neighbors. Mary could 
 not. She had followed her brother to the fam 
 ily sepulchre, and had stood with bowed and 
 veiled head while the body of Lazarus was en 
 tombed. The burial, according to the habit of 
 the country, took place upon the day of the 
 death. Mary was stunned by the terrible swift 
 ness with which everything had happened. It 
 seemed to her that death had literally made a 
 snatch at her, and torn the very heart out of her 
 life. Mary did not weep. She could not. She 
 was rigid with grief. The love of sister for 
 brother, when it excels its kind, is one of the 
 strongest, as it is one of the purest, in the world. 
 The love of Mary for Lazarus was a womanly, 
 unselfish, and now pitiful thing. Mary had no 
 life of her own. She had never known one. 
 Since Lazarus was a little fellow, and they played 
 together in the court, the gentle girl had existed 
 only for and only in her younger brother. Mary 
 was the saddest woman in Judea that day. No, 
 not the saddest. There was one but who re 
 membered her? Who comforted her? In hours 
 like these, what cries go up to Heaven from the 
 last and deepest anguish of unrecognized love ! 
 
COME FORTH. 295 
 
 From the palace of Annas nothing was heard. 
 Jerusalem throbbed with the death of Lazarus ; 
 but the palace gave no sign. The casements 
 were closed. Doors were curtained. Servants 
 were dumb. The High priest was invisible. 
 There were rumors that a slave had been pun 
 ished or tortured in his princely family. These 
 changed into a report that a slave was missing, 
 whether murdered or fled, who knew ? And who 
 cared ? In the general excitement and sorrow, 
 the palace was dumb. 
 
 For the cruelest of the gossip that buzzed 
 in Bethany the tongue of Malachi was respon 
 sible. 
 
 " This Jesus, this prater, this boaster and sor 
 cerer, now we have the nature of the fellow 
 put to the test. What was our eminent neigh 
 bor Lazarus ? His patron and his friend. How 
 hath the famous Healer dealt with him ? Look 
 ye, my neighbors, did he answer the call of mor 
 tal need ? Did he come to the dying bed of Laz 
 arus ? Did he stretch forth that mighty power 
 we hear so much about, and prevent this impor 
 tant death which has left sorrow in all our coun 
 try ? Where was Jesus of Nazareth that Laza 
 rus of Bethany lies dead ? " 
 
 Alas, where was he ? More than Malachi cast 
 this significant question upon the agitated dis 
 cussions of the week. The state of public feel- 
 
296 COME FORTH. 
 
 ing and opinion concerning the Nazarene had 
 intensified rapidly, we may say terribly, during 
 the months of that memorable winter. The most 
 bitterly hated and the most tenderly beloved man 
 in Judea and its surrounding principalities had 
 now become the most perplexed and imperiled. 
 Those who loved him most intelligently and 
 courageously, and who shared the risks and ex 
 citement of his mission, were, in fact, agreed to 
 prevent him from returning to Jerusalem, if they 
 could. His gentle and merciful career had now 
 passed the stage of philanthropy, and taken on 
 the hard name of political adventure. No longer 
 was he looked upon as a harmless fanatic, an 
 amiable sorcerer, a dabbler in healing, an excel 
 lent missionary. Sanhedrim and governor had 
 scrutinized the man. Priest and prince watched 
 him. The dangerous title of revolutionist had 
 become attached to him. 
 
 What then ? Was Jesus of Nazareth afraid ? 
 Did he stay away from Bethany, forsooth, lest 
 he should be stoned ? Did he allow his chosen 
 friend to die without even the most ordinary 
 services of friendship, because he himself was 
 not ready to run sacred risks ? Or, wary as pre 
 tenders are, did he remove himself lest the weak 
 ness of his claims should be exposed by this con 
 clusive test? For whatever reason, did he not 
 dare to show himself among the friends, now the 
 mourners of Lazarus ? 
 
