STEPHEN: A SOLDIER OF THE CROSS.

by Florence Morse Kingsley.

PREFACE.

There are those who have asked me to write this book. There may be others who shall question me because I have written it. "a.s.suredly,"

these will cry out, "it is justly forbidden to ascribe words and deeds of one's own devising to them which have been set forever apart in the pages of the Book of books. The pen of inspiration has written of Stephen all that G.o.d wills us to know of him, therefore let us be content."

It is true that the story of Stephen is little known; scarcely for a single day does the light shine clearly upon him, and that day the last of his mortal life. A tale is told of ancient alchemists, how that they possessed the power of resurrecting from the ashes of a perished flower a dim ghost of the flower itself. In like manner, may not one gather the fragrant dust of this vanished life from out the writings and legends of past ages, and from it build anew some faint image of its forgotten beauty?

Surely in these days, when the imagination hurries to and fro on the earth, delving amid all that is low and evil and noisome for some new panacea wherewith to deaden, if only for a moment, the feverish pain in the hearts of men, it were a good thing to lift up the eyes of the soul to the contemplation of those days when the memory of the living Jesus was yet fresh in the hearts of His followers; when His voice still echoed in their ears; when the glory of the cloud which had received Him out of their sight lingered with transfiguring splendor on all the commonplace happenings of their daily lives; when the words, "Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end," meant a living presence all comforting, all powerful.

We are wont to look longingly back through the dark mists of the ages and sigh, "Oh, that I had known Him as they knew Him! But in these hard, grey days there is no glory that shines, no voice that speaks, no ecstatic vision of the Son of Man standing at the right hand of power."

Yet had we lived in those days the life which many of us live to-day, going to church and to prayer because such attendance is a Christian duty; giving of our abundance to the poor because our neighbors will marvel if we withhold; and for the rest, living as those before the flood, and since also--eating and drinking, and making such poor merriment as we are able in a life which was given us for another purpose--had we lived thus in those far-off days, would the Pentecostal flames have descended upon us? Could the crucified One have said unto us, "Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end?" Would we not rather have cried out in terror and fled away from the light of those sad eyes into darkness, even as did Peter after that he had denied with curses.

There is an Apostolic Church in the world to-day. To-day Christ is on earth and walks with men. To-day the Spirit works mightily as of old; the blind see, the deaf hear, and the dead are raised up. But it is not alone in splendid temple, nor amid the solemn pomp of churchly magnificence that these things are being accomplished, but in the humble upper rooms where the good soldiers of the Salvation Army, and the workers in Rescue Missions, labor unceasingly for them that are lost.

In these places, and in the silence of repentant hearts also, one may yet touch the borders of that seamless robe; and lo, every one that touches is made whole.

CHAPTER I.

THE BLIND SINGER.

"Bounteous Nile! Father of all living! Garlanded with lotus blooms, rosy as Horus!"

As these words rang out over the rocky hillside in a clear sweet voice, two men who were climbing the steep declivity paused a moment and looked at each other.

"That is the voice," said one of them in a tone of deep satisfaction.

"A voice of gold truly, if only breathed forth into royal ears."

"There are two of them," said his companion, wiping his hot face. "The other is a boy, a water-carrier.'

"Good! He also will bring a fair price. Valuable property both, and going to waste like water spilled in the desert. Why buy slaves for gold, when they grow wild in the desert?" And the speaker laughed under his breath.

"Thou art a favorite of the G.o.ds," said the other with a venomous gleam in his narrow black eyes. "In thy heaven-bestowed wisdom forget not that it was I who came upon the two nesting in a corner of yonder old tomb like a pair of swallows."

"Thou shalt have the boy."

"And who gave thee leave to say, friend?"

"Canst thou sell them then? Is it of thee that the princess will buy slaves? Half the price of the two shall be thine; if that pleaseth thee not, why then----"

"Look at me! I am thy sister that loveth thee, Do not stay far from me, heavenly one!

Come to thine abode with haste, with haste I see thee no more. I see thee no more--"

trilled the unseen singer.

