path: root/70520-0.txt

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 70520 ***








[Transcriber's notes: Inconsistent spellings of some words and names
are as printed.  The source book's list of illustrations did not
include the full page illustrations.  They have been added to this
ebook.]





  NAOMI

  OR THE

  LAST DAYS OF JERUSALEM



  BY

  MRS. J. B. WEBB


  AUTHOR OF "HELEN MORDAUNT"



  WITH ILLUSTRATIONS.



  LONDON
  GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS
  BROADWAY, LUDGATE HILL
  GLASGOW, MANCHESTER, AND NEW YORK




BY THE SAME AUTHOR.

HELEN MORDAUNT

OR

THE STANDARD OF LIFE.

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY JOHN ABSOLON.




PREFACE

TO

THE SEVENTEENTH EDITION.


If when this book was first written the Author could say that the
"signs of the times pointed strongly towards the Holy Land and the
once glorious city of Jerusalem, and that the eyes of many--both Jews
and Gentiles--were turned thither in anxious expectation," how much
more emphatically may the same assertion now be made!

The interest felt for God's ancient people, the Jews, has been
gradually increasing; and their condition, as a people, has been
greatly improved.  Many decrees have been passed in their favour in
various lands; and in few civilized countries are they now subjected
to either persecution or contumely.  Moreover, the hearts of
multitudes of Christians are awakened to feelings of love and
sympathy towards their elder brethren of the Jewish Church: the
servants of Christ "think upon the stones of Jerusalem, and it
pitieth them to see her in the dust."

All this, combined with many other circumstances to which the
attention of the world has been called of late years, leads us to
hope that as the threatened _judgments_ of the Lord have been awfully
accomplished in the dispersion of his chosen people, his promises for
their restoration may ere long be found equally sure.  We know that
there is a "_tribulation_--the _great one_"--yet to be brought on the
land of Israel, and on her gathered population; but that will usher
in their final glory and redemption.  Then the same Almighty power
which has turned the fruitful field into a "desolate wilderness,"
will cause that "wilderness" to "blossom as the rose;" and the same
hand that once scattered the Jews over the face of the world, and
made them a proverb and a by-word to the Gentile nations, will "bring
them again to their own land," and make them the "joy of the whole
earth."

While we contemplate the present fallen condition of the children of
Israel, and the desolate state in which their "good land"--once
"flowing with milk and honey"--is still lying, our minds naturally
revert to their former glory, and the unexampled prosperity with
which they were blessed: and we ask _wherefore_ they have thus been
degraded from their high position?  God's word gives the
answer--"Because they rebelled against the Lord, and lightly regarded
the judgments of the Most High:" and, believing that such
considerations may be both interesting and profitable to young
readers, the Author ventured--with a full sense of her own
incompetence to do justice to the subject--to attempt a narrative,
the scene of which is chiefly laid in Jerusalem; and the period it
embraces is one of the most eventful and calamitous that has ever
been detailed in history.  It may be thought that the circumstances
of horror and bloodshed have been dwelt on with too much minuteness;
but let it be remembered that all the events here related, and many
others far more appalling, did actually take place when God avenged
himself on his rebellious people: and let it further be remembered,
that these things were intended not only for the chastisement of the
Jews, but also for the warning of the Gentiles.

We know, from the declaration of Christ himself, that a _greater
tribulation_ is yet to come on the earth.  God grant that we may be
warned in time, and prepared to meet it!  May we be among those
blessed servants of the Lord for whom a surer refuge--a more glorious
Pella--will be provided in that day, that so we may "escape those
things that are coming on the earth, and stand before the Son of Man!"

The Author cannot forbear here expressing her sense of the favour and
indulgence with which her attempt to portray "the last days of
Jerusalem" has been hitherto received; and her earnest hope that it
may have led some of her readers to feel a greater interest in the
Jews, and to "pray for the peace of Jerusalem."  Let us pray also for
their conversion, and their preparation to meet their expected
Messiah: for thus shall we be exercising the highest duties of
Christian charity, and repaying in the best manner our obligations to
those unto whom the promises of God were first made, and "from whom,
as concerning the flesh, Christ came."




ILLUSTRATIONS BY BARTLETT.


Jerusalem from the Mount of Olives

Tombs of the Kings

NAOMI, AND MARY THE SISTER OF LAZARUS

Bethany

Interior of the Golden Gate

Exterior of the Holy Sepulchre

Sculpture on the Arch of Titus

DEATH OF ANANUS

Absalom's Tomb

Bethlehem

SALOME INTERCEDING FOR NAOMI

Fountain of the Virgin

Convent at Santa Saba

Group of Cattle

MARY OF BETHANY INTERRUPTED BY JAVAN

Bedouin Arabs

Tomb of Rachel

Christian Ladies

Tombs of the Kings

Tombs of the Kings

ZADOK AT THE ALTAR

Vaults of the Harem

THE ESCAPE OF TITUS

Attack of the First Wall

FAMINE AND MADNESS

Burning of the Temple

Tombs of the Kings




NAOMI



CHAPTER I.

The sun was slowly sinking behind the lofty buildings which crowned
the hill of Zion, and its departing beams were glowing on the marble
walls and golden pinnacles of the Temple, when young Naomi and her
friend Claudia came forth from the dwelling of Zadok the priest, and
wandered down the lovely little stream of Siloë.  They passed through
the Water Gate, and entered a garden of luxuriant fruit-trees, which
extended to the margin of the brook Kedron on the east, while its
southern boundary was watered by Siloë's rippling waves, which flowed
into the Kedron at that spot.  Here the two maidens seated
themselves, to enjoy the balmy freshness of an evening in an eastern
clime, and to gaze upon the glorious city which lay before them, now
hushed in silence as the day declined, and the clear blue vault of
heaven that stretched without a cloud above their heads.

"Naomi," said Claudia, "how sweetly the peaceful silence of this
quiet spot comes over my soul, after the noise and tumult of the day!
When my father sent me from the Roman camp, to take refuge with you
in your Holy City, I hoped to have found safety and tranquillity, but
instead of the calm cheerfulness which reigned within these walls in
former years, when I spent so much of my happy childhood with you, I
now find nothing but discord and rebellion; and instead of the sweet
sounds of the timbrel and pipe, I hear the din of war, the clashing
of arms, and the trampling march of soldiers in their military
exercises.  My spirit sinks when I look forward to the scenes we may
yet witness.  Our legions will surely turn their march towards
Jerusalem, when the conquest of the cities of Galilee is completed;
and what can your troops, though brave, hope to do, when opposed to
the soldiers of Vespasian? or how will your gates and boasted walls
be able to stand against the powerful engines of the Romans?"

"We fear them not, Claudia," replied the high-spirited young Jewess,
and her bright black eyes flashed as she spoke; "we fear them not:
Never shall our holy and beautiful city be given into the hands of
those fierce and cruel idolaters.  Forgive me, dear Claudia, but
though they are your countrymen, and you have been brought up in
their impious religion, I cannot forbear expressing my firm
conviction that the God of our fathers will yet preserve us from
these Gentiles, nor suffer the house where He has placed his name to
be again trampled on and defiled by those who know him not."

"I forgive you, Naomi; indeed, I love to see you when these proud
thoughts fill your breast.  You look like our majestic goddess
Minerva, and only want a panoply of mail to personate her well.  My
heart is of a different mould to yours; and I admire your spirit,
though I cannot emulate it.  You should have been born a Roman, and
you would have rivalled any of our heroines of old."

"Better far to be a daughter of Israel," replied Naomi.  "Better far
to be one of God's own people, though now for our sins we are
degraded and in sorrow, than to belong to that nation who are
employed in the hand of Jehovah to chastise his chosen race!  Soon
will He, for whom we wait in eager expectation, appear in the clouds
in glory, and rescue his children from all those that oppress them.
Then shall the people who worship stocks and stones be driven away
before the brightness of his coming, and his own adopted children be
exalted for ever!"

The colour mounted into the usually pale cheeks of Naomi, as she thus
expressed her own enthusiastic feelings, while her eyes were fixed on
the darkening sky above her, and her hands upraised, as if even then
she awaited the sound of the trumpet, and the vision of the Messiah
coming in the air.  The expectation of his immediate appearance was,
at that period, very widely diffused and strongly felt by the Jews;
and it is supposed that this vain hope had greatly encouraged them in
their revolt, and obstinate resistance against the power of the
Romans.  They entertained a firm conviction that their great
Deliverer would shortly be manifested to his people, and that
although for a time their oppressors had been permitted to triumph
over them, yet their destruction as a people would never take place;
and that in their hour of greatest extremity their King and Saviour
would appear, to re-establish the throne of his father David, and to
raise their nation to a glory and prosperity surpassing that of
Solomon.

Claudia was impressed by the vehemence of her friend's manner; but
she regarded all her hopes as vain delusions, and, after a pause, she
replied:

"Naomi, your wild religion blinds and deceives you, and in these
visionary expectations you forget the danger of the present time.
Instead of indulging in such idle dreams, your wisest course would
be, to use all your influence in persuading your father to abandon
this city while yet there is time, and throw himself on the clemency
of Vespasian.  Zadok's character stands high, both among the Romans
and his own people, for wisdom, integrity, and courage; and if he
were to take so prudent a step, and recommend it to his countrymen,
his example would probably be followed by many, if not all; and oh!
Naomi, what bloodshed and misery would be averted!  Your nation would
be restored to peace and security, and plenty would again be seen in
those districts which our legions have already reduced to desolation.
Had you witnessed all the horrors of war and massacre that I have
done, I think even your courage would shrink from drawing such
fearful calamities upon your beloved city.  My blood curdles when I
remember the miseries of which I was an unwilling spectator, while I
accompanied my father in Vespasian's camp.  Truly I believe the sight
of sufferings which she could not relieve, added to the fatigue and
constant excitement of our military life, hastened the death of my
dear mother.  Would that the gods had permitted her and me to remain
in Jerusalem when my father was called to join the army!  Then I
should not thus early have had to weep over her grave: but it was her
fate, and I must submit."

The tears rolled down the fair countenance of Claudia as she spoke of
her beloved mother, and ineffectually sought consolation for her
death in the cold maxims of philosophy, which were all that the
heathen system of religion could afford her.  Naomi endeavoured, as
she had often done before, to awaken in her dark mind the belief in
one Almighty God, by whose superintending Providence all events are
governed; but her friend was too firmly convinced of the truth of her
own religion to be thus easily shaken, or induced to listen to the
despised doctrines of a Jew; she therefore hastily resumed the
subject of the war, and, in spite of Naomi's indignant replies,
continued to urge upon her the necessity of submission to the
overwhelming and resistless power of Rome.

"Claudia," said Naomi at length, rising from her mossy seat, and
extending her hand towards the lofty walls and towers of the city,
now dark in the shades of evening; "Claudia, I would rather, oh! ten
thousand times rather perish beneath those sacred walls, if it be the
will of Jehovah that the spoiler should again possess them, than live
to see my people once more subject to the Roman power.  We have nobly
shaken it off, and never till we are exterminated will we cease to
resist their oppressions, and assert our freedom.  You wonder at my
enthusiasm, as you call it; but be assured the same spirit animates
every son and every daughter of Israel: and when your proud legions
advance beneath these impenetrable walls, they will be received with
such a welcome as shall prove that in Jerusalem at least the soul of
our fathers still survives."

"May the gods preserve us from beholding the conflict!" answered
Claudia, with a shudder, as she rose to accompany her friend towards
their home: "I should regret then that I had persuaded my father to
send me here, after my poor mother's death, instead of to Cæsarea, as
he proposed; but my heart was with you, Naomi, and I felt that in
your company, and that of your gentle mother, I should find comfort
in my sorrow.  My father's strong regard and high esteem for Zadok
induced him to consent to my returning to your house, as your
mother's letter so kindly proposed; and at that time he had no idea
that the war would continue so long, or spread from Galilee into
Judea.  Should Vespasian bring his army against Jerusalem--as my
father's last letter seemed to announce--he will of course send for
me, and place me at Cæsarea, with his friends who dwell there, and
from thence I could easily embark for Rome, and join my brother
Marcellus.  He has been residing in the capital with our uncle
Sulpitius ever since we left Jerusalem two years ago; and he writes
me glowing descriptions of the splendour and magnificence of the
imperial city.  You know we were both so young when we came from our
native land to Judea, that we had forgotten all her glory and beauty.
Marcellus tells me that he is very soon to be enrolled among the
emperor's troops, and then he will probably be sent into this
country, if the war is not concluded.  Now I shall rejoice to see my
dear, kind brother again; and you too, Naomi, will not you welcome
him?  You were always the greatest friends; and every letter he
writes is full of inquiries and kind messages to you.  But, alas! I
forget myself.  If Marcellus comes to Judea, it will probably be as
the enemy of your land and people; and this cruel war will separate
those who have been brought up together, and loved each other as
brother and sister from childhood."

Naomi was saved the embarrassment of a reply by their reaching her
father's house; and she was glad of the circumstance, for the theme
interested her feelings more than she wished Claudia to discover.
Rufus the centurion had resided for many years at Jerusalem, holding
a command in the imperial army, and his band composing part of the
guards stationed in the city.  Mutual obligations, and a respect for
each other's character, had created a sincere friendship between him
and Naomi's father Zadok, who, though he was a priest, and devotedly
attached to the Jewish faith, was not blind to the generous and
excellent qualities which distinguished the Roman soldier.  Their
families had constant intercourse, and their children grew up
together in habits of familiar friendship.  Naomi and Claudia
regarded each other as sisters; nor did the difference of their
religion or the contrast in their dispositions ever cause a
disagreement between them.  Marcellus was their constant companion,
and their protector in their rambles among the verdant hills, and
luxurious meadows and gardens which surrounded the city; and the
mutual attachment which grew up between him and Naomi was remarked
and smiled at by their parents while they were yet children.  But as
they advanced in years, it caused some uneasiness to Zadok and his
amiable wife Salome, who could not allow themselves to contemplate
the possibility of a union between their beloved daughter and an
idolater.  Nor was such an intention ever entertained by Naomi her
soul was peculiarly susceptible to feelings of piety, and she
worshipped the God of her fathers with a sincerity and fervency of
devotion which was not common in the days of degeneracy and hypocrisy
in which she lived.  Idolatry she regarded with unfeigned abhorrence;
and while she loved her Roman friends with all the natural warmth of
an affectionate heart, she grieved for their profane and impious
creed, and many were the attempts she made to convince them of its
folly.  Hitherto her efforts had been entirely unavailing, and she
could gain no further concession from her young companions than an
acknowledgment that Jehovah, the God of Israel, might certainly be a
_Deity_; but they looked upon him merely as one of that host of
deities in whom their religion taught them to believe, and by no
means superior to their own false gods.  This being the case, Naomi
would have preferred death to a connexion with a Gentile idolater;
and she persuaded herself that her attachment to Marcellus was
nothing more than friendship.

When, however, Rufus and his family were called away from Jerusalem,
and his son was sent to Rome to perfect his military education, she
felt a void in her heart which convinced her that she had allowed too
much of her happiness to depend on Marcellus, and she resolutely
determined to check every thought and extinguish every hope that was
connected with him.  At the time of which we are now speaking he had
been absent for two years; and her praiseworthy efforts had been so
far successful that she had recovered her spirits, and entered into
all her duties and occupations with interest and animation.  She was
gifted with a strong mind, and a proud, independent spirit, which
enabled her to command her feelings to a great degree; and even her
mother, who was usually her confident in all her joys and sorrows,
believed that she had entirely forgotten the brave and amiable young
Roman.

The return of her friend Claudia, to seek protection in Zadok's
house, when the death of her own mother rendered it impossible for
her to remain with Rufus in the camp, a source of great delight to
Naomi; but it revived many recollections which she had long been
endeavouring to banish from her mind, and she found herself listening
with pleasure to Claudia's often-repeated praises of her brother, and
the kind messages which his letters contained to herself; but she
never spoke of him except as the friend of her childhood, whom, in
all probability, she should never see again.

Perhaps the contrast between Marcellus and her own brother Javan had
exalted the good qualities of the former in her eyes.  Javan, even as
a child, had manifested a cruel and unhumbled disposition; and his
domineering spirit had been the frequent cause of disputes between
him and Marcellus, who invariably took the part of the oppressed, and
defended those whom Javan would have annoyed or injured.  The
affection which Naomi entertained for Marcellus excited his jealousy
and indignation; and he often upbraided her with her friendship for
idolaters, and used very opprobrious language to the young Roman
himself, which, but for the interposition of their sisters, would
have ended perhaps in fierce and fatal contests.

As Javan arrived at years of manhood, this unamiable temper rather
increased than lessened; and it was greatly aggravated by the spirit
of fanaticism which took possession of his soul, and rendered his
religion a motive to fierce and arrogant conduct, instead of having
the effect of softening his heart, and leading him to such holy and
gentle and charitable dispositions as are most acceptable to the God
of love and mercy.  His father Zadok was of the sect of the
Pharisees, and was therefore a strict and rigid observer of the
ceremonial law,--not only of every point which was enjoined by the
lawgiver Moses, but also of all those customs which were derived from
the traditions of the Elders.  He did not, however, fall into the
grievous error which was so severely rebuked by our blessed Saviour;
he did not, like so many of his self-righteous brethren, "wash merely
the outside of the cup and platter, while inwardly their hearts were
full of extortion and violence;" neither did he "make broad his
phylacteries, and enlarge the borders of his garments," merely "to be
seen of men."  It is true that such erroneous motives did to a
certain degree influence his conduct, but he was nevertheless a man
of sincere piety and devotion; and his prayers in secret were not
less frequent and regular than the public acts of worship which,
according to the custom of the priests and Pharisees, be performed in
the streets and marketplaces.

Javan emulated, and even surpassed his excellent father in a
scrupulous adherence to the minutest points of ceremony.  He
performed the many ablutions prescribed by law and tradition: and
even paid tithe of the mint and cummin, and other herbs, which grew
almost spontaneously in his father's fertile garden: but unhappily he
had none of the real piety which distinguished Zadok; and the
violence of his temper and haughtiness of his disposition were a
source of constant sorrow to his gentle mother.

