"Judas--"

He wheeled, and, catching her by the wrists, stared into her eyes.

"Is it yes?"

A shudder seized her. There was dread in it, anguish too, and both were mortal. He had not lied, she saw, and the threat was real.

"Is it yes?" he repeated.

There may be moments that prolong, but there are others in which time no longer is; and as Mary shrank in the blight of Judas' stare, both felt that the culmination of life was reached.

"No!"

The monosyllable dropped from her lips like a stone, yet even as it fell the banner of Maccabaeus unfurled and flaunted in her face; the voice of Esther murmured, and a vision of Judith saving a nation visited her, and, continuing, made spots on the night.

Judas had flung her from him. She reeled; the violence roused her. Who was she to consider herself when the security of the Master was at stake? How should it matter though she died, if he were safe?

"It is my soul you ask," she cried. "Take it. If I had a thousand souls, I would give each one for Him."

But she cried to the unanswering night. Where the road curved about the shoulder of the Mount of Olives, for one second she saw a white robe glisten. Agonized, she called again, but there was no one now to hear.

A little later, when the followers of the Lord issued from the house, Mary lay before the door, her eyes closed, her head in the dust. They touched her. She had fainted.

CHAPTER VIII.

VIII.

"They have him, they are taking him to Pilate."

It was Eleazer calling to his sister from the turn of the road. In a moment he was at her side, dust-covered, his sandals torn, his pathetic eyes dilated. He was breathless too, and, in default of words, with a gesture that swept the Mount of Olives, he pointed to where the holy city lay.

To Mary the morrow succeeding her swoon was a pall. Love, it may be, is a forgetfulness of all things else, but despair is very actual. It takes a hold on memory, inhabits it, and makes it its own. And during the day that followed, Mary lay preyed upon by the acutest agony that ever tortured woman yet. Early in the night, before her senses returned, the Master had gone without mentioning whither. His destination may have been Ephram, Jericho even, or further yet, beyond the hollows of the Ghor. Then, again, he might have loitered in the neighborhood, on the hill perhaps, in that open-air solitude he loved so well, and for which so often he forsook the narrowness of roofs and towns. But yet, in view of the Pa.s.sover, he might have gone to Jerusalem, and it was that idea that tortured most.

It was there the keen police, the levites, were, and their masters the Sadducees, who had placed a price on his head. Did he get within the walls, then surely he was lost. At the possibilities which that idea evoked her thoughts sank like the roots of a tree and grappled with the under-earth. To her despair, regret brought its burden. A moment of self-forgetfulness, and, however horrible that forgetfulness might have been, in it danger to him whom she revered would have been averted, and, for the time being at least, dispersed utterly as last year's leaves. It had been cowardice on her part to let Judas go; she should have been strong when strength was needed. There were glaives to be had; the head of Holofernes could have greeted his. The legend of Judith still echoed its reproach, and recurring, pointed a slender finger of disdain.

To the heart that is sinking, hope throws a straw. Immaterial and caressing as a shadow, came to her the fancy that if the Master were in the neighborhood, at any moment he might appear. In that event it was needful that she should be prepared to aid him at once beyond the confines of Judaea. Were he already beyond them, presently she must learn it, and then could warn him of the danger of return. But meanwhile, for security's sake, had he gone by any chance to Jerusalem, some one must be there to warn him of the plot. She thought of her sister, and dismissed her. Martha was too feather-headed for an errand such as that. She thought of Ahulah, but some of those well-intentioned friends that everyone possesses had told of the misadventure to her husband, and the latter, cruel as a woman, had spat upon her, and now through the suburbs she wandered, distraught, incompetent to aid. Her brother occurred to her. It was on him she could rely. His devotion was surpa.s.sed only by her own. Thereupon she sought him out, instructed him in his duty, and sent him forth to watch and warn.

The green afternoon faded in the hemorrhages of the setting sun. Twilight approached like a wolf. Night unfurled her great black fan; the moon came, fumbling the shadows, checkering the underbrush with silver spots. Once a caravan pa.s.sed, and once from the hillside came the bark of a dog, caught up and repeated in some farm beyond; otherwise the night was unstirred; and as Mary stared into the immensities where lightning wearies and subsides, a lethargy beset her, her body was imprisoned; but her soul was free, and in a moment it mounted sheerly to a fringe of the heavens and bathed in s.p.a.ce.

When it descended, another day had come, and Eleazer was calling to her from the turn of the road. At once she was on earth and on her feet, and as the brother gasped for breath the sister's strength returned. There must be no more weakness now, she knew; it was time to act. She got drink, water for the feet; then Eleazer, refreshed, continued:

"I ran through the ridge and up to where the two cedars are. I looked among the cypresses beyond, in the pines where the descent begins, through the olive groves below and the booths and tents beneath. There was no trace of him anywhere. I crossed the brook and sat awhile at the Shushan gate, watching those that entered. The crowd became so dense that it was impossible to distinguish. I thought I might hear of him in the Temple.

