Anat also was silent for a time, then she said timidly: "I would that I too might see the man of blessing, he who dwells beyond the wilderness and hath power to restore sight to the blind. There is no one in the land of Egypt who can do the like."

"We have no treasure to give him; would he not say to us, 'Where then is thy gold, or thy precious stones, or thy beasts of burden, before I shall do this thing for thee?' Thou knowest not the ways of magicians; I know, for I have heard, yet is there no magician in all Egypt who can cure blindness."

Anat sighed. "I have my mother's necklace," she said at length, laying her hand upon the string of coins about her neck. "Some of them are of gold and very heavy." Then she caught her breath with a half sob. "The men--yesterday--they would have sold us. I--yes, I would be a slave if only I might see!"

"I will be a slave, and thou shalt have thine eyes together with thy freedom," cried Seth, starting to his feet. "I will say to the man, give thou sight to these eyes and I am thy bondman from henceforth and forever. I will serve thee with my heart's blood."

"I also will serve him, for I will not leave thee, my brother; but how shall we pa.s.s the wilderness?"

"There are many caravans pa.s.sing through," said the lad, looking with troubled eyes into the distance, "but the way is long and we have no beast."

"The stranger who ate of our bread, will he not take us to that far country?"

"It may be----" began Seth, then he stopped suddenly--Anat had grasped his arm convulsively, her face pallid to the lips.

"The voices!" she gasped. "I hear them, they will sell us into bondage!

Let us hide, quick!"

Without a word the lad hurried her into a narrow cleft in the rocks not far distant. Here, tugging with all his strength at a broad stone which was half buried in the drifting sand, he at length succeeded in pulling it aside. The opening disclosed a flight of steps cut in the solid rock, winding down into impenetrable darkness. From the depths there ascended a stifling odor of resin and spices.

The girl drew back gasping, "Not here!" she said faintly. "I am afraid; I cannot go further, it is the breath of the dead."

The lad hesitated an instant; he too heard the sound of voices and the tinkling of harness bells. "Listen," he whispered, "I know not the voices, but thou knowest."

"Yes, yes! it is the voice; I will go anywhere to escape."

The tinkling sound and the slow steps of the beasts of burden became momently louder, together with the harsh tones of a human voice.

"'Tis a fool's errand, Besa; thou hast lost what little wit the G.o.ds gave thee in thy tumble of yesterday. By Sechet! I have not yet done laughing to think of the way the little h.e.l.l-witch served thee!"

"Who could know that the beggar understood Greek!"

"Pooh! that is nothing; no one better than the beggars, they whine for every man's gold in his own tongue. Ha, ha! 'Thou shouldst have perfumed garlands,' saidst thou with tongue as smooth as Sesame oil; then I saw only a flying bundle of red cloth. Besa was gone. Ha, ha!"

"Why didst thou not seize her, fool?" snarled the other, grinding his teeth. "I will find her should I look a lifetime, if only to twist that little singing throat of hers."

"That shalt thou not do, friend; that singing throat is gold and it is mine. Come, we will go back; they are not here."

"What is this?" said Besa triumphantly, dismounting from his a.s.s and holding up a brilliant bit of striped drapery; "this, or one like it, was on the girl's neck yesterday."

Amu, for so was the other man called, made no reply: he was looking fixedly into a narrow cleft of the rocks. Presently he too dismounted.

"Some one has been here," he said, pointing to the fresh footmarks in the sand which had drifted deep into the opening.

CHAPTER III.

AT THE PALACE OF THE HIGH PRIEST.

"It is well that by the blessing of Jehovah thou hast recovered thy health, my son, for though we have accomplished the death of the blasphemer, there yet remains the rabble of his followers. With the trunk of the poisonous vine we must also thoroughly burn the branches lest they bud anew."

"Thou hast the tongue of wisdom," said Caiaphas in a tone of dull indifference, his eyes fixed vacantly on the range of blue hills at the verge of the horizon.

Annas glanced impatiently at the white worn face. "They are already spreading reports both in Jerusalem and in all Galilee that the man is alive again, that, forsooth, he has been seen of them. The temple resounds daily to the voice of their noisome praises and thanksgivings.