Salome was of a spirit far different to that of any of the other
members of her family: mild, timid, and dependent, she was guided in
everything by her husband; and as his office in the priesthood
necessarily kept him much from home, she found herself unequal to
controlling the spirits of either Javan or Naomi; and her mistaken
indulgence was the cause of much that was to be regretted in the
character of each of her children.  The affectionate disposition of
Naomi, and the natural candour and rectitude of her mind, preserved
her from being as much injured as her wayward brother was, by the
undue liberty which they enjoyed during their childhood and early
youth.  She was devotedly attached to her mother; and from her she
derived those lessons of piety and fervent charity, which were
remarkable in her character, though the energy of her soul carried
her far beyond Salome in enthusiastic feeling and active performance
of duty.  She was the pride and delight of both her parents; and
probably the preference which they felt and could hardly conceal for
her, produced an evil tendency in the heart of Javan; who, feeling
that he was less beloved than his sister, instead of endeavouring to
imitate her dutiful and affectionate behaviour, became sullen and
morose, and shunned the society of his family.  Naomi made every
effort to recover his affection, though with little success.  She
wove for him the broadest and most beautiful fringes, to adorn the
borders of his festal garment according to the commandment of the
Lord to Moses, and fixed upon the fringe a ribbon of the brightest
blue.[1]  And she employed the skill she had acquired from her father
(and which she possessed in a far higher degree than the generality
of Jewish females), in writing upon slips of white parchment choice
sentences from the law, to compose the phylacteries that he wore on
his forehead and on his wrist--a custom which the Jews derived from
the direction to make the commandments of God "a sign upon their
hand, and a memorial between their eyes."[2] Unhappily it had become
perverted from its original meaning, and had sunk into a mere
superstitious form; and many, especially of the Pharisees, were
contented to carry the law of the Lord upon their persons and their
garments, while it entered not into their hearts.  When Javan came
home in a sullen mood, Naomi would take her harp, and sing to him one
of the songs of the royal Psalmist; and her sweet voice had
frequently the same effect on her brother that the young shepherd's
had on Saul--the evil spirit would depart from him.  But it was not
the psalm of penitence or praise that he loved best to hear; it was
the tone of exultation and triumph, or the prophecy of vengeance,
that breathes forth in some of the inspired songs of David, which met
with corresponding emotions in the breast of the fiery young Jew, and
recalled his spirit from its own passions and resentments, to a
contemplation of the promised restoration and glory of his nation,
and the signal punishment of all their foes.


[1] Numbers xv. 38.

[2] Exodus xiii. 9.


It was a frequent practice of Zadok, and several other of the most
learned of his fraternity, to meet together for the express purpose
of studying those parts of the Scriptures which so clearly set forth
the future prosperity of the Jews and the reign of the Messiah: and
endeavouring to calculate from the various dates which refer to that
blessed period, whether the appearance of their King and Saviour
might be speedily looked for, according to the popular expectation.
At these meetings Javan always attended; and his ardent and
enthusiastic notions and wild conjectures called forth the smiles,
and sometimes the reproofs, of the graver and more cool-headed
rabbin, though they highly commended his zeal, and the industry with
which he pursued the study of the Holy Scriptures.  He was already a
wonderful proficient in the sacred writings which compose the Old
Testament, and had transcribed a large portion of them on the rolls
of parchment employed at that time as a substitute for books.  Zadok
was possessed also of several rare and precious manuscripts, which
contained the traditions of the Elders, and were regarded by the
scribes and Pharisees as of equal, or even superior authority to the
inspired Scriptures, and in any disputed case were appealed to in
preference to the word of God himself.  These were also carefully
studied and highly reverenced by his bigoted son, who aspired one day
to become an authorised and distinguished expounder of the oral or
traditionary law, and to attain the highly-desired title of _Rabbi_
or teacher.

Into this family, the character of whose members we have attempted to
describe, Claudia, the heathen maiden, was removed from the camp of
the Roman army, and domesticated as a daughter.  It may perhaps
excite surprise that her father, being himself an idolater, should
permit her thus to associate with Jews; but the fact was that Rufus
was an idolater because he had been brought up as such, and not
because he believed the worship of Jupiter or Mars to be more
rational than that of Jehovah.  His active military life had diverted
his attention from such subjects; and provided he acted uprightly in
all the relations of life, according to the dictates of his own
conscience and the laws of the empire, he did not hold it to be a
matter of much importance to what divinity he paid the greatest
adoration.  He did not wish his daughter to become a Jew; nor did he
think it probable that she would be inclined to embrace a religion
which appeared to him so burdensome and ridiculous; and therefore he
did not oppose her urgent request to return to Jerusalem, on the
death of her mother, and seek protection in a family whom he so
highly respected and valued.


[Illustration: Jerusalem from the Mount of Olives]




CHAPTER II.

The day following that on which the conversation we have related took
place, was one of great rejoicing in Jerusalem.  The noise of
military preparation ceased, and the tumults and conflicts which at
that period so Constantly disturbed the peace of the Holy City were
for a short time suspended.  It was the Feast of Pentecost, the day
on which the first-fruits were presented as a burnt-offering to the
Lord, and when the children of Israel celebrated the completion of
their plentiful harvest, and "rejoiced before the Lord their God,
with their sons and their daughters and their servants, and the
Levites and the strangers that were within their gates."  This was
one of the three great national festivals which were observed every
year by the Jews, according to the commandment of God, when all the
men were enjoined to assemble from the towns and villages of Judea,
and to appear before the Lord in his temple.  The disturbed state of
the country, and the necessary absence of many of the Jews who had
joined the rebel forces of Galilee, or were engaged in preparing for
the expected attack of their own cities, rendered the assemblage less
numerous than in the time of peace and security; and yet the streets
were thronged.  The sound of musical instruments was heard in every
quarter, and many were the troops of young men and maidens who were
seen going up to the temple in the measured and graceful steps of
their solemn dances, while they chanted hymns with their melodious
voices, and accompanied their songs with the harp and the psaltery.

Danger and dissension, and the discord of contending factions
appeared to be forgotten, and to the eye of a stranger all was peace
and joy.  The heart of Naomi exulted while she joined in the dance
with her young companions, and among all the youthful throng her step
was the lightest and her voice the sweetest; at least they appeared
so, in the partial judgment of her mother and her friend, who
followed in the concourse that moved towards the glorious and
magnificent temple.  Claudia took no part in the ceremony; but she
could not look unmoved on that countless multitude of worshippers,
assembled as with one heart to celebrate the praises of their Deity,
and to offer on his altar the first-fruits of the bounteous harvest
which had just been gathered in.  The exquisite beauty and richness
of the building, which was conspicuous from every part of the city
and the surrounding country, have been frequently described, and must
be familiar to every reader.  It rose high above the whole city, and
united the strength of a citadel with the splendour of a sacred
edifice.

We are told that the plain on which it was erected, and which
occupied the whole summit of the hill, had been greatly enlarged
since the time of Solomon, and now consisted of a square of a furlong
on each side.  The steep sides of the rock were faced with stones of
an enormous size, some of them being seventy feet long; and we may
suppose that it was to these huge blocks so wonderfully placed, and
so accurately fitted together, that the disciples called the
attention of their Master, when, as they stood over against the
temple, they exclaimed in pride and admiration, "Behold what manner
of stones and what buildings are here!"  The awful denunciation which
he then uttered--"There shall not be left here one stone upon another
that shall not be thrown down"--was now rapidly approaching to its
fulfilment, and the hard-hearted and deluded inhabitants of that
devoted city knew it not, nor sought to avert the impending judgment
by humiliation and prayer.  Doubtless had they even then returned,
and sought the Lord, and humbled themselves, like Nineveh in her day
of threatened destruction, they might, like Nineveh, have been heard
and pardoned, and saved.  But the pride and impenitence of the Jews
were unexampled, and awful was to be their punishment.  They would
not be gathered under the wings of their merciful and forgiving
Saviour, and lo! their "city was left unto them desolate."  The
"eagles" were even now "gathering together" to devour them, and they
were feasting and rejoicing, and insulting their Maker and Governor,
by offering to Him sacrifices while their hands were stained with
blood, and uttering praises to His name while their hearts were full
of cursing, and deceit, and lies.  Amidst the general corruption,
there were yet, however, a few faithful sons of Abraham remaining,
though not enough to save the city; and Zadok was of this number.  He
stood by the altar, to receive from the hands of the people the
baskets which contained their offerings, and to hear the declaration
and confession which were appointed to be uttered on this
occasion;[1] and no covetous or unholy thoughts crossed his breast.
He was absorbed in the feelings of gratitude, and hope, and adoration
which the ceremony was so well calculated to excite; and his
dignified form and noble countenance well became the splendid robes
in which as an officiating priest he was attired.  Salome looked upon
him with love and veneration; and the proud heart of his daughter
swelled with a pardonable emotion, as with her young companions she
passed before him, and met the affectionate eye of her father.  Naomi
loved both her parents most ardently; but she looked up to Zadok as
to a being of superior nature, whose will to her was law, and whose
slightest word could control all her wild thoughts and wayward
fancies.  "Ah," said she to her mother as she returned to her side
beneath the pillared cloisters, when she had completed the circuit of
the court in the solemn procession, "if my father were but High
Priest, or a chief of one of the parties in Jerusalem, all would yet
be well.  His wisdom, and courage, and virtue would surely reconcile
all the disputes which now cause such tumult, and threaten such
danger to our beloved city; and should the Romans dare to bring their
legions against our walls, with Zadok for our defender and the leader
of our troops, how soon would they be discomfited and driven away!  I
almost wish to see their boasted armies approach, for then would all
the rival factions unite to oppose them, and we should see my father
go forth in the power and protection of the Lord, with the holy band
of priests, to encounter the foe.  And then, O my mother! we should
behold Messiah coming in the glory of Heaven to finish the conflict,
and to restore to our city and beautiful temple the majesty and power
which once dwelt here.  I look round this gorgeous building, and I
see marble pillars and pinnacles of gold, and carved roofs, and
crowded ornaments of precious materials.  But where is the presence
of God, which once abode visibly among his people, to sanctify them,
and to separate them from all others?  It has departed from us, and
therefore, 'do the heathen so furiously rage together' against us.
But it will return--surely His presence will speedily return to us,
in the person of the Messiah, and we shall yet see Jerusalem exalted,
to be the glory of the whole earth!"


[1] Deut. xxvi. 5.


"God grant it, Naomi," replied her less sanguine mother; "but I
confess I cannot utter my prayers in this temple, without some awful
forebodings that ere long the worship may be interrupted, and even
that fire and sword may lay waste our beautiful, our rich, our joyous
city.  I fear that we may yet have to sink far lower than we are now
fallen, and endure to drink far deeper of the cup of the Lord's
vengeance before the sin of our race shall be purged away, and the
'Desire of all nations shall appear to re-establish the kingdom of
his father David.'"

"O mother, why are you so fearful, and why do you suffer such
thoughts to fill your mind?  Can it ever be that Jehovah will allow
the Gentiles to triumph over his chosen race, and trample on His
courts and altars?"

"We know, Naomi, that the heathen nations of old were permitted to
conquer and desolate our city and our temple; and now, when I see the
state of impiety and rebellion against the Lord into which my
countrymen are fallen, I cannot but look for a repetition of the same
awful judgments which have already been poured upon this once
favoured land.  Have you forgotten the terrible sights and sounds
that, two years ago, at the breaking out of this fatal war occasioned
so much consternation and fear?  That dreadful sword of flame which
hung, for twelve long months, over the city; that fierce and sudden
light which, at the feast of unleavened bread, broke forth about the
altar and temple; and how the brazen gate on the eastern side of this
sacred building flew open of its own accord, and was closed with so
much difficulty by the united force of the guard?  Many of our
friends looked on this as a token that God would open to us the gate
of blessing; but Zadok said not so.  He was present at the fearful
event, and he came home sad, and with his countenance fallen; for he
dreaded that it might be a sign that the temple was no longer secure,
and that ere long the gate of the holy place might be thrown open to
the enemy."

"But," interrupted Naomi, "my father surely has no such apprehensions
now!  I hear him speaking encouragement to all around him, and his
spirit inspires every one who hears him with hope and confidence."

"Yes, my love, your father is animated by his own courage and his
trust in God.  The impression which was made upon his mind by the
events of which I am speaking has subsided.  No calamities
immediately succeeded these warnings, and, like most of his brethren,
he now considers that the danger has passed away.  But I have not the
same conviction; I never can forget those signs from heaven, or
believe that they did not forebode evils yet to come.  You stood with
me upon our house-top when, before sunset, that awful vision of
chariots and horsemen appeared in the heavens, and encompassed the
city in their wild and rapid course; and you heard your father tell
how at Pentecost, when he, with the other priests then on duty, were
entering the temple by night, they heard strange rushing sounds, and
a movement within, and then a mighty voice, as of a multitude,
crying, 'Let us depart hence!'  O my child, from that hour I have
felt that the Lord has deserted us, and his holy angels no longer
keep watch over this sacred building, to guard it from every foe.
And look! Naomi, yonder, through the crowd, is passing that terrible
and mysterious man who has haunted our city, like an evil spirit,
ever since the war began, and indeed while we were yet in peace and
prosperity.  No threats, no punishments have been able to silence
him; and now, when we are met together to hold a feast to the Lord,
and celebrate his goodness, the son, of Ananus comes to blight our
joy, and shed a gloom over every countenance."

As she spoke, this strange and terrific being passed through the
midst of the assembled throng, who shrunk from him as from one whose
presence brought a curse.  He entered the vacant space which
surrounded the spot where the priests were officiating, and raising
his bare and haggard arms on high, he exclaimed in a voice so loud
and piercing as to be heard by all who filled those spacious courts,
"A voice from the east!--a voice from the west!--a voice from the
four winds!--a voice against Jerusalem, and against the temple!--a
voice against the bridegrooms and the brides!--a voice against the
whole people!"--and then he moved across the court, and disappeared
among the crowd on the opposite side.  A shudder ran through the
whole assembly; every voice was hushed, and every eye was turned to
follow this prophet of evil.  None raise a hand to arrest his course,
for all now feared him, and knew that, though when he first appeared
in Jerusalem, and uttered his warning cry, he had been scourged until
the bones were seen through the flesh, yet that he had never either
shrieked or groaned for pain, but still had raised his sad and
faltering voice, and cried at every blow, "Woe, woe to Jerusalem!"
He was looked upon as a maniac, and now wandered undisturbed through
the city, night and day as he traversed the narrow streets still
crying, "Woe to Jerusalem!"  And at the return of every festival,
when crowds were gathered together, and mirth and joy were abroad,
his gaunt and melancholy form was sure to be seen gliding slowly
through the multitude, and his ominous voice was heard still uttering
no other words.

Before the dense crowd which now filled the temple had recovered from
the effect which his appearance never failed to excite, he had
descended the hill, and was traversing the almost deserted streets;
and in the silence which succeeded his departure, his voice could
still be heard dying away in the distance in the same melancholy
tone.  The multitude shortly afterwards dispersed, and the gaiety of
the city ceased; for ere the services of the temple were concluded,
the chief priests and leaders of the people were hastily summoned to
meet in council, and consider a despatch which had just arrived from
the commander of the Jewish forces in Galilee.  But in order more
fully to understand the importance of this despatch, it will be
necessary to give a brief sketch of the state of affairs at this time
in Judea, and of the events that had occurred since the breaking out
of the rebellion, which ended in the total desolation of this unhappy
country.

The spirit of insurrection had been abroad for several years, and
many attempts had been made to throw off the yoke of the Roman power.
The success, however, had been very partial, and could ill repay the
expenditure of blood and life which had been incurred in the
misguided efforts of the Jews to regain their liberty and
independence.  They had no foreign allies to assist and strengthen
them, for all the other Roman dominions were in peace; and even their
own countrymen who were settled in distant provinces took but little
interest in the struggles of their native land, or were too much
occupied in endeavouring to secure their own safety, to have either
leisure or power to aid in the revolt of Judea.  Even their nominal
king Agrippa, had openly declared for the Roman power; and the Jews
had no acknowledged or distinguished leader to guide them, and direct
their fierce and obstinate, but undisciplined troops.  The attempt
was therefore wild, and all but hopeless; and yet we cannot read the
account of the cruelties and oppressions which were heaped upon this
once blessed race by many of the Roman governors, and wonder that
they should spend their life-blood in the effort to shake off the
galling and ignominious yoke.  The tyranny which was practised upon
them by Cuspius Fadus, by Felix, by Festus, and more especially by
Florus, had galled their proud spirit beyond endurance; and in the
year of our Lord 66, they were in open rebellion against their
conquerors.

The bold defiance of this comparatively weak and insignificant
province excited the astonishment and even the alarm of the Emperor
Nero, and he immediately dispatched Vespasian, one of his greatest
generals, to take the command of Syria, and to use the promptest
measures for quelling the revolt, before the example of these daring
men should be followed by the surrounding provinces.  Vespasian sent
his son Titus to Alexandria, to bring from thence the fifth and tenth
legions; and set out himself without delay for Syria, collecting by
the way all the Roman troops, and the tributary forces from the
neighbouring kingdoms.

These active measures on the part of the Roman emperor struck terror
into many of the rebels, who hastened to offer their submission; but
the greater part were determined to resist to the uttermost.  A
general meeting of the chief men in Jerusalem was summoned in the
temple, for the purpose of choosing governors and commanders; and
Joseph the son of Gorion, and Ananus the high-priest, were elected as
governors in the city; while Joseph the son of Mathias (more commonly
known as Josephus the historian) was appointed to the command of
Galilee; and other chiefs were entrusted with the defence of the
remaining districts and cities.  Eleazar, the son of Simon, who had
been active in the first movements of the insurrection, had no
authority committed to him; but being the commander of the temple
guard, he contrived to gain possession of a large portion of the
public treasures, and the spoils which had been taken from the Romans
at the breaking out of the war.  He therefore, by means of this
wealth, obtained great power and influence over the people; which, as
we shall hereafter perceive, he exerted to no good purpose.

Josephus immediately hastened to his government in Galilee, where it
was expected that the struggle would first take place.  This country
was rich and fertile, and inhabited by a numerous and hardy
population of Jews and Syrians intermixed.  It was divided into two
districts, Upper and Lower Galilee, and Sepphoris was the capital
city.  The fortification of this important place Josephus entrusted
to the celebrated John of Gischala, a crafty and deceitful man, but
bold, enterprising, and active; and who afterwards opposed all the
measures of the governor, and promoted the spirit of discord which
already divided the province, and thus proved an obstacle to the
effectual resistance of the common foe.  Jotapata, Tiberias, and some
deep caves near the lake of Gennesareth were also strongly fortified,
besides many other towns and fortresses; and an army of 60,000 foot
soldiers was established, besides a considerable body of cavalry.
But all the wise and prudent schemes of Josephus were constantly
rendered ineffectual by the plots and opposition of John of Gischala,
whom he himself had raised to power.  He had formerly been a poor and
desperate adventurer, and lived by robbery and violence: he by
degrees induced others as unprincipled as himself to join him, and
formed a numerous banditti, who ravaged the country, committing every
kind of outrage; and to this dangerous man was entrusted, in the
present emergency, the command of the Galilean capital.

For many months the contest and rivalry between John and Josephus
continued, and greatly interrupted the defence of the country; and
time and money were wasted in mutual endeavours to gain over the
chiefs of Jerusalem to espouse the cause of each party.  In the
metropolis, the preparations for war and defence were carried on with
zeal and energy, and the streets and public places echoed with the
clash of arms and the tramp of the soldiers marching to exercise.
The prudent and the timid trembled at the prospect of the miseries
and desolation to which they foresaw their glorious city and
luxuriant fields might be ere long devoted; but the fear in which the
peaceable inhabitants were held by the zealots the fanatics, and the
assassins, who ruled in the city, silenced every murmur, and checked
every sigh for the re-establishment of the dominion of the Romans.