COME FORTH. 297 
 
 " He is a shrewd fellow," cried Malachi the 
 Pharisee, making the most of his opportunity 
 again to command the ears of his neighbors, and 
 these, alas ! the fickle people easily gave him. 
 " This upstart is no fool. He estimates the in 
 telligence of the citizens of Bethany correctly. 
 He knows that we are not to be duped for our 
 pains. How now ! If this Jesus is what ye 
 have believed him, could he not save his inti 
 mate friend from an untimely death ? Would 
 he not, if so be he could do the deed ? People 
 of Bethany ! people of Jerusalem and the neigh 
 borhood ! I appeal to ye ! Was I not correct 
 in the value I put upon this cowardly and de 
 ceitful fellow ? " 
 
 At this moment there passed by the group a 
 man and a woman, whose faces were turned in 
 the direction of Simon the Leper s house. These 
 were Ariella and Baruch, happy man and wife, 
 on their way to sorrow with the sufferers in the 
 bereaved home. Their faces wore the subdued 
 and gentle sadness of sympathy ; but the rich 
 personal joy of health, freedom, youth, and wed 
 lock burned through their veil of neighborly 
 feeling like the sun blazing through a mist. It 
 was like looking upon souls in Paradise to look 
 upon those two. 
 
 " There," retorted Amos of Gethsemane, turn 
 ing upon Malachi with curling lip, " there you 
 have your answer. Look to it ! " 
 
298 COME FORTH. 
 
 " But how say you ? " cried another contemp 
 tuous voice, " that the Nazarene has allowed his 
 friend to die like any common neglected man ? " 
 
 " His will I know not," answered Amos sol 
 emnly, " but I know that it is the will of a wise 
 and holy man. More I need not know." 
 
 "Verily, thou art easily satisfied," laughed 
 some one scornfully. 
 
 At this moment Enoch, the lad who was wont 
 to guide blind Baruch, ran up to the gossiping 
 group with exciting news. 
 
 It was reported that the Nazarene had been 
 seen that morning approaching Bethany. 
 
 Now this was the fourth day since the death 
 of Lazarus. Within the house of Simon the 
 Leper the first spasm of grief had subsided into 
 the first alternative of quiet exhaustion. Mar 
 tha s pale and saddened face, subdued by a new 
 gentleness, bent over the direction of the mid 
 day meal with a conscious effort to estrange her 
 thoughts from her sorrow. It seemed to Martha 
 that if she could once stir up a stupid maid to 
 provide for the mourners decently she should 
 feel better. But Mary sat in the darkened room 
 where her darling had died. Her face, buried 
 in her hands, lay upon the sacred bed whence 
 they had carried him to his tomb. She sat 
 upon the hard floor. Her long, fair hair fell 
 about the crouching figure. The casement was 
 
COME FORTH. 299 
 
 closed. Light came in through the cracks in 
 thin, radiant lines, on which the motes of dust 
 danced like little spirits. Mary watched them, 
 now and then, dully. She had ceased to weep. 
 She felt a physical coldness at her heart which 
 made her understand what men meant when 
 they said, " My heart is turning to stone." She 
 repeated to herself, " Lazarus is dead." 
 
 Suddenly there was a stir in the silent house. 
 Voices started, and hushed. Footsteps fell and 
 ceased. Something had happened below. But 
 what then ? Nothing could happen now that 
 mattered any more. Mary did not raise her 
 head to listen. Then Martha entered the room. 
 She hurried, but she trod softly. She came up 
 and put her hand on Mark s hair with the 
 motherly gesture of an elder sister. 
 
 " Mary, arise thee. Abraham bringeth us 
 great news. The Master cometh from Jericho, 
 and is already on his way to Bethany. Arise 
 thee, and come with me, that we may meet 
 him." 
 