I have counseled that they be thrust out," he continued frowning, "for what is it else than blasphemy--lies. It cannot be true!" And the speaker started to his feet, and began to pace up and down the terrace of the roof garden. "The Sanhedrim seems satisfied that nothing will come of it," he went on angrily. "'Let be,' say they, 'the thing will die even as the man.' Pah! they are blind. Look you! here are the facts. The man's body disappears on the third day after the crucifixion, the Roman guards tell a drunken tale of earthquake and the appearance of an angel with a sword; lies, all lies! That I have managed--gold worketh wonders; they know now that they were drunken, and that his disciples stole the body away while they slept. So far, well.

Then there is the matter of the rent veil before the Holy of Holies; a sore mischance, the fabric had been eaten of insects, there is no question of it, how else should it----"

"Who saw the thing done?" interrupted Caiaphas in a hollow tone.

"A half score of priests who were preparing the altar for the evening sacrifice. It was rent with a loud noise, say they, and the Holiest place revealed on a sudden. I have counseled that they hold their peace; it may be that they also are apostate, but I dare not take the steps that I would in the matter because of the people. Of one thing I am certain, the man is dead; in that have we triumphed. I saw him die, and he is as a.s.suredly perished as are the wretched malefactors that groaned that day on either side of his cross."

The face of Caiaphas blanched to the livid color of death. "Say no more," he gasped huskily, "I am not well."

Annas stared at him for an instant with something like contempt. "I will call a servant," he said at length. "Thou shouldst drink wine to strengthen thy heart."

"The man is strangely wrought upon by this thing," he thought within himself as he strode away. "He is like to a rope of sand; I must not look to him for help. Who is there then of stout heart and good courage? Issachar--Johanan--Alexander? they all be like wax which the sun hath melted. Stay! there is the young Saul of Tarsus, a Pharisee of the Pharisees, and zealous for the upbuilding of Israel; I will even dispatch a swift messenger for him. He will be an instrument of wrath in mine hand against the enemies of the Lord Jehovah."

As the sound of his footsteps died away, the sick man raised his head.

"Begone!" he said with an irritable gesture to the servant who stood awaiting his pleasure. "Call my wife."

Even as he spoke, the heavy curtains which hung over the doorway near at hand, parted, and the figure of a woman emerged onto the terrace.

"Where hast thou been?" said the invalid, fixing his sunken eyes angrily upon her. "Dost thou not know that I cannot abide that clumsy hind, Barak. Where is my cordial?"

"Here, my lord," said Anna soothingly, pouring a few drops of some bright-colored liquid into a cup. Her slender hand trembled so violently as she did this that a portion of the contents was spilled, and lay a crimson pool between them on the white marble of the pavement.

The sick man shrank back among his pillows, his eyes starting from his head. "Ay! there it is again!" he muttered, huskily. "Blood, blood--the blood of the Nazarene! I shall always see it. Look!" he shrieked, "it is crawling towards me!"

The woman sprang forward, her face colorless. "It is nothing!" she said, breathlessly, "nothing, my lord! See! it is gone. Come, drink the cordial, after that thou shalt rest; thou art weary."

Caiaphas looked into the cup. "It is blood," he said, shudderingly, "yet must I drink it; G.o.d is just!" Then he lay back among his pillows once more, his eyes closed. After a time a faint color crept into his livid face.

The woman watched him patiently for a full hour, more than once her pale lips moving as if in prayer. From her dark eyes there seemed to stream forth a visible radiance of love which brooded in silent blessing over the helpless form at her side.

At length the sick man stirred a little, his eyes unclosed. "Has it been told thee what hath befallen our son?" he said, slowly and clearly.

The woman bowed her head. "It hath been told me," she whispered brokenly, "that his life was ended even as----"

"He was crucified," said Caiaphas, still in the same slow, clear tone, "even as was the Nazarene. G.o.d is just. Blood for blood, it is the law, and hath been from the beginning."

"G.o.d is also love," said Anna, looking fearfully into her husband's face.

He returned the look with one of full intelligence. "Do not fear," he said, gently, "it is best that the matter hath been spoken between us; it were like an open grave else. The madness hath pa.s.sed from my brain now, and I see---" He paused, and so terrible a look came over his face that his wife cried out faintly.

"G.o.d is love," she repeated in a low voice, wringing her hands; "He will forgive. How couldst thou know that the Nazarene was the Anointed One?

Yet, even he said, 'Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do!' as they drove the nails into his hands."