By the command of Ananus, the high-priest, the walls were repaired
and strengthened, arms and military engines were manufactured, and
provisions and other necessary articles were collected, and stored up
in abundance, to be ready in case of a siege.  It was not only from
the timid and disaffected in the city that Ananus experienced
coldness, and had to contend; his power was opposed without the walls
by Simon, the son of Gioras, who, at the head of a lawless band of
ruffians, overran and pillaged the toparchy of Acrabatene, breaking
open the dwellings of the rich, and ill-treating all who endeavoured
to put a stop to his deeds of violence and cruelty.  The high-priest
sent forth a body of troops against him; but the fierce Simon escaped
their vengeance, and found safety in the town of Masada, from whence
he made incursions into Idumæa.

Thus were the affairs of Judea and Galilee situated when the spring
of the year 67 commenced; and Vespasian with his mighty forces
appeared at Antioch, and was joined by King Agrippa and his army.  On
his march toward Ptolemais he was met by an embassy from Sepphoris,
with overtures of submission, which, in spite of the opposition of
the governor of Galilee, the inhabitants of the capital persisted in
making to the invaders; and Vespasian sent them back with a strong
reinforcement of troops, under the command of Placidus, to protect
the town from the vengeance of the rebel Jews.  Josephus made an
ineffectual effort to regain possession of the capital; but the
attempt only provoked the Romans to greater cruelty, and thousands of
the inhabitants of the adjacent country were destroyed by fire and
sword, or carried away as captives.  At Ptolemais, Titus joined his
father with the troops from Alexandria, and the whole army of
Vespasian now amounted to 60,000, including cavalry, besides the
mixed multitude that followed the camp, many of whom were employed
when occasion required.

Josephus saw that it was vain to oppose so formidable an army in the
open field, and he sent forth orders for all the inhabitants of the
villages to take refuge in the fortified cities.  Many were cut off,
and slaughtered in the flight; but the greatest part of the
population were able to secure their retreat, and found present
safety within the walls and bulwarks.  The Jewish commander took up
his own station at Jotapata, the strongest and most important of all
the cities of Galilee; and thither the troops under Placidus were
led, in the hope that by a sudden attack the place might be captured,
and the governor himself taken prisoner.  But Josephus was aware of
this intention, and sallied forth to meet the Romans with such
impetuosity that they were repulsed, and forced to retreat; and this
success inspired the Jews with fresh courage and determination.

Hitherto the main body of the vast army of Vespasian had been
inactive; but he was now resolved to lead them forth himself, and
crush the rebellious Jews with his resistless force.  The foremost
troops consisted of the archers and the light-armed allies, who
preceded the cavalry and heavy-armed infantry, examining every
thicket and wood, to discover whether the enemy were lurking in
ambush.  After the cavalry came the pioneers, with their spades and
pickaxes, to clear away all obstacles which might interrupt the march
of the phalanx; the camp-furniture followed, under a strong guard;
then the general and his troop of horse, succeeded by the military
engines and their attendant engineers.  The lieutenant-generals and
their inferior officers came next in order and after them the
standards, the glittering eagles, which were looked upon as sacred.
To every legion one of these was appropriated, and the attachment of
the Roman soldiers to these emblems of their national power was
almost invincible.  It was inspired both by their religion, feelings
and their sentiments of honour; and it was looked upon as no less
impious than it was disgraceful to forsake the standard in the hour
of danger.  Next advanced the formidable phalanx, followed by the
servants with the private baggage and the mercenary troops; and the
procession was closed by a strong guard of both horse and foot.  The
news of the movement of this host struck terror into the army of
Josephus, which was encamped at Garis; and without waiting to
encounter the dreaded foe, they dispersed, leaving their general
almost in despair: and he was compelled to seek refuge, with the
small remnant who adhered to him, in Tiberias.

Gadara was the first city which fell beneath the arms of Vespasian;
and he made it a signal example of his vengeance, burning it down to
the ground, and destroying all its inhabitants.  Consternation was
spread abroad, and the retreat of Josephus into Tiberias was looked
upon as a proof that even he no longer entertained any hopes of
success.  But he resolved still to continue his resistance, and sent
emissaries to Jerusalem with a strong representation of the necessity
of their immediately dispatching a powerful army into Galilee, or of
abandoning the cause at once, and submitting to the invaders.  It was
this important message which reached the metropolis during the
celebration of the Feast of Pentecost, and occasioned the sudden
dispersion of the assembly.  The nature of the communication was
speedily noised abroad, and filled the hearts of the timid and
peaceable inhabitants with apprehension and anxiety; and even the
bravest warriors were somewhat discouraged when they heard how
closely Josephus was pressed, and the unfavourable aspect of the
affairs in Galilee.

The chief priests and leading men of the city immediately assembled
to consult on the best mode of affording assistance to their
commander;[2] but the factions and dissensions of the different
parties were already so violent, that, after a long and angry
discussion, the council broke up without coming to any final
determination; and it appeared to be tacitly agreed, that those who
chose to volunteer on the service might go to the aid of their
countrymen in Galilee; but no authorised leader was appointed to
conduct them.  The spirit of Javan was roused with indignation when
he heard that no relief was to be sent to Josephus, and he eagerly
declared his intention of setting out for the seat of the war.  His
example and his fiery exhortations induced many of his young
companions to embrace the same resolution; and as soon as the
necessary preparations could be made, they departed from the city,
accompanied by the messengers who had brought the Jewish commander's
despatches.  They reached Tiberias in safety, and joined Josephus in
time to accompany him to Jotapata, into which city he contrived, with
much difficulty, to throw himself and his followers, when he found
that the steps of Vespasian were directed towards that place.  A
deserter informed the Roman general of this event, which added to his
eagerness for the capture of the town, as he hoped at the same time
to gain possession of his most active enemy; and he instantly
dispatched Æbutius and Placidus with a thousand horse, to surround
the walls and prevent the possibility of his escape.  The following
day, being the 15th of May, A.D. 67, Vespasian advanced with his
whole army; but the particulars of the long and interesting siege of
this important post must be deferred for a time, while we return to
Naomi and her friends in Jerusalem.


[2] History does not inform us that any strong reinforcement was sent
into Galilee, or that any notice was taken of the letter of Josephus.


[Illustration: Tombs of the Kings]




CHAPTER III.

The seditions within the city, and the threatened dangers without,
had not yet interrupted the regular course of life of the
inhabitants, who continued to cultivate their gardens and vineyards,
though at times their hearts misgave them that they might not be
permitted to gather in the fruits.  The garden of Zadok, by the brook
Kedron, was one of the most luxuriant in all that fertile vale; and
the date and pomegranate-trees, the spreading fig-trees, and graceful
vines, afforded a delightful shade from the beams of the summer sun,
and provided the family of the priest with a plentiful supply of
delicious fruits.  This garden was the frequent and favourite retreat
of Salome and her daughter, who, with Claudia and some of the female
domestics, spent much of their time in training and cultivating the
vines that clothed the walls, and securing the boughs that ran along
the summit by stones tied to the ends, to prevent the weight of the
heavy clusters from bringing them to the ground.  The melons and
cucumbers, which also grew in abundance on the margin of the stream,
required much of their care and attention; and when these occupations
were finished, they were accustomed to seat themselves in a shady
spot, and pursue some of the domestic manufactures which were usually
carried on in every Jewish family.  In one corner of the extensive
garden was placed the handmill, which was daily worked by the female
servants to procure the necessary supply of flour for the consumption
of the house; and though the work was very laborious and fatiguing,
the voices of those engaged in it were always heard singing gaily and
harmoniously, to lighten their toil.  The cheerful sound was
accompanied by the monotonous noise of the grindstone, so often
alluded to in Scripture, and by the rippling of the water where the
brooks of Siloam and Kedron united their streams.  All in this
favoured spot spoke of peace and happy security; and therefore Salome
loved to leave the noisy and tumultuous city, and spend the hours
when Zadok was engaged in his public duties in this calm retreat.
Here, surrounded by her maidens, she and Naomi directed them in their
occupations of spinning and weaving linen, which they sometimes
manufactured of a beautiful fineness, notwithstanding the simple
construction of their looms and other implements.

In all her domestic labours, Salome was greatly assisted by the
faithful Deborah, who was the chief of the female domestics, and had
lived all her life in the family of Zadok.  She was now in the
decline of life, but still active and cheerful, and entirely devoted
to the interest of her master.  She had nursed and brought up both
Javan and Naomi, and loved them with the most intense affection.  It
must be owned that her indulgence had in no small degree tended to
foster the pride and self-will that were so conspicuous in the
character of Javan, and, in a less disagreeable form, in that of his
sister also; but her intentions were always good, and she would
willingly have laid down her own life at any time, if she could by
the sacrifice promote the welfare of her beloved charges.  They were
both sincerely and gratefully attached to her; and Javan never
appeared to so great advantage as when, after a temporary absence, he
returned to his home, and bent to receive the embraces and blessings
of his venerable nurse.  But Naomi was her chief comfort and the
delight of her life.  Her beauty, her grace, her melodious voice, her
amiable and animated disposition, and her zeal for the glory of God
and the honour of her nation, were the constant theme of the good old
woman's praises, which were frequently lavished, rather
injudiciously, in the hearing of Naomi herself; till at length the
high-spirited girl almost believed that she was of a superior nature
to the rest of her companions, and formed to take the lead among her
countrywomen.  Salome saw and deplored this great fault in her
character, and strove ineffectually to correct it.  Her daughter was
invariably respectful and affectionate to her and to her father, but
the natural pride of her heart was unsubdued.  It was to be humbled
by means of which Salome never dreamed, and by a power far greater
than her maternal exhortations and reproofs.

It chanced one day that Salome had occasion to send Deborah on an
errand to the village of Bethany, about two miles distant from
Jerusalem; and Claudia being otherwise occupied, Naomi alone
accompanied her nurse on the expedition.  They left the city by the
water-gate, and having crossed the brook Kedron, and passed along the
gardens and olive-yards that flourished along its banks, they began
slowly to ascend the Mount of Olives.  Part of the ascent was steep
and fatiguing; and as Deborah leaned on the arm of her active young
companion, she recalled to her remembrance the sad time when their
pious and glorious King David had also crossed that brook, and
mounted by that same ascent, with his head covered and his feet bare,
and weeping as he went, a fugitive from his own city, and driven into
the wilderness by the cruelty and ambition of his darling son.  It
must have been a moving sight to behold that once mighty king, now
bending beneath the weight of years and bitter sorrows, and shedding
tears as he toiled barefoot up the mountain, "while all the people
that went with him covered every man his head, weeping as they went
up."  But tears of greater worth had been shed on that spot, when the
"Man of Sorrows" stood on that mount, and beheld the city of
Jerusalem, and wept over it, saying, "O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, if thou
hadst known, even thou, at least in this thy day, the things that
belong unto thy peace!--but now they are hid from thine eyes.  For
the days shall come upon thee that thine enemies shall cast a trench
about thee, and compass thee round, and keep thee in on every side;
and they shall lay thee even with the ground, and thy children within
thee, and they shall not leave in thee one stone upon another,
because thou knowest not the time of thy visitation."  This affecting
prophecy was unknown by Naomi, and would have been listened to with
contempt, as uttered by the despised and crucified Jesus of Nazareth,
whose name she had never heard repeated but as that of an impostor
and malefactor, the leader of the hated sect of the Nazarenes.  She
lived, however, to see that very prophecy fulfilled--awfully and
literally fulfilled.

Naomi and Deborah had nearly reached the highest part of the road,
from whence a most commanding view was to be obtained of the Holy
City, when they observed an aged woman sitting by the roadside, and
while her eyes were fixed on the city below, the tears were flowing
down her venerable cheeks.  There was something in her countenance
that attracted the attention of Naomi; and the age and apparent
infirmities of this solitary mourner excited in her benevolent heart
a strong desire to know the cause of her distress, and if possible to
alleviate it.  The woman was plainly, but respectably dressed, and
had no appearance of poverty or bodily suffering, but it seemed that
some melancholy reflections in her own mind had drawn forth her
tears.  On remarking that the eyes of the young Jewess were fixed
upon her with intense curiosity, she hastily attempted to rise, as if
to avoid further observation; but the staff on which she leaned for
support slipped from her trembling hand, and she would have fallen to
the ground, if Naomi had not sprung forward and caught her.  She
thanked her kindly and gratefully, and then resuming her staff, she
would have proceeded alone; but as it appeared that she also was
bending her steps towards Bethany, Naomi insisted on her leaning on
her arm, and promised to take care of her as far as the village,
where she and her nurse were going.

Deborah did not quite approve of this proposition, as she saw that
the old woman moved very slowly, and she found that if they tarried
for her it would be very late before they returned to the city; she
therefore reminded her young charge that the day was wearing away,
and that her mother would be alarmed if she did not return before
sunset.  But Naomi was not to be turned from her purpose, whether for
good or for evil; and on this occasion she was determined not to
abandon the aged stranger, for whom she felt a peculiar and
increasing interest.  She informed Deborah of her intention, begging
her to proceed to Bethany, and execute the commission of her mother,
while she would remain with her new friend--for such she already felt
her to be--and join her nurse on her return.

Deborah had never opposed her, and she saw no necessity for doing so
on the present occasion; though, could she have foreseen the ultimate
consequences of that meeting, she would doubtless have considered it
her duty to exert an unwonted degree of authority, and check the
dangerous friendship that Naomi was about to form.  But she
anticipated no evil from Naomi's exercising towards this infirm old
woman the benevolence and kindness that she always showed for those
in suffering or distress; and she therefore hastened forward with an
activity that was surprising at her time of life, and left Naomi to
exert her endeavours to discover the cause of the tears which had so
greatly excited her sympathy.

"Will you tell me," she timidly began, for she almost feared to
intrude on the feelings of the venerable stranger,--"will you tell me
wherefore you are in grief, good mother?  It pains me to see you
weep, and I should be so happy if it was in my power to wipe away
those tears."

"Bless thee, my child," replied the old woman, with emotion, "these
are the kindest words that I have heard addressed to me for many
years.  I am a solitary being now.  All those who loved me best are
long ago laid in the grave, and the friends whom I have found in
later years have almost all retired to distant and more secure
countries.  But it was not for this that I wept; my tears were not
those of sorrow for my own condition, which I would not change with
the happiest and wealthiest in that city; but I wept for those who
now dwell there in fancied security, and heed not the ruin that is
coming upon them."

"What ruin?" said Naomi; "are you one of those who dread the Roman
power, and think that we shall be given into their hands?  My mother
sometimes gives way to such fears, but it vexes my soul to hear her;
for till I see the Gentiles trampling on our holy places I will never
believe that they will again be permitted to enter the sacred walls
of Jerusalem as conquerors.  I should rejoice to hear of the near
approach of the Gentile army; for, when all nations are gathered
against Jerusalem to battle, then shall the Lord go forth against
those nations, as when he fought in the day of battle.[1]  His feet
shall stand in that day upon the Mount of Olives, as our prophet
Zechariah has testified; and oh! that I may live to see that glorious
day, when Messiah shall at length come upon the earth!"


[1] Zechariah xiv. 2-4.


"Messiah is already come," said the stranger, gently and solemnly.

Naomi started, and turned to gaze on the countenance of the speaker.
"What!" she exclaimed, in accents of horror, "are you a Nazarene?
Are you a believer in that Galilean impostor, who suffered the just
recompense of his seditions and deceptions?"

"I am a humble follower of the Holy Jesus, the Son of the Most High
God, _who suffered for our transgressions, and rose again for our
justification_," replied the stranger.

Naomi shrunk back, and dropped the arm of the aged Christian, as if
she felt the touch of one who professed that detested creed to be
pollution, and words of scorn and contempt rose to her lips.  But her
better feelings repressed these expressions; and a sentiment which
she could not comprehend drew her again to the gentle and venerable
woman, whom in her prejudiced judgment she despised.  Again she
offered her support to the stranger, and again it was accepted with
grateful courtesy, while a benevolent smile lighted up her naturally
serious countenance, as she observed the struggle in her young
companion's feelings.

"You have been brought up, my daughter, to look upon us as a deluded
and despicable sect, who have justly incurred the scorn and
punishment that have so heavily been laid upon us, because we have
forsaken the religion of our forefathers, and declared our belief
that He, whom our chief priests and elders considered worthy of a
cruel death, was indeed the Lord Christ, the long-promised Messiah.
But there is a frankness in your manner and countenance that
convinces me you only continue in this error because you are ignorant
of the grounds of our faith, and have been taught to give credit to
the false statements invented to excuse the murder of the Lord of
Life, and to conceal the wondrous fact of his resurrection from the
dead."

"I know," replied Naomi, "that it is said his disciples carried away
his body by night, and then declared that he was risen.  But who over
saw him alive after his crucifixion?"

"_I did_," answered the stranger.  "My eyes beheld him surrounded by
his disciples; my hands touched his sacred and human form; my ears
listened to his gracious voice, speaking as never man spake; and my
heart believed and was comforted.  I was with his sorrowing disciples
when, on the day of his resurrection, we assembled to mourn over his
death, and our blighted hopes; and in fear and trembling, because of
the indignation of the Jews against his followers, we had closed the
doors on our sad meeting.  And then, while consternation filled every
breast, He whom we wept as dead suddenly appeared in the midst of us,
and said in his well-known voice, 'Peace be unto you.'  Only those
who were then present can know the feelings of our hearts at this
unexpected apparition.  We could not believe that it was he himself
in bodily form, for our hearts were hardened, and we remembered not
the words which he had spoken unto us, that he must be killed, and
rise again the third day; and we thought that it was his spirit.  But
he showed us his hands and his side, so lately pierced by the nails
and the spear of his murderers; and then we were glad, for we knew it
was the Lord himself.  And at other times I saw him, when he took
bread, and did eat it before us, that no doubts might remain in our
minds as to the actual resurrection of his body.  And last of all I
saw him, when he led his disciples out as far as to Bethany, and
having exhorted them, and comforted them with the promise of his
continual presence, he lifted up his hands and blessed them; and
then, while every eye was fixed upon him, he rose slowly into the
air, and ascended until a cloud received him out of our sight.  Oh!
how fervently did we then worship our risen and exalted Saviour!  And
while we yet looked steadfastly toward heaven, as he went up, two
heavenly messengers stood by us in shining garments, and said, 'Why
stand ye gazing up into heaven?  This same Jesus, which is taken up
from you into heaven, shall so come in like manner as you have seen
him go into heaven.'  Then we knew that he would no more visit the
earth in person, until the latter day; and we returned to Jerusalem,
full of joy and thanksgiving."

