The Levites watched the Pharisee narrowly; one of them, whom Marsyas recognized as Joel, made tentative movements toward unpacking the supplies from one of the burden-bearing beasts. But the Pharisee drew up the bridle of his mule and led it to the roadside toward a stone by which he could mount. The eyes of the Levites followed him in a troubled manner, and Joel sat down as if to show that he believed the rabbi would not proceed in the noon.

"Up!" said Saul calmly, "we shall continue to Damascus."

The troubled Levites stared at him, and Joel presently objected:

"But--but it is the noon! And the heat is cruel!"

"We can proceed, nevertheless," was the reply.

The stupefied Levite stumbled to his feet, and the party led their beasts out into the sun. Marsyas with a fierce word dismounted and strode toward them.

At his second step he faltered. Silence dropped upon the blazing plain of Damascus--silence so sudden, so absolute that his footfall startled him. He saw that the movement of Saul's party had been arrested. Arm lifted, or foot put forward, stayed in the att.i.tude. The utter stillness seized them as a commanding hand. Then all the noon grew dim, not from the abatement of the sun's light, but by the coming of a radiance infinitely brighter. Descending from above, instantly intensifying as if the source that shed it approached as fast as stars move, a single ray, purer than the glitter on Mount Hermon, and more inscrutable than the face of the Syrian sun, stood among them.

Its presence was not violent but all-compelling. The group at the pool fell down in the dust and lay still.

Silence such as never before and never again lay on the plain of Damascus, brooded about them.

Out of it a single voice issued, low, trembling, filled with fear and reverence. It was Saul of Tarsus, speaking:

"Who art Thou, Lord?"

Presently he spoke again, eagerly, humbly, and still afraid:

"Lord, what wilt Thou have me to do?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Lord, what wilt Thou have me to do?" (missing from book)]

After a long time, the hot breeze made a whispering sound in the sand of the roadway; the leaves in the hedge at hand stirred and fluttered.

Joel, the boldest of the Levites, cautiously raised his head, and presently got upon his feet. His fellows, taking heart, rose, one by one.

A young stranger in the robes of an Essene was kneeling among them with large dark eyes fixed in pity upon Saul.

The rabbi had made an attempt to raise himself, but had paused transfixed. Humility made an actual light on his forehead; his pinched features were stunned with helplessness.

The terrified Levites crept closer to one another, but Joel finally wet his dry lips and spoke in a half-whisper:

"Rabbi?"

There was no answer in words, but slow tears rose, brimmed over the lids and crept down the sun-burned hollow cheeks.

The young stranger came quickly and knelt beside the rabbi and laid a kindly hand on his shoulder.

"Brother Saul?" he whispered.

The face of the rabbi came round, but the gaze missed its mark and wandered over the men about him. There was no vision in the eyes.

"He is blind!" a Levite whispered.

The young stranger slipped the hand from the shoulder around the bowed figure, and, supporting Saul in his arm, looked down with infinite sorrow and concern at the darkened eyes.

"We will abide here," he said at last, to the Levites, "until the noon pa.s.seth."

The Levites looked in a little fear at the spot where they had been so mysteriously overwhelmed, but Marsyas lifted Saul and bore him back into the shade he had left to continue unto Damascus.

All of his own pa.s.sion and purpose had been swept away, leaving his mind to the tenantry of the sweetest content he had ever known. Though he had seen no man nor heard a voice, he knew that the Lord had visited Saul, and that the eye of the Lord beheld Saul's work.

After that reverent translation of the supernatural event, he troubled himself no more concerning the vision.

Absolute relief possessed his soul; rest of spirit so all-comprehensive that it strengthened his body, peace so whole that it bordered on gladness, and confidence, new, delicious and simple, embraced all his being. The old restless ambition was so stilled and soothed that it seemed to have been fulfilled; the old Essenic cynicism that had slandered all the world, tinctured his friendships with distrust and his love with fear, was dissipated like a distorting illusion; his hates, his thirst for revenge, his impatience with the deliberation of G.o.d, and his self-dependence were things unremembered. He did not understand his change and did not seek after its meaning; his feelings did not even hark back to the old love for Saul. Pity and filial solicitude, sensations that on a time he could not have believed possible as shown to Saul, made the strength of his arm gentle and his service reverential. He thought now of Lydia, with worshipful, marvelous homage, as if his soul knelt to her. He had ceased to be afraid for her or to fear that he would not find her. Everything good became possible; the prospering of virtue, the fidelity of Agrippa, the prevention of Flaccus and the favor of Caesar, even the restoration of his beloved, seemed to be things absolutely a.s.sured.