 But Mary burst into terrible sobs, and shook 
 her head. With her hands she motioned her 
 sister away. She and Martha were different. 
 Martha could meet him among all those people 
 on the highway. Mary was not like that. 
 Mary sat still in the house. For the moment, 
 was it possible that a doubt her first had 
 
300 COME FORTH. 
 
 shot through her tender heart? Did she, too, 
 question, " Why cometh He too late ? " 
 
 Now, when Mary was left alone, the curtains 
 of her room gently parted, and a step like a 
 breath entered. None but one refined by the 
 personal knowledge of suffering could have 
 spoken with the voice which said : 
 
 " Fear me not, Mary. I intrude upon thee 
 not, save for the space of a moment. It is thy 
 neighbor, Ariella." 
 
 Mary stretched out her hand, and grasped 
 that of Ariella strongly. She did not raise her 
 face. An indefinable comfort flowed from the 
 touch of Ariella into her own exhausted nature. 
 How delicate a hand it was, how reserved, how 
 tender ! 
 
 " I come upon an errand of importance," be 
 gan Ariella in a steady tone, as if nothing had 
 happened. Ariella did not talk of Lazarus. 
 She proceeded at once, for she did not sit down, 
 nor have about her the air of a person who 
 meant to remain for a call of condolence. " I 
 must consult either Martha or thyself upon a 
 certain matter." 
 
 " Martha has gone forth," said Mary eva 
 sively, still without looking up. 
 
 " She goeth to the grave to weep there," re 
 plied Ariella. " The neighbors told me thus as 
 I passed in at the door." 
 
COME FORTH. 301 
 
 Mary made no reply. She did not care to 
 discuss the true nature of Martha s errand. Ari- 
 ella, perceiving this reserve, hastened to say : 
 
 " A fugitive hath sought refuge with us, at 
 the house of our mother and Baruch my hus 
 band. Last night she came unto us like a 
 hunted animal panting from the hunter, and we 
 received her, and did shelter her, for we knew 
 not what else to do unto the miserable creature. 
 She fleeth from the palace." 
 
 "From the palace! Of Annas?" Mary 
 lifted her head. 
 
 " She is a slave of Annas the High priest," 
 replied Ariella, observing Mary with gentle 
 keenness. 
 
 " Oh ! a slave ! " Mary s face fell wearily 
 again. 
 
 " She telleth a strange story," continued Ari 
 ella in a low tone, " and she hath suffered unto 
 death. Knowest thou, Mary, aught to advise 
 me concerning the poor soul? Shall we shelter 
 her?" 
 
 " Shelter her? " said Mary with sudden inter 
 est and earnestness. " Yea, shelter her, Ari 
 ella ! Shelter any woman who fleeth to thee 
 from the palace, in the name of misery and of 
 mercy." 
 
 " Shall I do it in another name ? " asked 
 Ariella breathlessly. " Trust me, Mary. It did 
 
302 COME FORTH. 
 
 befall Baruch to hear strange things the other 
 night when thy calamity began. Baruch said 
 unto me, Shelter her in the name of the 
 dead: " 
 
 " Do it, then, and God be with thee ! " whis 
 pered Mary. 
 
 The two women clasped hands, and without 
 further words Ariella glided away. Mary s 
 heavy head fell down upon the bedside. She 
 cared not for this fugitive. What did it mat 
 ter ? What was the life of a slave? Laza 
 rus was dead. But Lazarus might care. Who 
 ever she was, this Zahara, she and her plot 
 ting servants, who had cost the life too precious 
 to be set in the same balance with the inmates 
 of a hundred palaces, Lazarus had asked it. 
 Lazarus had said, " Remember and shelter." 
 
 Hours passed. Mary sat on in the dark and 
 dreary room. She had the temperament which 
 does not, because it cannot, conquer grief by 
 action. All her strength must come through 
 reflection and religious faith. She must think 
 herself, and pray herself, not work herself, into 
 peace. The worker and the dreamer are always 
 at odds, and Martha and Mary could no more 
 understand each other than the Pharisee and 
 Sadducee, or the living and the dead. 
 