"Your words are wonderful to me," said Naomi.  "I cannot think that
you are trying to deceive me; and yet I cannot believe that all these
strange things did really take place.  I ought not, perhaps, to
listen to you; and doubtless, my father, who is a priest of the holy
temple, would be greatly displeased if he knew that I was holding
converse with a Nazarene; and yet I feel an unaccountable interest in
what you have been relating, and a strong desire to hear more of the
Christian's faith and the Christian's God.  Did you often see this
Jesus of Nazareth before he was put to death, and did you then
believe in him?  I know that his disciples declared that he performed
many and wonderful miracles; but our elders say that he worked them
by the powers of Beelzebub, like the sorcerers of old.  Did you ever
witness any of these miracles?"

"Yes, my child, I was so highly favoured as to be present when he
performed one of his most merciful and glorious miracles; for I am
Mary, the sister of that Lazarus of Bethany whom he raised from the
dead, and I beheld my brother come forth from the grave, where he had
lain for several days, at the Almighty voice of the Son of God!"

"Oh, tell me that wonderful story," cried Naomi.  "I have heard that
Jesus did once raise a dead man to life, but I did not believe it; or
I thought that if it was really true, yet that it was done by the
assistance of evil spirits, or at all events that it was only
performed at the command, and by the power of Almighty God, bestowed
on him for that particular purpose, as it once was on our great
prophet Elijah."

"It is true that the Lord Jesus did restore several persons to life,
besides healing the sick, cleansing the lepers, giving sight to the
blind, and speech to the dumb, and casting devils out of those who
were possessed.  But in all these miraculous works he differed from
the prophets and holy men who have in former days been permitted to
perform some similar wonders; for they only acted by the command of
God, and had no power of themselves to restore the life, and health,
and faculties which God alone can give or take away.  But Jesus
Christ possessed this power in himself, as the eternal Son of the
Most High God; and he employed it according to his own most gracious
will, saying to the leper, 'Be thou healed;' to the deaf and dumb,
'Be opened;' to the devils, 'I command thee to come out;' to the lame
and the palsied, 'Take up thy bed and walk;' and to the dead, 'I say
unto thee, arise'--'Lazarus, come forth!'  The wind ceased at his
command, and the waves were calm at the sound of his voice; and what
was more wondrous still, the hearts of many sinners were changed; and
those who had been vile and reprobate became sincere and godly men,
living lives of devotion to the honour of God their Saviour, and the
good of their fellow-creatures; and at last sealing their faith with
their blood, and dying for the sake of Him who had died for them."

The earnestness with which the aged Mary spoke had almost overpowered
her, and she stood still and trembled.  Naomi, who was profoundly
interested in her discourse, and most desirous that she should
continue her recital, proposed to her that they should sit down on a
grassy bank by the roadside, and there wait the return of Deborah
from the village, which was not now far distant; and Mary could
proceed thither at leisure, after resting herself from the fatigue of
the ascent, and the excitement of speaking on a subject in which her
heart was so deeply engaged.  She told Naomi that she should wish to
proceed a little further on the road before they seated themselves,
for that the sacred and interesting spot where her brother had lain
in his temporary grave was but a few paces distant; and there, where
she herself frequently resorted to meditate on the astonishing event
of his resurrection, she would detail to her young friend all the
particulars that had marked the transaction.

[Illustration: NAOMI, AND MARY THE SISTER OF LAZARUS.]

They accordingly advanced beneath some precipitous rocks that
overhung the road on one side, and which were broken by several
chasms, extending a considerable depth into the surface.  At one of
these caves, larger and deeper than the rest, Mary paused, and
invited Naomi to descend a few rough steps, that led to a small and
rocky area in front of the cavern where the body of Lazarus was laid.
Here, in full view of the dark sepulchre, they sat down on a fallen
mass of stone, while Mary related to her attentive auditor the scenes
that were indelibly impressed on her own memory.

"You will not wonder, my dear young friend," she said, "at the warmth
with which I speak of the blessed Jesus, when I tell you of all his
mercy and love towards me and my brother and sister.  He often
retired to Bethany from the noise and crowd of the city, and our
house was honoured by being made his home.  The light of his
countenance shed joy and peace over our dwelling, and his words were
as heavenly music, to which we could have listened for ever.  Oh! it
was a blessed privilege to sit at his feet, and hear his words, and
receive the divine instruction that flowed from his gracious lips.
It was in the month Tisri,[2] a few days after our beloved Master had
spent a day in our humble dwelling on his return into the country
from attending the feast of tabernacles, that our brother Lazarus
fell sick, and we soon perceived that his sickness was mortal.  My
sister and I were in deep distress; but we remembered the power and
love of Jesus, and we delayed not to send a messenger to Bethabara,
beyond Jordan, where we knew that he abode at that time.  We could
not doubt his willingness to succour us in our affliction, for he
loved Lazarus, and he loved us also.  Therefore we only sent to him,
saying, 'Lord, behold he whom thou lovest is sick;' and we were fully
convinced that he would instantly return to us and heal our brother.
But our messenger had not long been gone when a fearful change took
place in Lazarus.  The fever increased, the struggles of death came
on, and in anguish and despair we saw our only, our beloved brother
expire!  Did not Jesus know what was passing beneath our humble roof
at Bethany?  And could not he, who had performed so many miracles,
have stayed the hand of death, and restored Lazarus to health with
one word of his mouth?  Such were the thoughts of our faithless
hearts while weeping over the bed of death, and preparing for the
hasty burial which is customary and necessary in this climate.


[2] The Hebrew month answering to a part of our September and a part
of October.


"The place where Jesus then abode was a day's journey from Bethany;
and Lazarus was laid in his cold grave almost at the moment when our
messenger reached him who we hoped would come and heal him.  The
following day we expected to see our Lord arrive, if not to restore
our brother, yet to comfort our bleeding hearts with his words of
grace and love.  But the messenger returned alone; and the reply
which he brought us only weakened our expiring faith.  Jesus had said
to him, 'This sickness is not unto death,' and yet Lazarus was in the
grave--what could we believe? what could we hope?

"Two more days, long melancholy days, passed away, and we sat
mourning in our house, once the abode of happiness, and peace, and
brotherly love--now gloomy and silent, save when the cry of the
mourners, who sat with us on the ground, burst forth in a wild and
sudden wail, and caused our tears to flow afresh.  Many of our
friends had come from the city to comfort us; but their sympathy
brought us no relief, for our brother was dead, and Jesus had
forsaken us; and all the consolation that Christians may now feel in
the knowledge that Christ has purchased for them life and
immortality, was but dimly understood by us.  We had an uncertain
hope that hereafter we should meet our brother in a happier world,
and that Jesus would, with his own blood, wipe away all our sins and
all our sorrows for ever.  While we sat bowed down with grief, we
heard a sound as of a distant multitude.  The noise approached, and
we soon perceived that Jesus and his disciples were drawing near the
town.  How anxiously had we watched and waited for that sound during
the sad days that preceded our brother's death!  But now it came too
late--our faithless hearts dared not to indulge a hope that Lazarus
should live again.  Nevertheless Martha rose hastily, and went forth
to meet our Lord, but I did not go with her; I sat still in the
house, oppressed with sorrow.  Soon she returned to me, and whispered
softly, 'The Master is come, and calleth for thee,' and quickly I
rose and went unto him; for he was still in the place where Martha
met him, outside the town.  When I saw his kind and gracious
countenance, and thought on all his power and all his love, my grief
and disappointed hopes overpowered my feelings of veneration and
respect; and falling down at his feet, I exclaimed in the bitterness
of my spirit, 'Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not
died!'  It was a sinful murmur, but the merciful Jesus saw only the
sorrow that dictated it, and did not reprove me; nay more, he
sympathised in our human sufferings, and when he saw me weeping, and
the Jews also weeping which came with me, he groaned aloud, and his
countenance was troubled, and he said, 'Where have ye laid him?'  We
said to him, 'Lord, come and see;' and we led him towards this spot.
Jesus wept!  Yes, my child, he who had power over earth and heaven,
the eternal Son of God, shed tears of sorrow for the death of his
friend.  He knew that that death would soon be chased away; he knew
that at his word the dead would rise and all our grief would be
swallowed up in joy, but yet he wept at the sight of human misery and
woe.  At length we reached the sepulchre; a large stone was placed
before that cave which contained the body of Lazarus, and Jesus
commanded us to remove it.  Still did we not believe his gracious
intentions; and my sister remonstrated against the stone being taken
away, as she feared that ere that time putrefaction had begun, and
that the remains of our dear brother were a prey to the worms.  But
Jesus gently reminded her of what he had said to her when first she
went forth to meet him, saying, 'Said I not unto thee, that if thou
wouldest believe, thou shouldest see the glory of God?'  Then did
hope once more animate our breasts, and in breathless anxiety we
watched to see the end.  When the heavy stone was taken away, there
lay the lifeless corpse wrapped in grave-cloths.  Jesus lifted up his
eyes, and praised his heavenly Father; and then in a loud voice he
cried, 'Lazarus, come forth!'  What a thrill passed through the heart
of every one of those who stood by, when from that dark cave we saw
the dead arise and come forth endued with life!  At the command of
Jesus we hastily took away the cloths in which his hands and feet and
face were bound, and beheld once more the beloved countenance of our
brother, beaming with the same tender affection that was ever wont to
animate it.  I will not attempt to describe to you the joy and
gratitude that filled our hearts, or the wonder that struck upon all
who had witnessed this miracle.  Many henceforth believed in Jesus,
and this day was to them the beginning of life and eternal salvation:
but some there were who could not be convinced, even by what they had
seen, that Jesus was the Christ; and they went and told his deadly
enemies the Pharisees, who were jealous of every wonderful work that
he performed, and feared that the people should believe on him."

"Oh!" cried Naomi, "is it possible that any could behold such proofs
of his power and his goodness, and yet seek to betray him into the
hands of those who hated him!  I am filled with wonder and amazement
at all you have told me; and I am almost tempted to believe that ha
was indeed Messiah.  But then wherefore was he poor, and despised,
and forsaken, and crucified?  Wherefore did he not crush all his
enemies, and take unto himself his great power, and reign over Judah?"

"I could reply to all those objections, my daughter," replied Mary,
"but time will not now permit me.  I see your companion coming
towards us from the village, and my own strength is exhausted.  I
cannot recall the feelings of that blessed period of my life without
deep emotion; but should we ever meet again, how gladly would I renew
the subject, and endeavour to deepen the impression that I see is
already made on your young heart."

"Oh that I could meet you often," said Naomi, "and hear more about
Jesus of Nazareth.  I never felt so deeply interested on any subject,
and I cannot endure to think that I may hear of it no more.  I almost
tremble to propose it, as I know how heavy would be my father's
displeasure if I were discovered;--and yet I am resolved to brave it.
Will you let me come to your home, when I can do so unsuspected? and
will you then let me listen to all that you can tell me?  My parents
are good and indulgent, and I would not deceive them for any other
purpose; but I feel that there is something in your story that
concerns my soul, and God will pardon my disobedience, while I am
seeking to know his will."

We have said that Naomi was self-willed and impetuous: her feelings
were ardent and uncontrolled; and in proportion to the contempt she
entertained for the Nazarenes while she was ignorant of the character
of Him whom they worshipped, was the admiration she now felt when
that character was in some degree displayed to her, and the eagerness
of her determination to know more of this gracious and glorious
Being.  She clasped her hands, and fixed her bright black eyes on
Mary's countenance with a look so earnest and imploring, that the
aged disciple saw the work of God was begun in her heart, and she
doubted not that the work would be completed.  She felt it to be a
sacred duty to endeavour to snatch this young creature from the
errors and prejudices which now obscured her mind, and lead her into
the pure light of the Gospel, even though the pious effort was in
opposition to the will of her mistaken parents.  By the blessing of
God, the conversion of their child might be the means of calling them
also out of darkness into His marvellous light.  She therefore
readily consented to receive her young friend whenever she could
contrive to visit her, and exhorted her to caution and
circumspection, as otherwise danger might befall them both.

"For myself," she added, "it little matters how soon the worn-out
thread of my life is severed; but I would not willingly shorten an
existence which I may spend in my Master's service, though to depart
and be with Christ would be much better.  And you, I trust, my child,
may have many years before you, in which to honour God, and serve his
Son Jesus Christ.  I cannot but believe that you will be brought to a
knowledge of his name, and be an active and devoted servant of him
whom once you hated and despised.  Farewell, and may the blessing of
the God of Israel be with you, and the grace of his Son Jesus Christ
descend upon your heart."

Mary arose, and Naomi took her hand, which she kissed affectionately
and respectfully, and then they advanced slowly to meet Deborah, who
was hastening towards them with considerable speed.

"I fear," she exclaimed, "that I have kept you very long.  I thought
you would have entered the village ere this, and would have been
tired of waiting for me; but I was detained much longer than I
expected: and now we must hurry homewards, or your mother will be
alarmed; and Zadok too will be displeased with me for keeping you out
so late, if he returns from the evening service to the temple and
finds you are not yet at home."

"Is Zadok the priest your father then?" asked Mary, with some
anxiety; for she knew the strictness of his character as a Pharisee,
and his abhorrence of the Christian name, and she feared that her
young friend's dawning faith might be put to a severe trial, and even
be extinguished, if Zadok ever obtained knowledge of it.

"Yes," replied Naomi, "I am his daughter, and I glory in saying so;
for whose character stands so high as that of Zadok? and who is so
kind and so good a father as Zadok?  I would that you knew him, Mary."

"God bless you," again said the old woman; and they separated.  She
slowly bent her steps towards her humble home at Bethany, and lifted
up her heart in fervent prayer for the soul of Naomi, who, with her
nurse, rapidly descended the mount, crossed the brook, and entering
the city, soon reached the abode of Zadok.


[Illustration: Bethany]




CHAPTER IV.

From the lofty battlements of Jotapata, Josephus and his officers
watched the close and endless files of the Roman army slowly
advancing along the straight and level road that led to the city
walls, and which had been formed by the pioneers of Vespasian.  It
was a fearful array of tried and valiant troops, led on by the most
celebrated general of the time.  The Jews had relied on their
inaccessible position, their steep and rugged mountains, and the deep
forests that surrounded their fortress, for security.  What,
therefore, was their astonishment and consternation when they saw the
lofty trees falling around them, the rocks removed, the mountains cut
through, and Vespasian with his whole army stationed on a hill within
a mile of the city!  The garrison were terror-struck, and retired
behind their walls; while the Romans, though weary with their long
march, and unprepared for an immediate assault, employed themselves
in drawing a triple line of circumvallation round the city; so that
every chance of escape for the cowardly, who might wish to attempt
it, was effectually cut off.  Finding that retreat was hopeless, the
whole garrison recovered their wonted valour, and resolved to hold
out to the uttermost, and fight while life remained.  Their fierce
resistance and stubborn resolution have seldom been equalled.

The following day they boldly left the shelter of their walls, and,
pitching their camp before the trenches, advanced to meet the foe;
and though galled by the archers and slingers of the Roman army, they
made so vigorous a sally, that the assailants were driven down the
hill.  The battle was continued with desperation, until the darkness
of night compelled them to separate, when Josephus led his troops
back to their stations.  Young Javan and his companions distinguished
themselves by their determined bravery, which was not unobserved by
the Jewish commander; and henceforth he stationed them near his own
person, and employed Javan on many important occasions.

The city was built on the summit of a lofty hill, and on three sides
was surrounded by ravines, so deep and rugged as to be quite
impassable.  It is said that the depth of the chasm was in some parts
so profound, that, when looking from the summit of the walls, the eye
could not reach the bottom.  On these three sides, therefore,
Vespasian could not hope to gain an entrance; but, on the north side,
the city was more accessible, as the hill sloped gradually down from
the walls; and here he resolved to raise a great embankment, from the
top of which his men could discharge their missiles into the thickest
ranks of the besieged.  The whole army laboured at this work,
defending themselves from the javelins and arrows of the Jews by a
roof of wicker-work that was stretched over the workmen, and was
strong enough even to resist the great stones that were hurled down
by their enemies.  To clear the walls of these assailants, Vespasian
brought his military engines to bear on that point; and soon the
stones and javelins discharged by the balistæ and catapults, and the
yet more fearful balls of fire and flaming arrows, fell among the
garrison in showers.  The battlements were deserted in that quarter,
but the Jews were not disheartened.  They descended from the walls,
and stole out in small parties on the workmen, destroying their
breastworks, and wounding many of those who had laid aside their
armour.  But notwithstanding all their efforts to prevent it, the
embankment was at length completed, and brought almost to a level
with the height of their own walls, and their only resource was to
raise the battlements so as to command the works of the enemy.  To
effect this, Josephus ordered strong poles to be fixed on the top of
the walls, and on these a sort of curtain was fixed, of the hides of
cattle, behind which the soldiers could work in safety; and they
succeeded in raising the walls upwards of thirty feet.  He also
erected several towers, and otherwise strengthened the
fortifications, to the astonishment and dismay of the Romans, who had
flattered themselves that they should soon be masters of the city.

They knew not yet the courage and obstinacy of the Jews, or the
ability and cunning of Josephus and his officers.  Numerous were the
sallies by which they annoyed their besiegers, sometimes even setting
fire to the works they had but just erected, and destroying them.  On
one of these occasions, Javan led forth a small party of chosen men,
and rushing upon the breastworks that concealed the enemy, they
succeeded in tearing down a considerable portion, and wounding
several Roman soldiers, without themselves receiving any injury; when
the centurion who held the command of that band of men, hearing the
conflict, hastened to their assistance and quickly restored order.
He marshalled his men, and led them forward from the breastworks with
so much impetuosity, as entirely to check the assailants; and
directing his attack towards the young Jewish leader, Javan
recognised his old friend Rufus.  The centurion remembered him, and
for his father's sake he forbore to press his advantage.  He would
not take the son of Zadok prisoner, or willingly injure him, though
now an enemy; and he allowed him and his followers to escape unhurt
to the walls.  Javan did not imitate his generous forbearance; but as
he fled he turned back, and cast a javelin at his former friend with
such strength and fury as to shiver a portion of the armour in which
he was encased, and inflict a slight wound in his side.

"Ha!" cried Rufus, "my mercy was ill-bestowed.  I see that the same
cruel and ungenerous spirit yet lives in that young fanatic.
Forward, my brave men, and teach him that it was not because we
feared him that we drew back."  The Romans swiftly obeyed the word of
their commander, and overtook the retreating party as they reached
the foot of the wall.  The portal from whence they had sallied forth
was closed; and ere it could be opened by those within, a fierce
struggle had begun.  Several of the combatants on either side fell
dead, or severely wounded; and Javan received a serious injury in his
right arm, that left him defenceless, and exposed to the sword of his
antagonist.  The Roman who had inflicted the wound was about to
strike at him with his short, double-edged blade, and his fierce
spirit would have been quenched for ever; but at that moment a party
of the garrison who had ascended the walls hurled down a massive
stone that struck the uplifted arm of his assailant, and threw him
with violence to the ground.

