Something in the familiar and well-loved words spoken in that dewy solitude seemed to sweep away the paralyzing and unworthy fear from out his soul. He looked at the Roman road, showing hard, white and dusty in the morning light, it no longer appeared alluring. He thought again of his resolve to use the money from the almoner"s fund to make good his escape, and the honest crimson rose to his cheek.
"I am no better than a thief," he cried aloud. "I will go back; and if it needs be that I suffer, G.o.d help me, for the flesh is weak."
As he arose to his feet he saw with a shock of surprise that he had paused near to the little rocky knoll, called, from its strange resemblance to a human skull, Golgotha. Upon the bald summit of this place of death stood a cross, and upon the cross hung the figure of a man--naked save for his scanty rags which fluttered fitfully in the light breeze, the clear light of the dawn revealing with ghastly insistency his drawn features, and the purple wounds in his hands and feet. At the foot of the cross lay two Roman soldiers, evidently detailed to watch the dying man; they were snoring loudly, a half-emptied wine-skin upon the gra.s.s between them revealing the manner in which they had beguiled the night watches.
As Stephen gazed at this horrible sight, the figure on the cross writhed feebly, the blue lips parted. "G.o.d! daylight again, and I live--live--"
were the words which gushed out from them in a quavering shriek.
Sick with a fear that he could not control, Stephen approached the cross, treading carefully lest he should awaken the brutal sleepers at its foot.
"Water!" cried the sufferer. "Yes, I see it--a brown stream running over its pebbles--a lake deep and cool. I will hide in it, my hands are burning--no, no, they are dead."
"Here is water," said Stephen in a trembling voice, holding his flask to the lips of the dying wretch--for he hung low, his feet almost touching the ground.
But the man could not drink; he opened his glazing eyes, apparently not seeing the face of angelic pity at his side, for he fell to babbling disconnectedly of many things, mingling frightful curses on his tormentors with prayers to the pagan G.o.ds.
Stephen sent up a swift prayer for help; he could pray now. "Listen!"
he cried, not heeding the fact that a group of wayfarers had stopped and were regarding him with open-mouthed amazement. "Listen--thou mayest yet be saved. Jesus of Nazareth can save thee! Master, hear--I beseech thee--and save!"
The dim eyes were turned upon him now; there was a gleam of understanding in them. "Art thou--Jesus--of Nazareth?"
"Nay, I am but his servant. Call upon him quickly to forgive--to save."
"Jesus--forgive--save!" gasped the failing voice, then all was still.
Stephen looked once into the quiet face of the man on the cross, then down at the soldiers, who were beginning to stir a little. One of them sat up and threw his arms above his head and yawned.
"By Bacchus!" he exclaimed. "I must have slept,--a murrain on these night watches, the fellow could not have gotten away." Then his eye fell upon Stephen. "Who art thou?" he cried, springing to his feet; "and what art thou doing here? If now thou hast meddled with the malefactor--ha! the fellow is gone. Didst thou give him aught to help him to his death?"
"No, friend," answered Stephen quietly. "I but spoke to him of Jesus, the Redeemer; and if G.o.d will, that word hath helped him to eternal life."
The man to whom he had spoken made a motion as if to seize him, but the other, who had also awakened, held him back.
"Let be," he said in a low voice; "he hath done no harm; "tis Stephen, the Nazarene."
The soldier dropped his arm. "Go," he commanded briefly; "we had orders to allow no one near the cross of this man."
Stephen bowed his head and pa.s.sed on. He walked swiftly--as he had done before the dawn--but this time his face was steadfastly set towards Jerusalem, and upon it shone the light of a peace which the world had not given, and which from henceforth it was powerless to take away.
Verily, when the day breaks, the shadows flee away.
CHAPTER XXVII.
IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW.
"Do thou, Ben Obed, watch the man till such time as I shall send thee word. Then--thou art known unto him? A fortunate chance--say this to him, "There is one ailing at my house, who desireth thy immediate presence." He will at once follow thee, and thou shalt fetch him without delay into the Council Chamber."
"Suppose that he will not follow me?" said the young man, fixing his black eyes upon the floor with a somewhat sullen expression.
Caleb looked at him keenly for a moment before replying. "If thou art zealous to secure for thyself the position whereof I have spoken, and the sum of silver which shall also be the reward of thy diligence, thou wilt not lack means to bring the man away from the mult.i.tude without exciting any tumult. It is not expedient for me to appear in this matter, else would I undertake it. But thou art not the only one, there is Malluch, or----"
"I will fetch him," said Ben Obed looking up hastily; "have I not said that I would do it?"