 Mary was sitting just as her sister and Ari- 
 
COME FORTH. 303 
 
 ella had found and left her, when Martha unex 
 pectedly returned. She hurried into the room 
 excitedly, and said : 
 
 " The Master called for thee. Hurry, Mary, 
 and do not be moping" there any longer. I am 
 ashamed of thee." 
 
 Mary arose slowly. Martha s voice jarred on 
 her, but she was used to that. She veiled her 
 self, and followed her sister confusedly. She 
 was unconscious of any details on that sad, 
 strange walk into the outer world, her first since 
 she had followed her brother to his grave. She 
 did not lift her eyes from the ground. She saw 
 the gravel, the blades of grass, and little peb 
 bles and glittering sand, and Martha s robe flut 
 tering before her. She could not tell where she 
 
 O 
 
 was, nor how far she had gone, when a voice 
 quite near her murmured : 
 
 Oh, this was not the voice of any common 
 mourner, any paltry, petty comforter ! What 
 neighbor, what friend or kin, was there, whose 
 sorrow sank into her soul like sacred dew ? All 
 Mary s nature lifted itself like a dying flower to 
 his face. When she saw how broken it was she 
 fell at his feet, and passionately, piteously 
 cried : 
 
 "Oh, if Thou hadst been here he had not 
 died ! He had not died ! " 
 
304 COME FORTH. 
 
 Cut into the side of the limestone cliff, under 
 the hamlet of Bethany, and with a glance to 
 ward the heights of Olivet, well shielded by 
 olive-trees, and close upon the highway, the 
 sepulchre of Lazarus responded drearily to the 
 gaze of the mourners who had thronged to it. 
 The tomb was new, hewn by the family upon 
 private land, and carved with all the mortuary 
 art of the times. It had not been constructed 
 above a year or two. Lazarus himself had 
 wrought it, expending much thought upon it, 
 that it might be a spot of beauty, and of dignity 
 worthy of the family eminence. Its stone lips 
 had gaped now and shut upon him ; one might 
 fancy that it was with a certain insensate pride 
 that they received their designer and creator for 
 their first victim. 
 
 It was a fair day, sunny and warm. The 
 soul of the coming spring was already in the 
 air. Budding trees and blossoms trembled in 
 the low and pleasant wind. The sky throbbed 
 with the deep color which it wears when the cre 
 ation of life is at its fullest and richest. It was 
 a day when it seems impossible to die, incredible 
 to be dead. 
 
 Before the tomb of Lazarus there had col 
 lected a large and serious crowd. The disciples 
 of the Nazarene had made every effort to pre 
 vent the knowledge of his return from spreading 
 
COME FORTH. 305 
 
 widely, but this was a thing impossible. The 
 eminence of the dead, the suddenness and mys 
 tery of the death, wild rumors as to some cause 
 for it more interesting to public curiosity than 
 the fact itself, these had swelled the crowd of 
 formal mourners, who came to gather about the 
 bereaved household. The return of the Naza- 
 rene, and his close personal connection with the 
 case, had called from Jerusalem a mixed mass 
 of people, who gathered, - from every motive 
 under the sun, about the tomb. 
 
 Among these could be easily recognized many 
 persons familiar to our story. Malachi the 
 Pharisee stood pompously in a prominent posi 
 tion, with his thick underlip pursed up in the 
 intensest satisfaction. Malachi was not a mur 
 derous man, but he took solid satisfaction in 
 the death of Lazarus. What could so benevo 
 lently have interfered to verify his own position 
 in regard to the Nazarene? He surveyed the 
 crowd with the secret elation of a man who 
 says, I told you so. Hagaar his wife stood at 
 some distance from him, ceremoniously veiled, 
 more so than was needed. She acted as if she 
 were a little ashamed of her husband. Her 
 loud tongue was still. Her roving eyes were 
 lowered. Who was that sweet-lipped, devout 
 young man yonder? The favorite disciple of 
 Jesus ; he who, it was said, kept so closely to 
 
306 COME FORTH. 
 
 his Master, as if not knowing whether he most 
 loved or most feared for him, whether he were 
 there to caress or protect him. John was ab 
 sorbed in Jesus as the fuel is in the fire. Peter 
 the fisherman whispered something to him rest 
 lessly ; but John had the manner of one who 
 heard no man. 
 