"The Lord strikes for his people!" shouted Javan; and snatching up
the sword which had fallen to the earth, he with his left hand
plunged it to the heart of his foe.  Then turning away, he rushed
through the now open door, leaving his party to follow him as they
could.  Similar skirmishes were often repeated, but they led to no
important results; and Vespasian determined at length to blockade the
city, and endeavour to reduce it by famine, since all his assaults
proved ineffectual.  He therefore ordered his troops to remain quiet
in their quarters, and await the time when, reduced to starvation,
the garrison would either surrender, or fall a more easy conquest to
their renewed attacks.

The city contained a large supply of every necessary except water;
but there was no spring within the walls, and the small quantity of
rain-water that could be obtained was quite inadequate to the wants
of the garrison and the rest of the inhabitants.  This was measured
out in very scanty portions, and after the blockade had been
continued for some days, many began to faint beneath the severe
privation, added to the fatigue they endured, and the fever that
parched up the wounded and the sick.  The Romans discovered their
distress, and hoped for a speedy surrender; but the wily Josephus
resolved to baffle their calculations, and he ordered a number of his
men to dip their clothes in water, and then hang them over the walls,
so that the moisture ran down; and the besiegers could no longer
believe that the garrison were in want of water, when they could
waste so much unnecessarily.  Vespasian therefore resolved to renew
the assault, which was exactly what the Jews desired, for it was
better to perish by the sword than to die of thirst or famine.

Notwithstanding the close blockade kept up by the Romans, Josephus
still contrived to keep up a communication with his friends without
the city, by means of a narrow and rugged path down the bed of a
torrent.  It was so precipitous and dangerous that the Romans left it
unguarded; and by this difficult way the messengers of the Jewish
commander crept forth on their hands and knees, covered with skins of
animals, and thus bearing letters to other towns, and bringing back
many articles of great service to the besieged.  But at length this
was discovered, and all further exit by this passage was prevented.
Josephus now began to despair of success, and even held a council
with the chief persons in the city as to the possibility of effecting
their own escape.  This was discovered by the inhabitants, and they
hastened to throw themselves at his feet, imploring him not to
abandon them to the Roman vengeance.  He was moved with pity at the
sight of the terrified multitude of men, women, and children kneeling
before him, and consented to relinquish his selfish purpose; and
seizing the moment when they were filled with gratitude, he
exclaimed.  "Now is the time, then; if there is no hope of safety let
us exert our utmost courage, and let us at least die nobly, and leave
behind us a glorious example!"  The most courageous of his soldiers
gathered round him, and they rushed forth, carrying fire and sword
into the enemy's lines.  For three days these fierce sallies were
repeated, and kept up a constant state of watchfulness and alarm in
the Roman camp.

Vespasian, weary of this desultory warfare, now ordered the
battering-ram to be brought against the walls.  This tremendous
engine was composed of an enormous beam of wood, terminating in the
head of a ram, cast in iron; this was hung by ropes from another
strong beam, supported by four tall posts.  When it was required to
exert its terrible force, it was drawn backwards by a number of men,
and then driven forward with a shock, against which scarcely any wall
could resist.  This dreadful machine now slowly advanced against the
walls of Jotapata, and the smaller engines commenced a quick
discharge of stones and darts, to drive the Jews from the walls.
Then began the thundering blows of the battering-ram, and the walls
shook to their foundation.  A cry rose from the city, for all the
inhabitants believed that the Romans were even now entering their
streets.  Still was Josephus able to parry this new danger.  He
ordered a great number of bags to be stuffed with chaff, and
suspended on the face of the wall, so as to meet and break the force
of the ram; and this scheme entirely succeeded, to the great
astonishment of the Romans.  They however continued to sever the
ropes to which the bags were tied, by means of sickles fastened to
long poles, and then they recommenced their work of destruction.  But
the Jews rushed forth from their gates in three bodies, armed with
flaming torches and every combustible they could seize.  They set
fire to the engines and the palisades, and drove back their
assailants, who were confounded by the fire and smoke.  Among the
foremost was the fierce Javan, brandishing a flaming brand in his
left hand, and carrying destruction and dismay wherever he turned.
All the endeavours of the Romans to save their works were
ineffectual; they suffered a great loss of men in the engagement, and
all that had cost them such labour and ingenuity to erect was in less
than one hour reduced to ashes.

One man among the Jews distinguished himself by an act of desperate
courage, that has made his name memorable even to the present time.
This was Eleazer, the son of Samæas, a Galilean, who standing on the
wall at the time of the furious sally made by Josephus, took up an
enormous stone, and hurled it at the head of the battering-ram with
such force, that it broke off, and fell to the ground.  He then
descended from the wall and rushed forth into the midst of the enemy,
and seizing on the ram's head, carried it off in triumph.  The
Romans, filled with indignation, cast at him a shower of darts and
arrows, five or six of which entered his body: he nevertheless still
bore off his prize, and carried it to the top of the wall, where he
undauntedly showed himself and his trophy to the infuriated foe.  But
the wounds he had received were mortal, and sinking beneath them, he
fell from the wall with the head of the ram still grasped in his
dying hands.  His heroic example animated his comrades with fresh
courage, and they succeeded in destroying all the engines, and
coverings, and breastworks of the fifth and tenth legions, which,
notwithstanding their high reputation for bravery and discipline, had
fled, confounded by the fierce desperation of their assailants, and
blinded by the smoke and flame.

Still the Romans were not discouraged; and in the dusk of the evening
they once more erected their terrible battering-ram against that part
of the fortifications that was already shaken by its force; but
during this operation one of the besieged cast a javelin from the
wall, and pierced the neck of Vespasian.  The Romans seeing their
general wounded, were greatly discouraged, and his son Titus betrayed
the deepest concern and alarm; but his father quickly removed their
fears, and reappearing among his troops, those who had fled in dismay
returned to their duty with fresh animation, and showed a
determination to brave every danger in the hope of revenging the
insult offered to their beloved general; and with a unanimous shout
of defiance, they rushed upon the wall.  The stones, darts, and
arrows flew in showers upon the besieged, and many fell beneath the
deadly strokes; yet others pressed forward to take their places, and
in their turn poured fire and stones and pieces of iron upon the
besiegers, who worked beneath their hurdles.  The fires that burnt
around shed a lurid light on this work of death, and guided the aim
of the Jews on the walls; but the Romans were unable to distinguish
their enemies above them.  Nevertheless they continued to pour forth
their missiles; and so vast were the stones that were thrown by the
balistæ, and so resistless was their force, that they broke through
the thickest ranks of the defenders, and striking against the towers
and inner walls, brought down heavy pieces of masonry upon the crowds
around.  One man who stood between Javan and the Jewish commander had
his head torn from his shoulders, and carried away to the distance of
three furlongs.  That was indeed a fearful night.  The terrible and
continued noise of the engines, the shouts of the soldiers, the
screams of the women and children in the city, the groans of the
wounded and dying, and the heavy crash of armour on the wall as the
slain fell one upon another, formed a deafening and discordant sound
that can hardly be conceived, and which was echoed back from the
surrounding mountains; while the blood ran in streams from the walls,
and stood in pools around their base.  Until the morning watch the
walls stood firm; but then they yielded before the battering-ram, and
a breach was formed.  Vespasian gave his wearied men a short respite
before he led them on to storm the breach; then posting a strong body
of cavalry entirely covered with armour at the foot of the wall, he
commanded the infantry to apply the scaling-ladders.  Josephus was
not idle within; he stationed the least efficient of the garrison on
those parts of the walls that were not immediately threatened; but
all the best and bravest he disposed in front of the breach; and in
the most perilous situation of all he stationed himself and Javan and
four others, with directions to stop their ears against the noise of
the legionaries, and receive their darts on their bended knees, with
their shields locked together over their heads, until their quivers
were exhausted, and then to sally forth and fall upon them with all
their collected rage, and fight for their lives and their liberties,
and those of their wives and children and aged parents.  The women
seeing the dreadful preparations on either side, gave themselves up
for lost, and one wild dismal cry of anguish and despair burst from
the crowded streets; but Josephus dreading the effect of their grief
and consternation on the soldiers, ordered them all to be locked up
in the houses, and with severe threats commanded them to be still.

Now the trumpets sounded for the charge, and the Romans gave a mighty
shout, at the same moment sending upon the besieged such a cloud of
arrows and darts that the air was darkened.  Josephus's brave
companions followed his directions, and stopped their ears to the
sound, and defended their bodies from the darts.  But as soon as the
engines had played, and ere the engineers could renew the charge,
they sallied forth upon them resolving to slay or be slain, and were
followed by many other parties animated with the same desperate
resolution.  But the Romans at length drove them back, and succeeded
in getting a footing on the wall.  Josephus had now recourse to
stratagem in this extremity, and ordered a quantity of oil to be
heated, which, being quickly prepared, was poured in a boiling state
on their assailants, and penetrating through the joints of their
armour, burnt through their flesh, and maddened them with agony, so
that, being unable to tear off their armour, they turned back and
fled away, carrying confusion among their comrades; and many of them
fell headlong from the narrow bridges by which they had passed to the
walls from their embankment.  The Jews also poured boiled fenugreek,
a kind of herb, on the planks and bridges by which their enemies
ascended, and thus made them so slippery that it was impossible for
them to stand upright, and many fell with violence to the ground, and
in that situation were struck at by those on the walls.

In the evening, Vespasian was forced to call off his discomfited men,
of whom a great number were wounded, besides those who lay dead on
the field.  The loss of the Jotapateans was considerably less, and
they were greatly encouraged by the result of that day.  The Romans
now commenced raising their mounds to a greater height, and also
erected three strong and lofty towers, in which were placed bowmen
and slingers to keep up a perpetual annoyance of the garrison; and
they in their turn made frequent sallies, with no decisive effect,
until, on the forty-seventh day of the siege, the enemy raised their
works above the level of the walls, and looked down upon the devoted
inhabitants.  On that same fatal day, treachery effected what force
and valour had so long failed to accomplish.  One dastardly man was
found mean enough to creep out of the city and desert to Vespasian,
and inform him of the weak and distressed state of the garrison and
the inhabitants of Jotapata.  He urged him to make a sudden attack
upon the place during the last watch of the night, when, worn out
with fighting and watching, the garrison would be in a profound
sleep, and even the sentinels would probably be slumbering also, so
weary and faint were they now become.  At first Vespasian doubted the
traitor's story, and thought it was only a stratagem of Josephus to
ensnare him; and this suspicion was strengthened by the fidelity and
constancy which had hitherto been displayed by the Jotapateans who
had fallen into their hands.  One man had even endured the sharpest
torments by fire, which had been applied by the Romans to induce him
to disclose the secrets of the garrison; and, smiling at their cruel
efforts, had afterwards patiently sustained the tortures of
crucifixion.  Vespasian, however, believed that the consequences to
his mighty army could be but trifling, even if he were deceived; he
therefore kept the deserter in close custody, and gave orders for
attacking the city.

At the hour mentioned by the traitor, his troops advanced silently to
the walls, and Titus led a small party of the fifth legion to the
summit.  Here they instantly slew the sentinels before an alarm could
be raised, and then quietly entered the city, followed by Placidus
and Sextus Cerialis, with Rufus the centurion, and the men under
their command.  They seized upon the citadel, and, favoured by a
thick mist and the drowsiness of the inhabitants, they were in the
very heart of the city before the garrison had been aroused to their
danger.  The entrance of the whole Roman army then showed them the
extent of their misfortune, and the furious and indiscriminate
slaughter which commenced proved that their enemies remembered all
they had suffered in the siege, and were determined to revenge it.
They charged down from the citadel, hewing down all who opposed them,
and driving the terrified inhabitants into the narrow streets and
lanes, where they fell an unresisting prey to their enemies, while
many were pushed over the steep precipices by the force of the crowd
behind them, and dashed to pieces.  A few of the most resolute
gathered round Josephus, and several of them, seeing the hopelessness
of their situation, died by their own and by each other's hands,
rather than be slain by the enemy.  A party of the guard fled to a
tower, and there made some resistance; but they were soon surrounded
and forced to surrender; and the Romans became entire masters of the
celebrated city of Jotapata, with the loss of but one of their men.
This was a centurion named Antonius, who was slain by an act of
cunning.  One of the Jews, who had taken refuge in a cave, held out
his hand to him, promising to surrender if he would assist him to
clamber out.  Antonius took his hand, and at that moment the other
struck him through the throat with his spear and killed him instantly.

The city was given up that day to a general slaughter, and all who
were seen in the houses and streets were put to the sword.  The
following day a strict search was made in the caves and
hiding-places, where multitudes had taken refuge, and of these the
men were slain, and the women and children reserved as prisoners.
About twelve hundred were collected to be carried away into
captivity, and it is supposed that nearly forty thousand were slain
from the commencement of the attack on the city.  Vespasian then
ordered the city to be burnt to the ground, and all its boasted
towers and walls were quickly reduced to ashes.

Josephus had been sought for in vain during the carnage; no pains
were spared to discover and capture him, who was the chief object of
the siege, and who had excited the resentment of the Romans and their
general by the obstinacy of his resistance.  On the taking of the
city, when he saw that all other hope of safety was gone, he had
leaped down a dry well, from the bottom of which he knew that a long
passage led to a subterranean cave, entirely concealed from the view
of those above.  Here he found forty men of consequence and note, and
among them his young friend Javan, who had all sought refuge in this
secure retreat, and with them was one woman, the wife of a citizen of
the party.  These persons had hastily collected, and carried down to
the cave, a sufficient quantity of provisions to sustain them for
several days; and Javan being separated from his general, and
hopeless of any success by further resistance, had joined them, and
shared their place of concealment.  Josephus remained in the cave
during the day, but at night he ascended, accompanied by Javan, and
sought to effect his escape; but finding every avenue strictly
guarded, he was compelled to return to the cave.  The third night he
was attended by the citizen's wife, who promised to point out to him
a secret way by which he could escape; but she had deceived him, and
as soon as she had conducted him within hearing of the sentinels, she
fled from him, and betrayed to the soldiers where he made his
hiding-place.  This was immediately made known to Vespasian, who sent
two tribunes, named Paulinus and Gallicanus, to persuade him to
surrender.  He had returned to the cave, and was startled by hearing
his own name loudly called from the top of the well; and the tribunes
proceeded to deliver to him their general's offer of mercy.  But
Josephus had no dependence on the mercy of the Romans, and refused to
come up, till Vespasian sent another tribune, named Nicanor, with
whom he was well acquainted, and who, by various arguments and
promises, at length induced him to consent.

But the Jews, who were in the cave with him now opposed this
resolution, and reproached him severely for his cowardice and fear of
death, which could induce him to give himself up voluntarily to the
Romans.  They reminded him how often he had exhorted them to die
rather than submit to their enemies, and how many of their
fellow-citizens and soldiers had already done so; and they declared
that if he could forget his own honour, they would take care that he
did not disgrace their country.  They therefore gave him his choice,
whether he would die nobly and voluntarily by their hands, and be for
ever remembered with honour as the valiant general of the Jews, or
persist in his intention and be slain as a traitor, which they
declared should be his fate the moment he attempted to go forth to
the tribunes.  And, saying this, they surrounded him with their naked
swords, and awaited his reply.

Josephus now exerted all his wonted eloquence, in the effort to save
his own life, and to persuade his companions to join him in
surrendering to the conquerors.  But however ingenious his arguments
and powerful his appeals, they failed to move his auditors, who were
only the more enraged at him, and rushed against him with their
swords.  He stood like a wild beast at bay, parrying the strokes of
some, calling on others by name, entreating, commanding, imploring.

"Javan!" he cried, "do you join to murder your general? you, who have
fought so bravely by my side, and gloried in my approbation.  If
these Galileans would take away my life, will you, a true-born Jew,
desert me?"

Javan regarded him at that moment with a feeling of pity and
contempt.  He dropped his sword, and his example was followed by the
rest, some of whom still entertained a regard for the general, who
had hitherto displayed such wisdom and courage in the defence of
their town.  He seized the favourable moment, and exclaimed, "If you
are resolved to die, let us cast lots who shall first be slain.  Thus
each will suffer death in turn; and yet none incur the guilt of dying
by his own hand.  It would be dishonourable in me to survive, if all
the rest are determined to perish."  This proposal was readily
acceded to, for all believed that Josephus would share the same fate
with themselves.  The lots were cast, and one by one these undaunted
men offered their breasts to the sword of him who was doomed to be
his executioner.  Whether by chance, or, which is more probable, by
artifice, so it was that the lot fell not on Josephus, until all were
slain except himself and one other.  That other was young Javan; and
his fierce spirit did not shrink from enduring the death which he had
just inflicted on the last of his companions.  But his general felt
equally repugnant thus in cold blood either to slay a
fellow-creature, or to submit to the stroke of death from him; and
promising him his future friendship, he at length so worked on the
young man's feelings and natural love of life, that he agreed to
ascend with him and submit to the promised clemency of Vespasian.

Nicanor immediately led them to the general, while all the Romans
crowded round to obtain a sight of this distinguished man.  Many from
a distance cried out that he should be punished with death; but those
who stood near, and regarded his fallen countenance, were touched
with pity for his misfortunes, and admiration of his great and noble
exploits; and Titus, above all the rest, was filled with sympathy for
the captive.  He persuaded his father to grant Josephus his life; but
he was kept closely guarded, and it was supposed he would be sent
immediately to Rome to the Emperor Nero.  Josephus dreaded this
event, and in the hope of avoiding it, he entreated a private
interview with Vespasian; and all having withdrawn, except Titus and
two other friends, he declared that it was not from a love of life
that he had given himself up to the Romans, but because he was
commissioned to announce to Vespasian and his son that they were
appointed to succeed to the imperial dignity.  He then implored that
he might not be sent to Nero, but be kept in chains, if it was
thought necessary, until his prediction was fulfilled; for he
acknowledged, that if he should be found guilty of having deceived
his conqueror in the name of the God of Israel, he should deserve a
worse punishment than captivity.

Vespasian was struck with the prophetic promises of the captive; yet
suspecting his sincerity, he asked him how it was that if he could
foretell future events, he had not foreseen the fall of Jotapata and
his own captivity, and sought to avert the calamity.  Josephus
replied that he had repeatedly warned the Jotapateans of their coming
fate, and told them that they would hold out the siege for
forty-seven days, when they would be conquered, and he himself taken
prisoner.  On this declaration the Roman general caused inquiry to be
made among the prisoners as to its truth; when they asserted that
such prophecies had actually been pronounced by their leader.
Whether this was really the case or not, we cannot now determine; but
it had the effect of impressing on Vespasian's mind the prediction of
his own future greatness; and though he did not set the prophet at
liberty, he treated him with great kindness, and made him several
valuable presents.  Javan also was kept in strict captivity with the
other prisoners who were reserved either for sale or as domestic
slaves to their conquerors.  The rough but kind-hearted Rufus visited
him frequently, and took many opportunities of adding to his
comforts, and enlivening his spirits by his conversation and
encouragement.  But he could not resist reminding Javan of the
unworthy return he had once made to his forbearance and friendship,
when he wounded him so ungratefully after his sally from the walls.
"Methinks," he said, "that the generosity and virtue of one whom you
call a heathen, has shown itself to be superior to the boasted
religion of the Jews; for I forgive you, and come to your relief, and
you sought to slay me at the moment when I forbore to injure you."