"The reward is sure," pursued Caleb. "And thou wilt have moreover the approval of thine own conscience in the matter, in that thou art, in serving thine own interests, also serving G.o.d--and doubt not that thine obedience will be as a sweet savor before him."
"What will they do with the--with Stephen?" asked the young man shifting uneasily about in his place. "He is--that is--I think--" and he stopped short, his eyes fixed eagerly on the face of his superior.
Caleb straightened himself, and his face hardened. "I have not asked the question of them above me in authority. To receive an order and to obey it without question, comment, or opinion hath ever been my way. It should also be thy way if thou hast a desire to advance thyself in life.
As also it is written, "Seest thou a man diligent in his business, he shall stand before kings." This have I done; not once, but many times,"
and the speaker drew himself up to his full height, and pa.s.sed his beard through his hand with the same impressive gesture that he had observed many times--and admired--in the lordly Annas. "Go now, young man," he continued, "and acquit thyself well, as becometh the son of a wise and diligent man. So shall thy mother rejoice in the day of thy birth."
"They will imprison him," muttered Iddo Ben Obed to himself as he turned away. "He hath a.s.suredly spoken contrary to the law; and why should I not witness to the truth? A man must faithfully perform the duties whereunto he is called without partiality. This Stephen is a Greek--at least by his father--and is it lawful to set the son of a malefactor in a place of authority? I say not. If he were once out of the way I could win the maid Anat. I know that I could. I can give her a home and abundance of all that she hath need of. I will do this thing. He hath brought it upon himself, for I have thrice warned him to leave Jerusalem. He will not leave, and why?--he thinks forsooth that I am blind."
And having come to the place where the daily distributions were wont to be made, he mingled with the mult.i.tude and waited for the appearance of the seven, as the deacons were now commonly called. They appeared at last, laden with the day"s alms, and began to make distribution among the waiting poor. Iddo noticed that Stephen"s face was very pale, and that blue shadows lay beneath his dark eyes. He smiled evilly. "He is afraid," he sneered. And being now determined upon the course which he meant to follow, he allowed his jealous hatred of the man to spring up unchecked, and because hatred is a plant of quick and easy growth, especially when nourished by envy, it came to pa.s.s that within the half hour Ben Obed had seen every trace of love, justice and pity in his soul quite destroyed. "I hate him," he whispered to himself, clenching his fists. "I care not what they do with him. I hate him."
The distribution took an unusually long time that morning, and Iddo noticed with a scowl how that all the poor widows and little children lingered for a word with the youngest of the seven--Stephen, the well-loved of the poor, as he was often called.
"Hypocrite!" said Iddo beneath his breath. As he uttered the word he was startled to feel a light touch on his shoulder; turning quickly, his eye fell upon the messenger appointed by Caleb.
""Tis the time," said the man with a wink. "Bring him outside now; I will be at hand should you need help."
Ben Obed nodded. He could not trust himself to speak, the hatred had grown so mighty that it struggled to cry out. He approached Stephen cautiously, and laid his hand upon his arm.
"There is one--who is ailing--at my house," he said with difficulty.
"Wilt thou come with me?"
Stephen looked up with a smile. "Peace be with thee, Ben Obed, and to all that are within thy house; yes, I will come with thee, but let me first speak with this woman, who hath patiently waited for me since the beginning of the distribution. What is it that thou wouldst ask of me, woman?"
"I have brought hither my babe," answered the woman in a low, anxious voice. "He doth not wake and smile on me as formerly, but only sleeps.
Surely it is not well with him."
"If he sleep he shall do well," said Stephen, unconsciously quoting the words of his Master when told of the sickness of Lazarus. "And if G.o.d will that he wake in heaven, then wouldst thou have a child growing to manhood among the angels. Dost thou not covet this for thy child?"
"Nay, for I love him too much to wish him out of my arms," said the mother, dashing the bright drops from her eyes; "and I have not seen heaven."
"My business with thee is urgent," whispered Ben Obed imperatively.
Stephen did not seem to have heard. He laid his hand on the child"s head, "Thy will concerning this little one be done, O Father, in the name of Jesus."
"But thou hast not asked for his healing!" cried the mother.
"I have asked for the best that heaven holds for him, or for any one of us," said Stephen gently. "But see, thy child hath awakened," then he turned to Ben Obed. "I will go with thee," he said simply, but there was that in his eyes that caused Iddo to drop his own to the earth.
Once on the street Stephen walked swiftly, so swiftly that Ben Obed had some difficulty in keeping up with him. He exchanged glances with the messenger of Caleb who was following at a discreet distance, and the man rapidly overtook them.
"We will go this way," said Ben Obed in a hard voice. But Stephen was silent. Something in his still face angered the young man at his side beyond control. "Why dost thou not speak?" he cried in a choked voice, scarce knowing what he said.