 Rachel, the neighbor of Lazarus, was among 
 the people, and beside her leaned Ariella and 
 Baruch, hand clasped in hand. 
 
 Amos of Gethsemane stood behind these three, 
 saying nothing, as was the habit of Ainos. Some 
 of the workmen of Lazarus were in the group, 
 and with them the young man who made mourn 
 ing for Lazarus and thought of Mary. The old 
 Sheliach from Jerusalem could be noticed ob 
 serving the scene, without commenting upon it. 
 Standing apart by himself, the slave Abraham 
 wept bitterly. Mary and Martha were not yet 
 come to the tomb, and it was said by the dis 
 ciples of the Nazarene that he lingered with the 
 sisters of the dead to comfort them, 
 
 " Comfort is a useful thing before that ! " 
 sneered Malachi, pointing to the closed sepul 
 chre. 
 
 Malachi had scarcely spoken these words, when 
 a murmur ran along the crowd that the Nazarene 
 and the sisters of the dead were to be seen ap 
 proaching the tomb. The people fell back with 
 
COME FORTH. 307 
 
 a motion of involuntary respect. The lightest 
 lip ceased its gossip, and the shallowest heart 
 felt something like a throb of reverence. 
 
 "He boweth his head," whispered Rachel. 
 " He hath the aspect of a mourner closely of 
 kin." 
 
 " Kin is of the heart," murmured Ariella to 
 her husband. 
 
 " Would that I could see his countenance," 
 said a bystander, " but the motion of the man 
 hideth it." 
 
 At this moment, a stir among the people in 
 dicated a diversion of interest to another quar 
 ter. Enoch the lad, prowling about, as is the 
 manner of boys, had peered above the sepulchre, 
 treading down the bushes that grew there, and 
 searching after, who knows what, whether the 
 body or the soul of the dead. He had made a 
 discovery which caused him to run back, as fast 
 as his legs could carry him, to his former mas 
 ter, Baruch, with the announcement that he had 
 seen a ghost. " It was not Lazarus," he said, 
 " for she was a woman ; but you could see for 
 yourself that it was not like other people." 
 
 Baruch and Ariella, hushing the boy, with all 
 speed made their way, trying to attract as little 
 attention as they could, to the thicket whence 
 the lad had emerged. There, prostrate on the 
 ground, with her rich clothing torn by thorns, 
 
308 COME FORTH. 
 
 her hair disheveled, and her face hidden on her 
 arms, lay a woman who seemed to be half dead 
 with grief. Her teeth bit into her delicate flesh ; 
 her beautiful form shook with deep, dry sobs ; 
 she had thrust one hand through the bushes till 
 it reached the top of the sepulchre, and lay there 
 clenched. Once she was seen to pat the cold 
 stone with a passionate tenderness enough to 
 break one s heart to see. 
 
 " Oh ! a woman ! " murmured Ariella. " Let 
 me go first, dear Baruch." 
 
 At the sound of voices the prostrate woman 
 gathered herself like a lioness, and bounded by 
 one great lithe spring to her feet. Her veil had 
 fallen, and the light of day fell full upon her 
 wan and beautiful face. It was Zahara, daugh 
 ter and princess of the house of Annas the High 
 priest. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 BEFORE the tomb of Lazarus the people fell 
 back. They made way for the Nazarene, who 
 advanced silently. His head was still bowed. 
 He walked like a man oppressed with grief. 
 The sobbing women followed him. A few paces 
 before the door of the tomb, they stopped. A 
 breathless hush fell upon the crowd ; that within 
 the sepulchre was scarcely deeper. In the silence, 
 a bird upon an olive-branch above the tomb be 
 gan to sing shrilly ; it sang on for some moments 
 uninterrupted, so intense was the quiet ; it was 
 a merry little gay bird, with bright plumage, 
 and sang as if it had been summoned to a fes 
 tival. Abraham the slave, being a dull, affec 
 tionate fellow, was sorely displeased with this 
 untimely mirth, and lifted his hand to stone the 
 bird ; but a slight movement in the bushes above 
 the tomb deterred him. 
 