This reproach cut the proud self-righteous Pharisee to the heart, but
he could not reply to it; and Rufus changed the subject, to talk to
him of their mutual friends at Jerusalem.

Would to God there were among ourselves no nominal Christians, who by
their cruel and vindictive, or otherwise unchristian spirit, give
occasion to the enemies of our holy religion to speak evil of that
which they profess, but do not follow.  But even as they were not
true children of Abraham, who trusted to themselves that they were
righteous,--and, while indulging pride and cruelty, and revenge, yet
despised others,--neither are we all Christians who are called by the
name of Christ, if we seek not to imitate the charity, and meekness,
and holiness, and love that shone forth in the life of our Master and
Redeemer.


[Illustration: Interior of the Golden Gate]




CHAPTER V.

It was on the sabbath-day that the intelligence of the fall of
Jotapata, and the massacre of the garrison and inhabitants, reached
Jerusalem; and the dreadful news brought grief and consternation into
the city.  Their chief warrior, on whom they depended as the leader
of their armies, was reported to have fallen; their choicest troops
were slain; and one of the strongest of the Galilean fortresses
destroyed.  But though the dejection and sorrow were general, yet in
some families it was more profound and heartfelt, for they had lost a
son, a brother, or a husband among the Jewish troops.  In Zadok's
house the sound of mourning and woe was heard, for it was believed
that Javan was slain.  He had joined the army of Josephus, and was
known to be present at the siege of Jotapata; and as all the garrison
as well as the inhabitants were reported to be massacred, his
parents, his sister, and the faithful old Deborah wept and lamented
for him as dead, with all the vehemence, and the deep demonstrations
of grief, that were always exhibited by the ancient Jews, and still
distinguish the inhabitants of the East in all cases of severe
affliction.  Javan's faults were now forgotten, and it was only
remembered that he was a son and a brother; and even Claudia, who had
never loved him, was filled with sorrow at the thought of his
untimely and cruel death.  Zadok sought in vain to console his
weeping family; while his own heart was torn with grief for his lost
son, and saddened at the unhappy prospects of his ill fated country.

But while he was absorbed in gloomy thoughts, the trumpets of the
temple sounded long and loud, and reminded him that it was the hour
for the evening sacrifice, and that he must lay aside all worldly
feelings, and go forth to minister in the Lord's house.  It was his
turn that day to officiate at the altar in the order of his course;
and no private business or private sorrow must be allowed to
interfere with his holy office.  He therefore performed the necessary
ablutions and purifications, and assumed his priestly robes.  The
trumpets sounded again, and he set forth towards the temple; and ere
he had ascended the broad flight of steps that led to the outer
court, the third and last summons pealed forth, and echoed from the
hills around, to call the inhabitants and the throngs of priests and
Levites to worship in that glorious house of God.  The cheerfulness
and peace which usually marked the weekly festival of the Jewish
sabbath, had been interrupted and clouded that day by the news from
Jotapata; and the crowds of rich and poor, old and young, master and
slave, who had met without the gates to enjoy the day of rest, and
indulge, according to their custom, in social intercourse, had
hurried into the city to listen to the gloomy tidings.  The dismay
and sorrow that had stricken so many families prevented the temple
service from being so numerously attended as usual, and delayed the
arrival of the congregation; so that Zadok entered the outer court
(or court of the Gentiles), and found the spacious area nearly
deserted.  His spirit was sad, and he walked slowly through the
pillared cloisters that surrounded the court, and led to the stately
dwellings of the priests and ministering officers of the temple.
Beneath the alabaster porticoes and colonnades were the seats where
the elders and sages passed much of their time in instructing the
people, but they were now unoccupied.  He passed on to the inner or
holy temple, and looked with melancholy pride and admiration on the
marble walls, the gold and silver gates, the ornaments of clustering
grapes, and pomegranates of glittering gold and brass, the cedar
roofs, and splendid hangings of purple and scarlet, and the altars of
rich incense that filled the air with the most exquisite perfumes,
and his naturally sanguine spirit was depressed.  Even he felt that
the power of the Romans was becoming irresistible, and that ere long,
flushed with their Galilean victories, they would appear before the
walls of Jerusalem.  With their divided and ill-governed troops, how
could the Jews hope to resist their countless and well-disciplined
forces? and should they once more gain access into the holy and
beloved city, urged on by revenge and fury, where would their ravages
cease? and what would be the fate of the sacred building in which he
stood?  Its beauty and its sanctity might fail to preserve it from
the destroying hands of the idolaters, though every son of Israel
were to shed his blood in its defence.

Zadok strove to shake off these dismal forebodings, so unusual to his
heroic and exalted character; for, relying on the arm of Jehovah, and
believing the Jews to be his only and peculiar people, he seldom
admitted a thought that any serious calamity would be permitted to
fall on them.  He approached the altar of sacrifice, now surrounded
by the gathering crowd, and took from the hands of the attending
Levites the appointed victims, two being always prepared for the
sabbath offering.  He slew them, and presented them before the Lord
with all the accustomed forms; and while the smoke of the altar
ascended in a cloud of the richest incense, he looked forward in
faith to that Messiah, of whom he knew these sacrifices were but the
type, and whom he believed in his blindness had not yet appeared on
the earth to take away sin, and redeem his people.  But though Zadok
was in error, yet his piety was sincere and fervent, and his soul was
comforted by the sacred service and the holy worship; so that he
returned to his house with a more cheerful countenance.

But sorrow and dismay had taken possession of the city, and for
thirty days the voice of wailing was heard in Jerusalem.  Almost
every family was called to mourn some private calamity, in the loss
of their friends and relations who had fallen at Jotapata; while all
united in deploring the death of Josephus as a heavy national
affliction; and musicians were hired to perform funeral chants to his
memory.  The chiefs and elders met in frequent council, to devise
what measures should be adopted for checking the further progress of
the Romans: but their assemblies were generally broken up in wrath
and violence, for among the contending parties who exercised power
and tyranny in the unhappy city, none could be found to unite
cordially for the general good; and nothing effectual was determined
on.  Zadok attended several of these councils, and endeavoured by his
manly good sense and acute judgment, to lead the conflicting chiefs
to lay aside their private quarrels, and join heart and hand for the
common defence of their country; but his voice was unheeded, and
jealousy and passion reigned supreme.  So violent were some of the
parties on one occasion, that at length he departed from the scene of
tumult, and hastened to his home, where yet he could enjoy domestic
peace and tranquillity.

Naomi met him as he entered the vestibule, and he was astonished at
seeing her lovely face radiant with smiles of joy.  She knelt before
him with the graceful veneration which was always expected from the
children of the ancient Israelites towards their parents when
demanding their blessing, on their return from the temple, or on any
other solemn occasion; and her father fondly laid his hands on her
glossy and raven hair, and pronounced the customary benediction, "God
make thee as Sarah, and Rebecca, and Rachel, and Leah;" thus using
the words of the patriarch Jacob, but substituting the names of those
favoured women of Ephraim and Manasseh, as the blessing was addressed
to a female.  Naomi then sprang up, and threw herself into the arms
of her father, exclaiming, "Javan is alive! my brother is safe!  Oh
let us praise the Lord for his goodness!"

She was quickly followed by Salome, who with tears of joy and
gratitude presented to Zadok a letter from their friend Rufus, and
informed him that a special messenger had arrived with the letter
immediately after his departure for the temple.  It was accompanied
by one to Claudia, which had declared its contents, and given them
the happy intelligence of Javan's preservation and safety; but they
had waited impatiently for Zadok's return, to satisfy their curiosity
as to all the particulars of his fate.  Their joy was greatly clouded
when they found that he was a prisoner in the Roman camp, though
Rufus assured them that he was kindly treated, and that there was a
hope of his being released if the Jews submitted, and any exchange of
prisoners took place.  But Zadok knew that of such an event there was
not the slightest probability, as the Jews were resolved to resist
the Roman power to the very uttermost; and his own national pride and
desire for the independence of his people were so great, that even to
procure the freedom of his son, he could not bring himself to hope
for their submission.  He did not however communicate these
reflections to his wife and daughter; and he joined with them in
their joy and gratitude that Javan's life was spared.

Rufus had hoped that his messenger would have reached Jerusalem
before the sad tidings of the fall of Jotapata were known there, and
that thus his friends would be spared the shock of believing that
their son had fallen in the general massacre; but it had required
some trouble and ingenuity to convey his letters into the hands of a
trustworthy Jew, who would undertake to deliver them to Zadok, as of
course none of his own Roman troops could go on such an errand; and
ere all this could be arranged, the intelligence had flown to the
capital.  The packet contained also a letter from Marcellus to
Claudia, which had been sent from Rome by a friend of his, who was
ordered to join the camp with a reinforcement of troops, and Rufus
had now forwarded it to his daughter.  As we have heard but little of
the proceedings of the young Roman, we will here give the substance
of his letter:--


"It is a long time, my dearest Claudia, since I have found means of
writing to you; and I now gladly avail myself of the departure of a
body of soldiers to Galilee, one of whom is a valued friend of mine,
and will safely convey my letter.  When last I heard from you, you
mentioned the probability of your going to our old friends at
Jerusalem; and I rejoiced to think that you would again enjoy their
society, and be in peace and safety under their happy roof.  How few
of their nation are so free from prejudice and superstition as to
admit a Roman maiden into their house as a member of the family!
Javan alone will make your residence there in any way irksome, for if
he is not greatly changed, he will almost scorn to eat at the same
table with a Gentile.  But our dear Naomi and the kind gentle Salome
will be to you is a sister and a mother, now that you are bereft of
your own beloved parent; and Zadok is too generous and too
high-minded to suffer you to be slighted while under his protection.
Oh that I were with you, my sister!  All the magnificence and gaiety
of Rome do not compensate me for being so far removed from all whom I
have loved from childhood; and I often think with regret of the happy
hours I have passed with you and Naomi among the groves and gardens
of Judea.  I rejoice to say that my time of probation is almost over,
and I shall soon be enrolled among the soldiers of Rome, and sent to
join one of the legions now on duty abroad.  Our uncle Sulpitius has
much interest with the emperor, and he promises to get me appointed
to the tenth legion, which is commanded by the noble Titus, and is
now in Galilee, forming part of the great army with which Vespasian
hopes ere long to quell the Jewish rebellion.  I shall then be with
my father, and also shall hope to see you, and possibly Naomi also,
for the war cannot last much longer.  The Jews must soon submit to
the overwhelming power of Rome; and I trust they will do so before
much more blood is shed, and before Vespasian leads his troops
against Jerusalem itself, which is said here to be his intention.
What would be my feelings, if as a Roman soldier I was forced to
assist in the capture of the place where our dear Naomi and all her
family dwell, and to fight against her father, and her brother!  You,
my sister, would of course be removed to some safe refuge; but I know
that Zadok would remain to counsel and aid his countrymen; and
Naomi's devoted spirit would never allow her to seek safety in any
other spot, while her father, her mother, and her beloved city, were
exposed to danger.  Oh! that her valiant and patriotic people may yet
be wise in time, and by a prudent submission avert the fearful
calamities which may otherwise overtake them!  Their further
resistance will only exasperate the emperor and his generals yet more
and more, and bring a heavier ruin on their heads.  My heart is in
Jerusalem; and while I glory in being a Roman, I feel that Jerusalem
is still my home, and the place where I would wish to dwell.  This is
a glorious and magnificent city, even surpassing all my expectations.
You, I think, must have quite forgotten the city where you were born,
for even I had but a faint recollection of some of the chief streets;
and everything seemed strange to me when I returned, except my
uncle's house and his extensive garden, where we used to play in our
childhood with our cousin Camillus.  Whenever I enter this lonely
spot I feel at home again; and such recollections rush to my mind of
my dear mother, that I can hardly believe she is departed, and that I
shall see her no more.  May her spirit be blessed wherever it now
dwells!

"You know that the house in which we lived in Rome has been
destroyed, and a noble temple dedicated to Mercury new occupies the
place where it stood.  Doubtless you will suppose that thither I
often bend my steps and pay my vows; but, Claudia, it is not so.  I
live in the capital of the gods of Rome; and wherever I turn I behold
splendid fanes, and rich altars, and exquisite sculptures set up in
honour of these countless deities; but I have ceased to bow my knee
to any of them.  Yet do not suppose, that like so many of my young
countrymen, in discovering the fallacy and absurdity of the system in
which I had been educated, I have cast off all belief, and become an
infidel.  No, I have learnt to worship the one true God of heaven and
earth; and tell your friend Naomi that henceforth she must not think
of Marcellus as a blind idolater, who bows down to images of wood and
stone, but a sincere worshipper of Jehovah.  And yet I do not declare
myself a Jew, for many of the Jewish rites and ceremonies still seem
to me but folly; and I have been instructed in many things that I
would wish to communicate to you, but I dare not until we meet.  Oh,
Claudia, let a brother's entreaties and a brother's example induce
you to embrace a better faith than that which now you hold.  Listen
to the words of Naomi, and she will tell you of the power, and
wisdom, and love of our great Creator, who is far above all gods; and
may He enlighten your mind to see in Him the true Deity, and lead you
to despise those gods that are the work of men's hands, and have no
power to do either good or evil.

"Through His mercy I became acquainted with an aged man, learned in
the Scriptures and full of piety and holiness.  His arguments have
convinced me of the folly of idolatry, and the happiness of putting
all our trust in the Almighty Jehovah.  I beseech you to read those
holy Scriptures with care and diligence, and by the blessing of God
you will learn the truth; and then when I see you, my sister, I will
impart to you what further knowledge I have received from my
venerable friend.  He has many scholars here, but he is hated and
despised by the Romans, as the doctrines that he teaches, and the
mode of life that he inculcates and follows, are in direct opposition
to the absurd faith and luxurious lives of the people of this great
but wicked city.  Nero especially holds in abhorrence both the Jews
and those who attend the teaching of my instructor.  All his time is
devoted to amusement or to cruelty; and on the Nazarenes, who are
numerous in Rome, he wreaks his vengeance with an unsparing hand,
whenever they are discovered and dragged before him.  You will
shudder when I tell you of the dreadful treatment which some of these
unhappy people have met with lately.

"A party of them were discovered and accused before the emperor of
being followers of Jesus of Nazareth; and they boldly avowed the
charge, and declared their resolution to endure all things that could
be inflicted on them, but never to deny the name of Jesus.  The
indignation of Nero was excited at their undaunted reply, and he
determined to employ the severest cruelty, in order to force them to
submit to his commands, and to bow down to an idol.  But nothing
could shake their firmness, and they were given over to death in its
most hideous forms.  Some of them were enclosed in the skins of
beasts, and turned into the Circus, and torn to pieces by dogs.
Others were crucified; and to increase their torments, they were
insulted and mocked in their dying agonies.  And worse than all, when
the public games were performed in the emperor's own gardens, and the
populace were admitted to see them, some of these miserable
Christians were covered with wax and other combustibles, and fixed in
different parts of the gardens, with a sharp stake placed under their
chin to keep them upright, and in that situation they were set on
fire, and burnt alive to serve as flambeaux to light the spectators!
My blood boils while I describe these enormities, which doubtless
will call down a judgment on those who perpetrated them, and on this
guilty city; though many of the inhabitants were filled with pity and
indignation at the eight of such sufferings, and would have
endeavoured to obtain the pardon of the Nazarenes, had not the
character of Nero and his violent and bloody temper deterred them
from the attempt.  Think not that I witnessed these executions.
Camillus would have dragged me to the gardens, but I left him, and
fled from the city in horror and disgust.  I grieve to say that he
witnessed and enjoyed the revolting spectacle; though his natural
refinement of disposition would, I should have imagined, have
deterred him, even if no feelings of humanity existed in his heart.
Unhappily he is devoted to the worst species of philosophy; and
disregards all religion and all care for the good of mankind, making
his own individual enjoyment the sole object of his existence.  He
believes that when he dies his spirit will be totally annihilated,
and that therefore it is the highest wisdom to seize on every
enjoyment now within his grasp, and think not of the future.  He
passes much of his time in the schools of the Epicurean philosophers,
whose doctrines he finds agreeable, and many of whom are certainly
men of great abilities, and capable of giving useful instruction on
every subject unconnected with religion.  On my first arrival in
Rome, I frequented their schools with Camillus, and the charm of
their eloquence almost beguiled me into adopting their opinions; but,
happily for me, my acquaintance with the old teacher whom I have
mentioned already, occurred in time to save me from such pernicious
doctrines.

"I also accompanied our cousin to the amphitheatres and other public
exhibitions; but they soon wearied me, and the barbarity of the
combats of the gladiators, and the cruel struggles of condemned
criminals with wild beasts, shocked and disgusted me; and
notwithstanding the ridicule of Camillus and his equally thoughtless
companions, I have ceased to attend these spectacles.  Indeed I
usually seize the opportunity of my uncle and cousin being thus
engaged, for repairing to the humble dwelling of my beloved teacher,
where I listen to his words of truth and piety with untiring and
increasing attention.