"Ha! The song of Isis! The little one is religious," continued the speaker, who had stopped in the midst of his bargaining. "Come! What sayest thou?" he added persuasively. "Half the price--and it will be a good one--no one can do better in such a matter than----"

"No one better than Besa," interrupted the other rudely. "Be it so; but lie to me about the price and thou shalt regret it."

The two had reached the top of the hill by this time.

"Hist! Do not let her see thee."

"Nay, rather, do not let her hear thee; she is blind."

"Blind?"

"Ay! Stone blind; but what matters it when she carries a singing bird in her throat. Do they not blind the nightingale?"

Both men now advanced cautiously, their sandaled feet making little sound on the shelf-like plateau upon which yawned several recesses cut deep into the solid rock. In the door of one of these recesses sat, or rather crouched, the figure of a young girl. Her blue-black hair, gathered away from her forehead and plaited in several thick braids, revealed a thin face, delicately featured, the smooth brown cheeks faintly flushed with a warmth, which in the drooping mouth deepened to scarlet. Her eyes were large and black, but curiously expressionless, like the eyes of the great G.o.d Ptah in the temple below. For the rest, she was dressed in the shapeless blue linen robe of an Egyptian peasant woman, about her neck hung a string of shining coins, and upon the slender ankles tinkled hoops of wrought silver.

At the sound of the stealthy feet upon the rock, the blind girl bent her head anxiously.

"Is it you, Seth?" she said doubtfully.

"Nay, little one," said one of the men, advancing boldly, "it is only a wayfarer who heard a G.o.ddess chanting to herself in a nook of the mountain. Didst thou also hear it?"

The girl shrank back into the narrow recess, upon whose rocky walls was pictured gaudily the long-since-ended career of its former occupant. She made no reply.

"This dismal spirit-haunted tomb is no place for thee," continued the speaker in honeyed tones, "for it is thou and no other who hast the voice of Isis herself. Thou shouldst sing in the abode of princes, and be crowned with perfumed garlands, and all this shall shortly happen if thou wilt but come with me. Listen!" he added imperatively in the Greek tongue, addressing his companion. "I will take the girl with me, her pretty face adds to her value by half, the blindness is no matter. But do thou wait for the boy and bring him to the city, to the place whereof thou knowest. To-morrow they shall both be sold."

He was standing as he spoke perilously near the edge of the rocky declivity up which he had just clambered, his black snaky eyes fixed upon the maiden, his hand already extended to grasp her, when with the lithe swiftness of a tigress she sprang to her feet, and with a sudden powerful push of her strong young arms sent the unfortunate man flying backward over the verge. Then with a loud scream she turned, and, eluding the outstretched arms of the other, fled away and disappeared in some hidden nook among the tombs. The man who remained behind stared after her a moment in silence, then he broke into a short sneering laugh.

"By the seven great G.o.ds! It appears that a nightingale is not easy to cage. And what then has become of our bargaining Besa? By Anubis! I care not if he be dead."

Peering over the edge of the precipice he presently descried a motionless ma.s.s of dingy red drapery, lodged against the side of a great boulder, and thither, grumbling morosely to himself, he slowly and deliberately made his way.

In the meantime the young girl was cowering breathless in a narrow crevice of the rocks; she listened intensely, her hands upon her heart, as though she feared that its loud beating might betray her hiding-place. But after a few moments the silence rea.s.sured her and she began to weep and moan softly to herself.

"O Isis, tender-hearted one, what is it that hath befallen me? O G.o.d of the Sun in thy shining chariot! why dost thou not smite such wickedness?

What then if I have killed him. Nay, I care not! It is just."

"Anat! Anat!" shouted a voice. "Where art thou?"

"Ah! it is Seth," said the girl, rising to her feet. "Hist! Here am I."

"Why art thou here?" said the newcomer anxiously. "What hath happened?"

By way of answer the girl burst into a pa.s.sion of sobbing, rocking herself to and fro and tearing at her black braids. The lad stared at her in amazement and fear, then hastily casting aside the skin water-bottle with its tinkling bra.s.s cups, which he carried upon his back, he knelt down by the convulsed little figure, and throwing one arm about it began to speak in low soothing tones.

"Anat, little sister, come, tell me what hath happened. Thou must indeed, little one. I should not have left thee alone; thou hast been frightened, is it not so?"