 A woman, a stranger, was descending the 
 rocky steep to join the mourners. She was 
 accompanied by Baruch and Ariella, who had 
 drawn back a little behind her ; Ariella seemed 
 to be guarding her and protecting her with 
 
310 COME FORTH. 
 
 tender hands, lest the lady s steps should miss 
 their hold upon the rough way. The three 
 added themselves to the group below, and stood 
 silently. 
 
 Zahara s position was now one of startling 
 prominence, but she seemed unconscious of it. 
 Her dress, hastily rearranged, was folded closely 
 about her womanly figure ; her veil was torn, 
 and fell loosely over hair and shoulders, reveal 
 ing her beautiful and haggard face. Despair 
 had settled on it. Her lips were drawn in ; her 
 dark eyes stared straight before her; they were 
 dry and bright ; her hands were clenched across 
 her breast; her body swayed from exhaustion 
 which her soul scornfully repudiated ; she seemed 
 to have planted herself where she was, like a 
 growing thing that was trying to take root ; she 
 rejected the help of Ariella, and stood quite 
 alone. Her eyes were fixed upon one object. 
 There might have been a couple of hundred 
 people about and before the tomb. She saw but 
 one. For the first time in her life, Zahara be 
 held the Nazarene. 
 
 Jesus was now standing within a dozen paces 
 of the tomb. His head was yet bowed. As 
 Zahara turned her eyes upon him, it dropped 
 into his hands. His body trembled, shook; a 
 convulsion of grief swept over that sensitive 
 form ; suddenly a sob, powerfully repressed, 
 
COME FORTH. 311 
 
 broke upon the air. Incredulous, bewildered, 
 melted at heart, Zahara perceived that the man 
 was weeping. 
 
 The expression of her face changed as iron 
 changes to fire. She advanced a step or two, 
 moving like a woman in a dream ; her eyes 
 opened : her clenched fingers unclosed ; she re 
 garded Jesus piercingly, then gently ; some 
 thing like a dumb outcry seemed to dart over 
 the woman, and to appeal from her to him. 
 The daughter of the High priest, aristocrat, 
 skeptic, Sadducee, had never been educated to 
 believe in the existence of life beyond the ap 
 parent end of death. To her despairing view 
 Lazarus was buried, and there was the end of it. 
 Lazarus was in that limestone rock. There was 
 no more Lazarus. She had not a hope nor a 
 faith beyond the rolling of that ghastly stone 
 upon the mouth of the sepulchre. Her imagina 
 tion was destitute of images which could offer 
 her so much as the apparition of comfort in an 
 hour like this. She looked upon the friend of 
 her lover. He could weep, then ; he suffered ; 
 he loved. Betrayed by his own pretensions, 
 helpless in the presence of actual death, morti 
 fied, defeated, humiliated, he stood shaken. Za 
 hara could have pitied the plebeian, the charla 
 tan, the ignorant Rabbi, this man of the people, 
 this carpenter, this baffled agitator - could have 
 
312 COME FORTH. 
 
 pitied ? Nay, she could not. A power incom 
 prehensible to Zahara withstood her. She had 
 met with Faith in Immortality ; she had come 
 face to face with Him who represented Immor 
 tality, who held out Eternal Life as if it were a 
 gift in his hand to the hopes and despairs of 
 men. Now, as she stood where she was, pit- 
 eously staring upon him, Jesus raised his head, 
 and lifted up his eyes and looked upon Zahara. 
 