The porch was thronged. I roamed through the Mountain of the House into the Woman's Court, and out of it on the Chel. But they were all so filled with pilgrims that had he been there only accident could have brought me to him. It was on that I counted, and I went out on Zion and Acra, where the crowd was less. It was getting late. Beth-horon was dim. I could see lights in Herod's palace. Some one said that the tetrarch of Galilee was there, the guest of the procurator. I went back by way of Antonia to Birket Israil and the Red Heifer Bridge. I had given up; it seemed to me useless to make further attempt. Suddenly I saw Judas in the angle of the porch. With him was a levite. I got behind a pillar, near where they stood, and listened. The only thing I distinctly heard was the name of Joseph of Haramatham. I fancied, though I was not certain, that Judas spoke as though he had just left his house. They must have moved away then, for when I looked they had gone. I knew that Joseph was a friend of the Master's, and it struck me that he might be at his house. It is in the sook of the Perfumers, back of Ophel. I ran there as fast as I could. It was unlighted. I beat on the door: there was no answer. I felt that I had been mistaken, anyway that I could do no more. I went down again into the valley, crossed the Kedron, and would have returned here at once perhaps, but I was tired, and so, on the slope where the olive-presses are, I lay down and must have fallen asleep, for I remembered nothing till there came a tramping of men. I crouched in the underbrush. They pa.s.sed very close; some had torches, some had spears. Judas was leading, and as an ape munches a flower he was muttering the Master's name."

Eleazer paused and looked at his sister. She was standing erect, her face wan, the brow contracted, the rhymes of her lips tight-pressed. Then, with a glance at Olivet, he continued:

"For a little s.p.a.ce I waited. They had ascended the slope and halted.

There was a shout, the waving of torches, then a silence. In it I heard the Master's voice, followed by a cry of pain. I hurried to where they were. They had him bound when I got there. I saw a soldier raising a hand to his ear and looking at the palm; it was red. Peter was running one way, Thomas another. I got nearer. Some one, a levite I think, caught me by the coat. I freed myself from it and escaped up the hill.

"From there I looked down. They were going away. When they had gone, I went back and found my cloak. While I was putting it on, John appeared.

'They are taking him to Caiaphas,' he said; 'I shall follow. Come with me if you wish.' I went with him. On the way we met Peter; he joined us. We walked single-file, John leading. Beyond I could see the lights of the torches, the glint of steel. No one spoke. Peter whimpered a little. We crossed the Kedron and got up into the city. The soldiers went directly to where Annas lives; they entered in a body, and the door closed. John rapped: it was opened. He said something to the doorkeeper, who admitted him. The door closed again. Peter and I waited a little, not knowing where to turn. Presently the door reopened, and John motioned us to come in. In the court was a fire; about it were servants and khazzans. I stopped a moment to warm my hands; Peter did the same. John had disappeared. I heard one of the khazzans say that they had taken the Master to Annas, and the others discuss what he would probably do. While I stood there listening, and wondering what had become of John, I saw the Master being led across the court to the Lishcath ha-Gazith. I left Peter, and followed. In the hall were the elders, ranged in a semicircle about Caiaphas. They must have been prepared beforehand, for the clerks of acquittal and of condemnation were there, the crier too, and a group of levites and Scribes. In a corner were some of Annas' servants. I got among them and stood unnoticed.

"The Master's hands were bound. On either side of him was a soldier.

Caiaphas was livid. He looked him from head to foot.

" 'You are accused,' he said, 'of inciting sedition, of defying the Law, of blasphemy, and of breaking the Sabbath day. What have you to answer?'

"The Master made no reply.

"Caiaphas pointed to the levites. 'Here,' he continued, 'are witnesses.'

"He motioned; one of them stepped forward and spoke.

" 'I testify that this man has incited to sedition by denouncing the members of this reverend council as hypocrites, wolves in sheep's clothing, blind leaders of the blind; and I further testify that he has declared no one should follow them.'

" 'What have you to say to that?' Caiaphas snarled. But the Master said nothing.

"The first levite moved back, and at a gesture from the high-priest another stepped forward.

" 'I testify that I have seen that man eat, in defiance of the Law, with unwashed hands, and consort with publicans and people of low repute.'

" 'And what have you to say to that?' Caiaphas asked again. But still the Master said nothing.

"The second levite moved back, and a third advanced.

" 'I testify that I have heard that man blaspheme in calling G.o.d his father, and in declaring himself to be one with Him.'

" 'Is that blasphemy or is it not?' Caiaphas bawled. But the Master's lips never moved.

"The third levite gave way to a fourth.

" 'I testify that that man has broken the Sabbath in healing the sick on that day, and further that he has seduced others to break it. On the Sabbath I have heard him order a cripple to take up his bed and carry it to his home. I have heard him also declare that he could destroy the Temple and rebuild it, in three days, anew.'

"Caiaphas turned to the Master. 'Do you still refuse to answer?' he asked.

'Do you think that silence can save you? Have you heard these witnesses?'

"And as the Master still made no reply, Caiaphas lifted his hand and cried, 'I adjure you by the Eternal to answer, Are you the Messiah, the Son of G.o.d?'

"In the breathless silence Jesus raised his eyes. He looked at the high-priest, at the levites, the Scribes. 'You have said it,' he murmured, and smiled with that air he has.

"Caiaphas grew purple. He caught his gown at the throat and ripped it from neck to hem. The elders started. I heard them mutter, '_Ish maveth_.' The high-priest glanced toward them. 'You have heard this ragged blasphemy?'

he exclaimed; and, turning to where the Scribes stood, 'What,' he asked, 'does the Law decree concerning the Sabbath-breaker?'