"In this luxurious city, the house of Sulpitius is remarkable for its
simplicity and absence of all ornament.  He prides himself on
preserving the same frugality and modesty in his dwelling and
establishment that so peculiarly distinguished the ancient Romans in
the days of the Republic.  He extends this simplicity to every part
of his domestic life, and it is only when he takes his place as a
senator that he assumes such robes as are suitable to his rank and
wealth; on all other occasions his attire is plain, even to
singularity, and forms a contrast to the splendid and expensive
attire of Camillus, who is permitted to indulge all his tastes and
fancies to the utmost, though so widely differing from those of his
father.  The increasing luxury and refinement of the Romans is a
source of deep grief to Sulpitius: but he feels that it is in vain to
attempt to check it, even in his own son; and with a few of his
friends who still retain their virtue and simplicity of manners, he
bewails the corruption of the times.  The sumptuous golden palace of
Nero excites his highest indignation, as an example of extravagance
and lavish indulgence that will be pernicious to the whole nation.
It is indeed a splendid edifice, and fitted up with gold and silver,
and marble and precious stones, and Babylonian carpets, as if almost
to vie with the temple at Jerusalem.  But nothing has excited my
admiration and wonder more than the aqueducts and the public roads,
which I have seen in my excursions in the neighbourhood.  The roads
are carried in a direct line from the city, as a grand centre, to the
towns around, and I hear that they extend through great part of the
Roman dominions.  All obstacles are made to give way; hills are
levelled, and valleys filled up, and bold arches thrown over streams
and rivers.  The middle of the road is raised to a considerable
height, with a mixture of sand and gravel united into a solid mass
with a powerful and durable cement, and this terrace is then paved
with large hewn stones, so well laid together that I imagine they
must last as long as the world endures.  There are houses established
at every five or six miles' distance, which are constantly supplied
with forty horses for the use of travellers, and on any urgent
occasion the messengers of the emperor travel along these roads at a
rate of a hundred miles a-day.  All this is a fine effect of Roman
power and civilization, and so is the extensive and lucrative
commerce that is carried on with every country in the known world;
but I blush for the corrupt tastes of my countrymen, when I see silk
dresses purchased with an equal weight of gold, and immense sums of
money squandered in the Asiatic merchants' shops, for pearls, and
jewels, and aromatics, and hangings, and carpets from Tyre and
Babylon, and the distant cities of Persia.  The strongest mark of the
decline of Roman manners is, I think, the ostentatious display which
every citizen now makes of a multitude of household slaves.  In one
palace that I have visited with my uncle, no less than four hundred
are to be found; and the wealth of a Roman is estimated by the number
of slaves that he possesses.  That is a melancholy species of wealth
which consists in the persons of our fellow-creatures!  Camillas says
that they were born to serve the Romans; but I cannot believe that
the great and merciful Creator designed one race of men to be subject
to the cruelty and caprice of another, or that victory in war can
entitle the conquerors to treat the vanquished like beasts of burden.
A sad procession of captive Jews arrived here a few days ago, sent by
Vespasian from one of the conquered cities of Galilee, and they were
led to the public market and sold as slaves.  Their manly and heroic
countenances filled me with pity and with grief, and I was weak
enough--as Camillus would have called it--to weep at the degradation
of so many noble human beings; and particularly when I reflected that
they were Naomi's fellow-countrymen, and that her own father and
brother, yes, and even she herself, might one day be exposed to the
same indignity and misery.  Oh may the Lord avert so deep a calamity,
and give the Jews a heart to see their danger and imprudence, and to
retrace their steps, ere themselves and all most dear to them are
plunged in ruin and in slavery!  Farewell, my dear Claudia.  Commend
me with great affection and respect to Naomi, and greet her parents
and her brother as my oldest friends.  The blessing of heaven attend
you all; and may God listen to the prayers that are daily offered up
for you by your brother

"MARCELLUS."


This long letter from her beloved brother gave Claudia the greatest
pleasure; and though she expressed much surprise at the entire change
in his sentiments on religion, and the deep importance which he now
seemed to attach to that subject, yet the change did not appear to
give her any dissatisfaction, and from that time she listened with
attention and complacency to all the arguments of Naomi, and even
obeyed her brother's injunction to peruse the inspired writings of
Moses and the prophets, of which her friend possessed a beautiful
copy.  The intelligence conveyed in the letter of Marcellus was to
Naomi a source of unmixed joy and gratitude.  That he who had so long
possessed her esteem and affection should have forsaken the sin and
folly of idolatry, and have learned to worship that one Supreme Being
who was the object of her entire devotion, filled her with delight;
and she felt that her attachment to him, against which she had so
long struggled, was now no longer guilty.  But a great change had
taken place in her own opinions and feelings since her first
interview with Mary on the Mount of Olives.  All that she had heard
from that aged disciple of the Lord Jesus Christ had sunk deep into
her heart, and God had caused the word of truth spoken by his feeble
servant to take root in the soul of the young Jewess.  She could not
banish the subject from her thoughts; and the natural energy and
determination of her character led her to risk everything, in order
to obtain information on a point which she felt to be one of eternal
consequence.

She had therefore used all her influence with the kind-hearted,
indulgent old Deborah; and had already induced her to accompany her
more than once to the house of her Christian friend, and to leave her
there to enjoy, for as long a time as it was safe to do so, the
conversation that was at once so interesting and so delightful.
Deborah was not informed that Mary was one of the detested sect of
the Nazarenes, or even Naomi would have failed to persuade her to
assist in these stolen interviews; but she knew that her religion
differed from that of her young friend, and therefore she believed
that she was of a different sect of Jews to that of which Zadok and
his family were distinguished members, and that consequently Naomi's
friendship for her would be disapproved of by her father; but she
thought no great harm could come from these meetings, and promised
that she would keep them secret.

Nothing would ever have induced the open-hearted affectionate Naomi
to conceal any of her actions from her parents, but the certainty
that, in this case, their knowledge of her object, and the change
that was rapidly being effected in her sentiments, would only cause
them profound grief and excite their severe displeasure, without in
any way banishing from her mind the ardent desire and resolution to
become acquainted with the doctrines of Christianity.  She felt that
her soul was at stake; and if all she heard from Mary was true, it
was her duty even to forsake her father and mother, rather than deny
and abandon that faith which was able to make her wise unto
salvation.  She could not conceal from herself that already she was
almost persuaded to be a Christian; and the blessed hopes of life and
immortality that were opened to her mind as the Gospel of Jesus
Christ was gradually mads known to her, brought with them a
satisfaction and joy such as she had never felt before, and such as
she would not have resigned for any earthly consideration.

"Would Marcellus ever believe in the crucified Jesus of Nazareth?"
was a thought that crossed her mind with force, while she rejoiced in
the declaration which she had just heard in his letter to Claudia, of
his being no longer an idolater;--"otherwise should we not be still
divided by our faith, even as we have ever been?"--and her first act
on finding herself alone, was to implore that the same grace that had
already partially dispelled the blindness and unbelief of her own
heart, might be granted to Marcellus, and lead him to a like faith.
"When we meet," said she to herself, "I will repeat to him all that
Mary has told me;--never will one word of her discourse pass from my
memory;--or, if possible, I will lead him to her dwelling, and he
shall hear the words of truth and wonder from her own lips.  He has
proved that his soul is open to conviction, by so quickly receiving
the belief in one Almighty God; and doubtless he will as candidly and
freely listen to the story of Jesus of Nazareth, and then surely he
will see, and believe, and adore, as I feel myself constrained to do."

Had Naomi known all that Marcellus had not ventured to declare in his
letter, how happy and how thankful would she have been!--for he had
already advanced beyond herself in religious light and knowledge, and
was a sincere, devoted, and enlightened Christian.  The teacher to
whom he owed his conversion was no other than Clement of Rome, the
fellow-worker with St. Paul and, who, after having laboured in the
church at Philippi, had removed to the capital, where in after times
he succeeded to the bishopric, and lived until the third year of the
reign of the Emperor Trajan.


[Illustration: Exterior of the Holy Sepulchre]




CHAPTER VI.

The letter of Rufus conveyed the intelligence of Josephus's
preservation, and his captivity in the Roman camp, and Zadok hastened
to communicate it to the chief men of the city.  The news spread
rapidly through Jerusalem, and as rapidly the sorrow that had been
felt and shown on account of his supposed death was changed into the
fiercest indignation at his thus consenting to survive his heroic
countrymen.  Some called him a dastardly coward, who had feared to
meet an honourable death, while others execrated his name as a
traitor; and a fierce desire to wreak their vengeance on the apostate
was now added to the other motives for resistance to the Romans.
They longed to see Vespasian's standards approach their walls, in the
full conviction that no power would resist the fury of their sally on
the foe, and that all their calamities and reverses would be
obliterated in the blood of their enemies.

But Vespasian did not yet give them the opportunity which they so
madly desired.  What were his motives for not pursuing his victorious
way to Jerusalem at that time is uncertain; but so it was, that he
turned aside and left the rebels in the capital to exercise their
fury on themselves, and thus to weaken their own powers.  The Roman
general visited Agrippa at Cæsarea, on the sea-coast, and then passed
to Cæsarea Philippi in the north of Galilee, where he allowed his
army to rest and refresh themselves for twenty days.

He then proceeded to quell the symptoms of insurrection which had
been displayed in Tiberias and Tarichea, two cities on the Lake of
Genesareth that belonged to King Agrippa, but seemed little disposed
to unite with him in his attachment to the Roman party.  Tiberias
soon surrendered, but a body of insurgents left the city, and took
refuge in Tarichea, which had been carefully fortified by Josephus.
The Roman army pitched their camp beneath the walls, and commenced
their preparations for a siege; and while their works were advancing,
a reinforcement of young recruits arrived from Rome, and joined the
legions already assembled.  Among these recruits was Marcellus, who
was received with the warmest affection by his father, and through
his interest was soon enrolled among the troops under the special
command of Titus.  Before he was allowed to take his place among his
future comrades, an oath was administered to him, according to the
military custom of the Romans, with every circumstance of solemnity.
He was required to swear that he would never desert his standard,
that he would submit his own will to the commands of his leaders, and
that he would sacrifice his life for the safety of the emperor or the
empire.  This ceremony being performed, his arms were presented to
him, and he became one of the redoubted band of cavalry so nobly led
by the gallant Titus.  The arms of attack and defence of the cavalry
consisted of a coat of mail, and light boots and helmet; an oblong
shield was fastened on the left arm, while the right hand carried a
long javelin, and a sharp broadsword hung from the girdle.  The foot
soldiers were very differently accoutred, having an open helmet with
a lofty crest, a breastplate of iron, and greaves of the same metal
on their legs.  A shield or buckler, four feet long and two feet and
a-half wide, was carried on the left arm, and was capable of covering
the whole person, when the troops knelt to receive the charge of
their enemies.  It was composed of a frame of light wood, on which
was stretched a bull's-hide, and strengthened with plates of brass.
Their offensive arms were powerful and various, consisting of a light
spear for thrusting, and also pilium, or ponderous javelin, six feet
long, and terminating in a steel point of the length of eighteen
inches.  This was thrown from a distance of ten or twelve yards; and
such were its force and weight when cast by the practised hand of a
veteran legionary, that neither shield nor corslet could resist it.
After the pilium had been thrown, the soldier drew his short,
double-edged sword, and rushed forward to the closer and yet more
deadly conflict that was carried on hand to hand.

For a few days the operations of the besieging army continued
undisturbed, and Marcellus was not called to prove his own courage
and discipline, or the temper of his polished and unsullied arms.  He
therefore employed this brief period of leisure in rambling along the
shores of the beautiful lake, as far as he could do so with safety.
It was a lovely spot, and even to a common observer could not fail to
be full of interest.  The blue waters stretched before him, calm and
transparent beneath the warm beams of an eastern sun, and the shores
were crowded with rich and populous towns, whose terraced roofs and
lofty towers were seen rising above the luxuriant groves and orchards
that clothed the whole of that fertile district.  The graceful palm,
the dark olive, and the spreading fig-tree fringed the very margin of
the lake, and were reflected on its smooth surface as on a mirror;
while every port was animated with vessels preparing to assist the
Taricheans in the defence of their city, or in case of a defeat to
carry them off to the other side of the lake.  A great part of the
town was washed by the waters, and thus protected from the assault of
the Romans, and a strong wall was carried round on every other side.
Close to this wall the camp of Vespasian was pitched, and the white
tents and glittering banners glanced gaily in the sunshine.
Marcellus wandered in the shade of a grove of palms, and looked with
admiration and emotion on the scene before him; but it was not the
natural beauty of the landscape which chiefly excited his feelings,
nor was it the animating view of military preparations or the
thoughts of military glory that now filled the heart of the young
soldier.  No, his soul was absorbed in thoughts of days gone by, and
his imagination pictured to him the scenes that had once been
witnessed on the shores of that now tranquil lake.  His fancy once
again peopled the grove in which he stood with a multitude of
Galilean peasants and rude fishermen, with men, women, and children,
all hushed in silence, and listening with deep attention to the words
of one individual who stood in the midst of them, and on whom every
eye was turned.  No rays of visible glory shone round the head of the
speaker--no heavenly light illuminated his features--his form was as
that of other men; and yet, oh how different!  There was a calm
majesty in his person, and an expression of godlike mercy and
compassion in his mild and dignified countenance, that separated him
immeasurably from all the human beings that surrounded him.  And from
his lips proceeded such gracious, such piercing words of instruction,
of reproof, of love, and of pity, that Marcellus awoke from his deep
reverie, exclaiming, "Truly never man spoke like this man!  O blessed
Jesus! would that I had seen thy day on earth, and had lived a humble
fisherman on these shores, that I might have heard thy voice, and
followed thy steps, and ministered to thee and died with thee!"

So thought and so felt the ardent young convert; and so have thought
and felt many a sincere Christian, while recalling to his mind the
days when his Saviour walked upon the earth, and marvelling at the
unbelief and hardness of heart, and faithless conduct of those who
beheld his miracles and heard his instructions; yes, even of those
chosen few who were privileged to be his followers and his friends.
But "let him that thinketh he standeth, take heed lest he fall."  Had
we been brought up in the errors and prejudices of the Jews in those
days, we too might have rejected and disbelieved the Messiah in his
poverty and humility; and let us beware that with all the light of
the Gospel, and all the advantages of a Christian education, we do
not practically reject the Saviour, and in our lives deny him.  Let
us ask of him strength to cleave to him through all temptations and
all trials, and faith to believe in him, though as yet we see not his
face; remembering his own words of encouragement, "Blessed are they
who have not seen, and yet have believed."

Marcellus lingered long in the shady grove.  Before he left Rome he
had been presented by his beloved teacher, Clement, with a small copy
of the Gospel of St. Matthew; and this treasure he always carried
about him, and eagerly sought every opportunity of studying it, when
he could do so unobserved.  He now drew it forth, and unrolled the
long and narrow strip of parchment on which it was inscribed.  It was
written in Hebrew, but his long residence in Jerusalem, and his
constant intercourse with the family of Zadok, had made him familiar
with that language, and he read with interest and delight until the
shades of evening warned him to return to his father's tent.

"Ah," thought he, "if Naomi and Claudia were but with me, here in the
scene of the miracles and the preaching of Him whom now they despise,
how would I read to them the words of his own mouth, and how would I
endeavour to repeat to them all that I heard from my venerable friend
at Rome, and to touch their hearts and convince their minds with the
narratives, the arguments, and the entreaties that he employed to
remove the thick cloud of ignorance and prejudice in which I was
enveloped, and to bless me with the light of the Gospel of Christ!
Naomi at least worships the one Almighty and true God, though in
error and in darkness; but my poor Claudia, she, alas! is yet in
idolatry, May the Lord Jehovah give power and strength to the words
of her friend, and bring her to the knowledge of Himself, and so
prepare her to receive the truths of Christianity!  And my father,
too, shall he live and die in his idolatry?  God forbid!  Alas, alas,
my dear kind mother is gone beyond the reach of human teaching.  She
is in that world where no doubts or uncertainties remain; and though
she died in ignorance and unbelief, yet surely it was only because
the truth was never revealed to her.  Her heart was pious and humble;
she sought for God, and found him not, because she was surrounded
with the gross darkness of idolatry; and surely He who died for all
hath wiped away her sins and redeemed her soul, although she knew Him
not."

Marcellus had fondly loved his mother, and her death had been
embittered to him by the reflection that she died a heathen; and now
he sought to assuage his grief by dwelling on the mercy of his God
and Saviour, and trusting that as so "little had been given to her,
much would not be required."  This is a hope which we have reason
confidently to indulge; for we are taught that the mercy of the Lord
is infinite towards those who act up to the light that is given to
them, and thus "having no law, are a law unto themselves."

Full of such reflections, Marcellus entered the camp, and passed
along the lines of tents that formed broad and straight streets,
thickly peopled with soldiers and the numerous followers of the army.
In his father's tent he found Javan, whom he had not seen since his
arrival at Tarichea.  Though they had lived so much together in the
days of their childhood and early youth, the great dissimilarity in
their dispositions had prevented them from forming any friendship;
and Marcellus could not but recall the numerous instances of unkind
and arbitrary conduct that had so warmly roused his indignation
against Javan in former days, and produced sharp altercation between
them.  But now he met him as a prisoner, humbled, though unchanged,
and his newly acquired Christian principles taught him to forgive his
enemy, and to comfort him in his distress.  And then he was the
brother of Naomi, though most unworthy to be so nearly connected to
one so amiable, and generous, and lovely; and therefore the young
Roman met him with an open kindness of manner that somewhat surprised
the crafty and suspicious Javan.

It was however his interest to conciliate Marcellus, and he received
him with an appearance of cordiality, and entered with him and Rufus
into a long and interesting conversation upon their friends in
Jerusalem, and the prospects of the capital being soon subjected to a
siege, unless the rulers consented to a submission.  Captivity had
not subdued the spirit of Javan, and all his fierceness broke forth
at such a suggestion.  Death in its worst form, would, he declared,
be far preferable to such a degradation; but while he made the
assertion, his hearers remembered how he and his general had so
lately consented to purchase their lives at the expense of their
liberties, and Rufus could not quite conceal the smile that curled
his lip while he listened to such bold professions.  Javan saw and
understood the smile, and his heart was filled with rage; and he
inwardly vowed to be revenged when once more at liberty, and in a
situation to encounter his benefactor with arms in his hand.

Marcellus saw but little of him for some time after this meeting, for
his time and attention were soon occupied by the active proceedings
of the siege.  A sudden and vigorous sally was made by the fugitive
Tiberians who had taken refuge in the city, upon a point where the
military works were rapidly advancing; they dispersed the workmen and
destroyed their labours; and when the troops advanced in strong array
against them, they fled back and escaped without any loss of life, A
large party of them took refuge in the vessels that lay in their
port, being unable to reach the gate from whence they had come forth;
and then they pushed off into the lake, and cast anchor in a regular
line, within reach of the missiles of their enemies, and commenced a
battle, which terminated without any decisive effect.

The next day Marcellus was summoned to go forth with six hundred of
his comrades to disperse a large body of Galileans, who were
assembled in a plain before the city.  When Titus, who commanded this
troop of horse, arrived within sight of the insurgents, he perceived
that their numbers were so immense, that he thought it necessary to
demand further succours, and sent a messenger to his father for that
purpose; but before the reinforcement could reach him, he resolved to
charge the enemy.  He made a short and spirited address to his men,
and exhorted them not to shrink from encountering the multitude
before them, but to advance boldly and secure the victory before
their fellow-soldiers arrived to share the glory.  He then placed
himself at their head and prepared to lead them on, when four hundred
horse appeared on the field, sent by Vespasian to strengthen his
forces.  His men were rather disposed to be angry than to rejoice at
this arrival, so eager were they to uphold their character for
bravery by meeting the enemy unsupported.  Titus led the attack, and
at first met with a firm resistance; but the Jews could not stand
against the long spears of the cavalry, and overpowered by the weight
of the horses and the force of the charge, they fled in confusion
towards the city.  The cavalry endeavoured to cut off their retreat,
and the havoc which they made among the fugitives was dreadful,
though numbers of them escaped and rushed in at the gates.