 She saw a man of lofty stature, drawn to its 
 full height. He had a commanding air. His 
 garments were the garments of the people, but 
 his mien was the mien of a king. His sandals 
 were dusty and travel-worn. He had the hand 
 of an artisan. His head was royal, and raised 
 itself upon strong shoulders. He had beautiful 
 hair, of the finest texture, curling and fair ; his 
 unshaven beard fell to his breast ; the expres 
 sion of his concealed lips was delicate as no 
 word may tell it ; his mouth quivered as Zahara 
 turned her pale face hither, and a little higher, 
 toward him, with the uncontrollable impulse of 
 dawning respect. It seemed as if he were touched 
 by the sight of the poor girl s misery. As the 
 two stood confronting each other, they were to 
 the eye like human love confronting the Divine, 
 human anguish appealing to Divine pity, the 
 helplessness of earth questioning the power of 
 heaven. 
 
COME FORTH. 313 
 
 Zahara raised her eyes, and looked into the 
 Nazarene s. What a gaze fell upon her ! She 
 felt scorched. That supreme look burned into 
 her soul like holy fire. Those eyes, what 
 color had they ? What form ? No man knew, 
 or knoweth unto this day. Years afterward, 
 Zahara used to say that they were to her vision 
 as the sun in mid-heaven, and of them she could 
 tell no more. She shriveled under them and 
 sank before them. The majesty and beauty of 
 that face, past power of speech to say it or form 
 of dream to dream it, blazed above her for a 
 moment. Then Zahara slowly drooped through 
 all her haughty body, and sank upon her knees. 
 
 " Lord," she murmured, " Lord ! He loved 
 thee, and I restrained him. Blame him not 
 there in the tomb, he is dead. Dead men can 
 not tell the truth. Jesus of Nazareth ! it was 
 all my fault. We loved each other, and I knew 
 thee not." 
 
 But Jesus made no answer to Zahara. He 
 had suddenly retreated a step or two, and fixed 
 his eyes upon the tomb. Then, lifting them to 
 the hot, bright sky, he stretched his hands out 
 in the attitude of supplication, and so stood, 
 rapt and mute, among the people, and no one 
 stirred or spoke in all the throng. Solemnly, 
 in an undertone, and overheard only by those 
 who stood nearest him, he slowly and distinctly 
 said : 
 
314 COME FORTH. 
 
 " Behold, I am the Kesurrection. I am the 
 Life. He that believeth on me, though he were 
 dead, he shall live." 
 
 " Lord ! " wailed a woman s voice, " he did 
 believe on thee ! " It was Zahara weeping at 
 his feet, weeping now, like any woman, the ice 
 of anguish thawed. Now in the first thrill of 
 her tears she was aware that an incredible, nay, 
 a ghastly thing had happened. The Nazarene 
 had ordered the stone which guarded the sepul 
 chre to be removed. Protests from the family, 
 whispers from the crowd, a moment of intense 
 and terrible excitement, swept giddily over Za- 
 hara s senses. Speak she could not. John the 
 Disciple sprang with the alacrity of love and 
 trust to obey his Master s command. Amos of 
 Gethseinane and Baruch of Bethany followed. 
 The three men executed the command in silence, 
 and fell back. 
 
 But Jesus, rapt in prayer, stood with eyes 
 lifted to heaven, and so standing seemed to have 
 grown unaware of any who pressed about him. 
 Mary came near timidly, and, sinking by the 
 side of Zahara, drew the hem of his dusty gar 
 ment to her lips and kissed it. An inexplicable 
 awe had fallen upon the hearts of the throng. 
 The silence became profound. The bird upon 
 the tomb had ceased singing. 
 
 Suddenly a loud and ringing voice struck the 
 still air : 
 
COME FORTH. 315 
 
 " Lazarus ! Lazarus ! " 
 
 Who addressed the dead man, as one ad- 
 dresseth a friend who is expected to reply? 
 The people stared at each other and shuddered. 
 