He did not say these things to himself; they were simple convictions that made themselves felt in a tender blending which amounted to perfect waiting on the Lord.

He did not know that his face had become beautiful, or that Joel looked askance at him or that the other Levites wondered if he had come to them in the great light. So when the sun stood three hours above the horizon, he raised Saul from the shade of the walnut grove and pa.s.sed on to Damascus.

The golden haze reddened over the glorious Damascene plain, the distance became obscured; the purple triumphed; then the royal color over the world began to run out into plum shades, and the sudden night came up from the east.

But before this hour at one of the north gates of Damascus, the halting group of Levites, the stricken man among them, and the silent, kindly young stranger appeared before Aretas' wiry black Arab sentry that held that post.

They did not know the ways of the Pearl of the Orient, and they wished to find Via Recta--Straight Street. There Judas, a Pharisee of wealth and power, expected to entertain Saul.

Though the Caesars possessed the city's fealty, exacted tribute, installed Jupiter in the temples and the eagle on its standard, it was still the dominion of Rimmon, va.s.sal of Nimrud, high place of the sons of Uz. It had submitted to Alexander of Macedon as placidly as it suffered the wolfish Roman, who would pa.s.s, likewise. It notched its calendar by the rise and fall of nations, and marked its days by the sway of kings. It had propitiated Time, hence there was no death for Damascus; it steeped itself in the oils of the Orient and so was spiced against decay. There were Romanized colonnades along the streets, but the winged bulls of the dromoes, the stucco-work and the tiles, the swaying of carpets from balconies obscured their influence. Architects of Caesar's extravagances scowled at the giant structures that were old in Baalbec's time and looked their defeat; Chaldean philosophers contemplated the trenches worn in the rock pavements by the feet of men and held their peace; olives, as old as Troy, cast their leaves down on the heads of Greeks who shook them off impatiently, but the sons of Abraham could point to a mound of clay and say: "This was a temple which our father builded unto G.o.d, before you all!"

The Jewish tincture had never been abated even, much less worked out.

Therefore, as the agitated travelers from Jerusalem pa.s.sed through the gate they went with their own kind by legions. The slow mule was there, outnumbering the Arab's troops of horses, which were mettled, nervous creatures, caparisoned like kings; there were Israel's camels, bearing howdahs, rich as thrones; tall stalking dromedaries in ta.s.seled housings and tinkling harnesses, pa.s.sing as ships pa.s.s over ground-swells, with undulations dizzying in their ease; and these, mounted by the sons of Abraham, were more in number than the Hindu palanquins, Roman lecticae, Greek litters, and Gentiles afoot.

Marsyas glanced about for the eye of a citizen whom he might approach and ask his way, but the turmoil for the moment confused him. Into the gate or out of it pa.s.sed wealthy travelers, faring in state; itinerant merchants; squads of Aretas' soldiery, and through and among these, eddying and swarming, shouting, hurrying and trading were venders, beggars, carriers, slaves, citizens, Jews in gowns, Arabs in burnooses, Greeks in chitons, Romans in tunics, idlers, actors, scribes, notaries, priests and magistrates--of twenty nationalities, of every rank and age.

Marsyas met face to face a Pharisee of erect and imposing figure, with flowing beard and aggressive features, who drew his spotless linen draperies away from contact with the ceremonially unclean horde at the gate. The man had stopped and was gazing from his commanding height over the rush of pilgrims flowing into the walls of Damascus.

Marsyas approached him.

"I seek Judas, a Pharisee, which dwelleth in Straight Street!"

"I am he," the Pharisee interrupted, examining the young man for some familiar feature which might justify the Essene's initiatory.

"Thou art well-met, sir; we bring unto thee, thy guest, Saul of Tarsus, stricken by a vision on the roads and blind!"

"Even am I here, awaiting him," the Pharisee exclaimed. "Thou bringest me evil tidings! Lead me to him, I pray thee."

The Levites stood with Saul outside the path of the exit to the gateway, and Marsyas led Judas to the stricken rabbi. Hebrew servants followed respectfully after their master.

"Brother Saul," Marsyas said, "I bring thee thy host; he will care for thee."

The sightless eyes of the rabbi turned toward the speaker, and Marsyas thought that a shadow crossed the forehead.

"Woe is me!" Judas exclaimed, "that thou shouldst come thus afflicted, brother! But perchance the vision was a blessing on thee!"