 " Lazarus ! Aaape, Sevpo ea>. Come forth ! " 
 
 The cry was commanding and awful. It pen 
 etrated the souls of the living as lightning pene 
 trates the earth. If any voice could have reached 
 the spirit of the dead - 
 
 Great God of our people! Look yonder! 
 What has befallen us? What thing is this? 
 Whom have we in our midst? What is this 
 blinding sight ? 
 
 The stone lips of the sepulchre mutter; the 
 black throat yawns ; there is motion within, and 
 sound. Steps stir there is a flickering of 
 light and a shifting of shadow a shape moves, 
 and rises before our eyes. Is it the living? 
 Was it the dead ? 
 
 Clad in his shroud, as the tomb had taken 
 him, Lazarus, for four days a dead man, stoops 
 from the sepulchre, stands uprightly, and, walk 
 ing steadily into the bright air, moves down the 
 scattering ranks of his mourners, and solemnly 
 regards them. 
 
 Of love and joy wrenched from death and 
 despair what is there to say ? The words that 
 remain are few. They can only tell us how 
 
316 COME FORTH. 
 
 Zahara fled forever from the palace of the High 
 priest, and, loyally sheltered by Ariella, went in 
 due time to the home of Lazarus, and was 
 wedded unto him by the sacred lips of the Great 
 Rabbi, thus protecting herself from the authority 
 of her father, and becoming the subject of her 
 husband according to the Jewish law ; how with 
 her own impetuosity and intensity she flung off 
 her old life, and came forth from her old faith, 
 even as the dead had come forth from the tomb, 
 and joined herself to the faith of her husband 
 with a cordial soul ; how these two, with the 
 sisters of Lazarus and Rebecca the slave, jour 
 neyed together, escaping the dangerous promi 
 nence of their startling history, into what they 
 called another country. 
 
 For strangers will welcome when neighbors 
 mock, and in the province where they made 
 their new home these elected ones taught the ; 
 faith of Him who had given his own life for 
 truth s sake and for God s, the faith of hu 
 manity and purity, of mercy and peace, the : 
 faith that respects the poor, and comforts the 
 unhappy, and is gentle with the sick, and re 
 stores the mistaken and the willful and the 
 wrong, and gives life unto the dead. 
 
 But it is doubtful if Zahara herself ever fully 
 understood her own connection or that of her 
 husband with the tragedy which one month 
 
COME FORTH. 317 
 
 from the burial of Lazarus of Bethany shook 
 the world. 
 
 Upon the secret influence and spoken word 
 of Annas the High priest the fate of the Naz- 
 arene hung balanced for so much of a space as 
 might have saved and did condemn the 
 grandest and the most piteous of lives. 
 
 How could Lazarus tell Zahara this ? She 
 became so accustomed to the thought which her 
 husband did not share with her that perhaps 
 she wondered less, or worried less, about the 
 facts which she reserved, than might otherwise 
 have been the case. There must be subjects 
 upon which the lips of Lazarus were sealed, 
 those of the grave no closer. Time did not 
 loosen them. He became a tender husband, a 
 busy citizen, a devout man ; but he remained a 
 silent one. 
 
 The friendship experienced by Jesus for Laz 
 arus, maintained to the end with a self-obliter 
 ation and tenderness upon which it is heart 
 breaking to think, went with other recorded and 
 unrecorded sacrifices to count the cost of a price 
 upon which we dare not dwell, and from whose 
 preciousness we avert an awed and humbled 
 face. 
 
 Whence had Lazarus come ? Where had 
 he been ? What solemn marvels had he seen ? 
 What awful secrets did he know? What 
 
318 COME FORTH. 
 
 blessed story could he tell? Passionately be 
 loved to the end, and assiduously cherished, his 
 own wife never knew. She might as well 
 she would as soon have asked the sepulchre 
 from which he had emerged. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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