The inhabitants saw that there was no hope of their resisting the
foe, and desirous of preserving their lives and property, they
proposed a surrender of the town; but the Tiberians and other
strangers steadily refused to comply with this desire.  The
dissension became loud and tumultuous, and Titus hearing the noise
and confusion within the walls, cried out to his men to seize the
opportunity of making a vigorous attack, while the attention of the
besieged was distracted by civil discord.  He leaped upon his horse,
and dashing into the lake, entered the city where it was undefended
by the strong wall that enclosed it on all other sides.  Numbers of
his troops followed him; and such was the consternation of the
besieged at this sudden and unexpected entrance, that they remained
as if stupified, and attempted no resistance.  The insurgents and
many others sought to save themselves by rushing to the lake, but
they met the Romans pouring into the city, and were slain before they
could regain the streets.

When Titus ascertained that the chiefs of the rebel party were slain,
he commanded his soldiers to cease from carnage; but he sent to
inform his father that numbers of the inhabitants had escaped in
boats, and had pushed out to sea beyond the reach of the archers.
Vespasian immediately had several vessels prepared, and embarked a
detachment of troops to pursue the fugitives to the middle of the
lake.  The light boats of the poor Galileans could offer no
resistance to the Roman vessels, and they could only row swiftly
round them, and endeavour to annoy the legionaries by throwing stones
and darts among them, which merely served to irritate their pursuers.
The shores were lined with hostile troops; and if they attempted to
take refuge in some creek or rocky inlet, they were met by fierce
enemies, or followed by the Roman barks, and pierced by their long
spears, as they stood above them on their lofty decks.  Many of the
boats were crushed by the larger vessels, and when the drowning crew
rose above the water, they were transfixed by the arrows and lances
of their infuriated foes.  The surface of the lake, that so lately
sparkled in peaceful beauty, was broken with forms of death and
struggles of agony; its blue waters were tinged with blood, and for
several days a corrupt vapour rose over its whole extent, bearing
fearful witness to the multitude of slaughtered human beings that
were concealed beneath.  The verdant shores were scattered over with
disfigured and unburied corpses, swollen and decaying beneath the
burning sun; and the Romans themselves loathed to look upon the
dreadful work of their own hands.  Marcellus was not yet inured to
scenes of cruelty and blood; and his heart sickened when he beheld
the smiling, and in his eyes sacred, shores of the Galilean sea thus
polluted with the remains of such ruthless barbarity.

For the cruelty of this massacre Vespasian may not be charged; but a
blot remains upon his name for one action which succeeded it, and
never can it be effaced by his glory in after days.  Numbers of
strangers had been taken captive by the Romans at the conquest of
Tarichea, and as they were looked upon as the most determined rebels,
they were kept distinct from the other prisoners.  A tribunal was
erected in the city, and the general proceeded to pass judgment on
these offenders against the majesty of Rome.  Instigated by some of
his officers, he resolved on putting all these unfortunate strangers
to death, lest, having no homes, they should wander through the
country exciting riot and rebellion.  But he feared to execute his
barbarous decree in the streets of Tarichea, nor did he choose to
expose to the whole city his cruel violation of the promise that had
been given to these unfortunate men when they surrendered.  He
therefore ordered them to retire from the city, but only by the way
that led to Tiberias.  Hitherto the word of the Romans had been
looked upon as inviolable, and the wretched wanderers proceeded forth
by the route which was commanded them.  But they found the road
guarded and blockaded on every side, and they could not proceed
beyond the suburbs.  Vespasian himself pursued them into the Stadium,
and there twelve hundred of the aged and helpless were slain in cold
blood; and six thousand, who were considered most fit for work, were
reserved to be sent to Nero, and to be employed in labouring at some
of his wild schemes; while thirty thousand were sold as slaves,
besides a number that were presented to Agrippa.

Doubtless multitudes of these unhappy creatures were ruffians and
vagabonds, whose object was to excite war and commotion in order that
they might escape the due punishment of their crimes; but no
considerations of this nature can palliate the cruelty and falsehood
of Vespasian.

Many of the Galilean towns laid down their arms and opened their
gates to the Romans, dismayed at the fearful example that had been
set before them; and only Gamala, Gischala, and Itabyrium, with a few
smaller towns, continued to hold out a defiance.  Gamala was even
considered a stronger fortress than Jotapata; and proud of its
situation, the inhabitants refused to submit to the conqueror.  But
after a long and terrible siege it fell, on the 23rd of September,
A.D. 67, and every inhabitant was slain, except two sisters of
Philip, Agrippa's general; and they contrived to hide themselves from
the cruel visitors.  We will not any longer dwell on the horrible
scenes of carnage that took place.  To escape the swords of the
Romans, many hundreds of men threw their wives and children down the
precipices, and then dashed after them to swift and certain
destruction.

Itabyrium had fallen, and Gischala, Jamnia, and Azotus, alone
remained in arms.  Terrified by the fate of the neighbouring towns,
the inhabitants would have submitted, but a strong faction within the
walls, headed by John the son of Levi (better known as John of
Gischala), prevented them from capitulating; and Titus was sent
against the city at the head of a thousand horse.  He saw that he
might easily take it by assault, but he was weary of bloodshed, and
probably also was aware of the peaceful disposition of the
inhabitants, and he offered them terms if they would surrender.  The
wily John prevented the people from approaching the walls, which were
manned by his own party, and he himself replied to the message of
Titus.  He affected great moderation and perfect acquiescence to the
proposed terms; but stated that the day being the sabbath, the Jews
could not proceed to comply with them without violating their most
sacred laws; and therefore he begged for a delay.  Titus complied
with this apparently reasonable request, and even withdrew his troops
to the town of Cydoessa, at a little distance.

John perceived that his artifice had succeeded; and at midnight he
stole out of the city with all his band of armed followers, and a
multitude of others, with their families and property, who had
resolved on flying to Jerusalem.  But soon the strength of the women
and children began to fail, and they could follow no longer.  The men
abandoned them, and proceeded rapidly, leaving those who should have
been their first care to perish unheeded and alone.  The hard-hearted
John urged his men to greater speed; and the miserable women sat down
with their little ones to die in darkness and despair, while they
listened to the departing footsteps of their cruel husbands and
fathers, as the sounds died away in the increasing distance.

Titus appeared at the gates of the city the following day, to claim
the performance of the terms that had been agreed upon; and the
inhabitants who remained within the walls gladly threw them open, and
delivered themselves up with their families into the hands of the
conquerors.  When he learned the treachery of John, he immediately
sent a troop of horse to overtake him, but he had escaped beyond
their reach, and they returned to Gischala, bringing with them three
thousand women and children, and having slain six thousand of the
weary fugitives who had slackened their pace, and were separated from
their selfish leader and his robber band.  The conduct of Titus was
marked with clemency and moderation towards the captured city: he
merely threw down a portion of the wall, and left a garrison in the
place to keep possession.  Shortly after the surrender of Gischala,
Jamnia and Azotus also followed its example, and received Roman
garrisons; when the season being advanced, Vespasian closed the
campaign, and retired to Cæsarea with his army.


[Illustration: Sculpture on the Arch of Titus]




CHAPTER VII.

The subjugation of Galilee had hitherto employed the whole of
Vespasian's army; and such had been the courage and obstinacy
displayed by the Jews, that it had cost the Romans much labour and
pains to subdue the rebellious province.  The leaders of the nation
in Jerusalem had sent no forces to assist their Galilean brethren,
nor had they used any other means for the relief of the besieged
places.  All their time and all their strength were wasted in violent
civil dissensions, and furious struggles for power and authority in
the metropolis.  Perhaps also they hoped that the patience of the
Romans would be exhausted, by the long continuance of the war in
Galilee, and by the time and labour that were required to reduce one
rebellious town after another; and that they would at length depart,
and leave Jerusalem to its assumed independence.  But far better
would it have been if they had employed the time that was allowed
them in preparing for the part which they ultimately had to perform;
and if instead of admitting John of Gischala and his unprincipled
followers into the city, they had sought to compose the dissensions
that already existed, and to unite under one chief, for the general
protection and safety.

But the fame of John had reached their ears, and the fact that he had
been the rival and the enemy of the now despised Josephus, only
raised him in the estimation of the people.  As soon as it was known
that he was approaching the city, multitudes flocked out to meet and
welcome him.  The exhausted and breathless condition of the men and
their horses too plainly told that they had travelled far and fast;
but the deceitful John assured the inquiring populace that they had
not fled from necessity or fear, but that they were unwilling to
spend their strength and courage in the cause of meaner towns, and
had come to shed their blood in the defence of the capital.  This
reply, however, did not satisfy all who heard it; and, from the
evident confusion and discomfiture of the fugitives, and the dreadful
details of massacre and ruin which they received from some of the
men, they felt convinced that they had fled to save their lives from
the Roman vengeance, and foreboded the fate that probably awaited
themselves.  John was a man of subtle and insinuating manner, and he
employed his eloquence and his artifice successfully in persuading
the people of Jerusalem that the Roman power was already so broken,
and their troops so wearied and dispirited, that they would never
venture to enter on the siege of such a formidable place as their
beloved city.

The young and daring listened and applauded with loud shouts of
approbation, but the old men doubted and feared for the future.  The
party of John was increased by numbers of fresh adherents, and the
city became more than ever the scene of discord and violence.  One
faction was for war, another for peace; and the conflicting opinions
distracted the public councils, and divided even private families
into fierce and opposing parties.  Every individual who had power or
wealth sufficient, gathered around himself a band of adherents; and
these lawless companies overspread the neighbouring country,
insulting, robbing, and murdering the unoffending peasantry, who
refused to join them in their crimes and violence.  Multitudes of the
inhabitants of the villages, believing that they could have nothing
worse to fear from the Romans than what they suffered from their own
countrymen, fled to the garrison towns; but the Romans either
rejoiced in the civil discord and mutual destruction, or considered
that they had no concern in their quarrels, and they afforded the
sufferers but little protection.

At length a powerful and numerous body of these marauders contrived
to get into Jerusalem, and establish themselves permanently in the
Holy City.  They were not expelled or opposed; for the warlike party
hoped by the accession of these bold and daring men, to gain strength
for the defence of the metropolis.  But they only added to the misery
and tumult that already reigned within the walls; and with the
multitude of persons who flocked from the neighbouring towns and
villages, to take refuge in Jerusalem, they greatly hastened the
consumption of provisions, which ought to have been reserved for a
time of need, and famine began to be felt among other evils and woes.

The wise and excellent Zadok, with a few of his friends who were not
actuated by avarice, ambition, or revenge, strove to stem the torrent
of sedition and violence, and preserve order and decorum among the
populace.  But what could the efforts of a few individuals, however
well-directed, effect against the influence of bribery, and passion,
and intemperance, and licensed crime?  Beyond their own families and
immediate dependents, their counsels and warnings were unheeded and
despised: and robberies, burglaries, and assassinations took place in
the open day in the streets of Jerusalem.  The robbers seized on
Antipas, a man of royal blood, who had the charge of the public
treasures, and cast him into prison.  The next victims were Saphias
and Levias, two members of the Herodian family, and many others of
noble rank shared the same fate.

The people saw and feared; but so long as they were themselves
unmolested, they took no measures to stay the growing evils.
Emboldened by their present impunity, the ruffians proceeded to
greater atrocities, and unwilling either to release their prisoners,
or to keep them any longer captive, they sent ten of their party with
drawn swords into the prison, who speedily massacred the unfortunate
captives.  At length they dared to invade the sacred temple, and
insult the majesty of Heaven with their impieties: the very holy of
holies was entered and polluted by the feet of the murderers; and
then the indignation of the populace broke forth.  Ananus, the eldest
of the chief priests, was the acknowledged leader of the party
opposed to the robbers.  He was a man of wisdom and moderation, but
he now incited the people to resistance; and the band of Zealots fled
to the temple, which they made their head-quarters, and turned into a
garrison.  That holy and beautiful house of God, the object of the
fondest veneration and pride to all the inhabitants of Jerusalem, was
now the scene of warlike preparation and boisterous intemperance; and
instead of hymns of prayer and praise, and the harmony of musical
instruments, its marble and gilded walls re-echoed with the shouts
and songs of the drunkards, or the clash of arms.

The Zealots even presumed to elect a high-priest by lot, and
proclaimed the deposition of Matthias, who had a rightful claim to
that dignity.  The people rose unanimously at this sacrilegious act;
and even those of the priests who had hitherto sought to preserve
peace, now exhorted them to throw off the yoke of the Zealots.  Zadok
joined with Ananus and Joseph, and others, and both in public and
private harangued the infuriated populace.

An assembly was convened, and Ananus, in a long and eloquent speech,
pointed out to his hearers the state of degradation to which they had
allowed themselves to be reduced, far more disgraceful than if they
had submitted to the power of the Romans; and as he spoke, he turned
his tearful eyes towards the violated temple, and reproached the
people with abandoning it into the hands of robbers.  He was listened
to with deep attention, and at the close of his harangue the crowd
around him demanded to be led instantly to the rescue of the temple.
The spies of the Zealot party who were among the multitude, gave them
instant intelligence of the feeling which was excited against them,
and while Ananus and Zadok were ordering their forces, a band of
these robbers fell upon them.  The battle raged with fury; numbers
were slain on both sides, and their bodies carried off.  Those of the
Zealots who fell were borne back to the temple, and the polished
marble pavement was stained and polluted with their blood.  The
populace pressed on, and drove the Zealots back into the temple,
following them within the sacred walls with furious cries.  The
robbers passed the outer court, and secured the gates of the next
enclosure against their pursuers; and Ananus would not allow his
followers to press their advantage, and assault the gates, for he
feared to commit violence in so holy a spot, or to take his people
into that court which was yet polluted with slaughter and crime.  He
therefore retired, leaving six thousand men in the cloisters, to keep
guard and watch the motions of the robbers.

The subtle John of Gischala had hitherto professed to support the
cause of Ananus, but all the while he maintained a correspondence
with the adverse party; and to prevent his double dealing from being
suspected, he made such vehement protestations of fidelity to Ananus,
and so readily took an oath of obedience and devotion, that the
priests and their party were entirely deceived, and admitted him into
their most secret councils, and even deputed him to go to the temple,
and endeavour to bring their enemies to terms.

The traitor undertook the mission; but no sooner was he within the
temple walls, than he threw off the mask, and addressed the robber
crew as if he had taken an oath to support them, and not to oppose
them.  He told them that he had incurred serious dangers in the
endeavour to befriend them; that schemes were now being concerted for
delivering the city up to the Romans: and that their destruction was
inevitable, as Ananus had resolved to get into the temple, either
under the pretence of performing worship, or else by main force; and
he warned them that if they did not obtain some succour speedily,
they would be at the mercy of the enraged populace.  The leaders of
the Zealots were Eleazer, the old enemy of Ananus, and Zacharias, the
son of Phalea.  They readily believed that vengeance would be taken
on them by the opposing party; and instantly adopting the crafty
suggestions of John, they despatched swift messengers to the
Idumeans, to demand their assistance.

These fierce and uncivilized people were incorporated with the Jews
as one nation; but they retained the love of adventure which belonged
to their Arab blood, and the application of the Zealots was received
with wild cries of joy.  They hastily assembled, and formed
themselves into a regular army of twenty thousand men, under the
command of James and John the sons of Lofas, Simon the son of
Cathlas, and Phineas the son of Clusothas, This numerous and powerful
body advanced immediately towards Jerusalem, proclaiming that they
were marching to the relief of the capital.

Suddenly they appeared beneath the walls and demanded admittance.
The gates were closed, and Jesus, one of the chief priests, was
deputed by Ananus to expostulate with them.  He proposed to them
either to join with the inhabitants in punishing those who caused the
present tumult, or to enter without arms and mediate between the
contending parties; or else to depart again to their own homes, and
leave Jerusalem to finish its own internal war.  All these
propositions were rudely refused by the Idumeans; and Simon the son
of Cathlas, replied, that they came to protect the patriotic party
against those who wished to sell them to the Romans, and they were
resolved to accomplish this design.  His words were received with
loud shouts by the Idumeans, and Jesus returned to Ananus,
discouraged and apprehensive.

Simon encamped before the gates, and thus the party of Ananus found
themselves besieged by two separate forces.  The Zealots could not
communicate with their new allies, for they were closely shut up in
the temple; and the Idumeans could gain no access to them.  Their
camp was inconvenient, and in an exposed situation; and many of them
repented of their hasty march for as night drew on a fearful tempest
gathered over the city, and broke with such violence as to strike
terror into all who heard it; and every heart trembled in the
conviction that it was a dreadful omen of coming destruction and woe.
The rain fell in torrents, and was accompanied by terrific thunder
and lightning, while the earth shook with the frequent vibrations of
an earthquake.  The Idumeans were exposed to the violence of the
storm, with but little shelter, except their own broad shields, which
they locked together over their heads, and thus obtained some
protection from the heavy rain; while the Zealots looked forth from
their elevated situation in the temple, anxious for the fate of their
new allies, and eagerly sought some opportunity of rendering them
assistance.  Some of the most daring among them proposed to sally
forth amid the darkness and tumult of the storm, force their way to
the gates, and open them to admit their friends; trusting by the
suddenness and fury of their assault, to overpower and scatter the
guards who were placed in the outer court.  But the more prudent
objected strongly to this desperate measure, as they knew that the
guards were more numerous than their own party, and also that the
city walls and gates were closely watched, to prevent a surprise from
the Idumeans.  It was likewise the nightly custom of Ananus to pass
up and down continually, and see that the sentinels were all at their
posts, and he was now expected every moment.

On this one dreadful night, this necessary precaution was omitted.
Perhaps Ananus trusted to the strength of the guard, which had been
doubled since the arrival of the Idumeans; or perhaps from the
violence of the tempest, he felt assured that no attack would be
attempted at that time.  Whatever were his motives, assuredly they
were overruled by an all-directing Providence, and made instrumental
in bringing about the destruction and massacre which were permitted
that night for the chastisement of a rebellious people.  The darkness
was profound; the storm raged fearfully; and many of the guard stole
away for rest and shelter.  This negligence was discovered by the
watchful Zealots; and seizing on the sacred instruments of the
temple, they proceeded to wrench off the hinges of one of the gates,
and thus to open to themselves a way into the streets.  The whistling
and roaring of the wind, and the loud claps of thunder, drowned the
noise of their operations, and a strong party of them reached the
walls of the city undiscovered.  They immediately applied their saws
and crowbars to the gate, near which the Idumeans were encamped, and
quickly tore it open.

The Idumeans at first suspected that this was some artifice of
Ananus, to draw them on to destruction and they retreated in terror;
but soon the Zealots approached, and reassured them, offering to
conduct them to victory and revenge; and had they instantly made an
attack on the city, nothing could have prevented a fearful and
general slaughter.  But their guides persuaded them first to hasten
to the temple, and rescue the remainder of their party ere the guard
should be aroused; for if those who watched the gates were once
secured, and the whole band of Zealots released, they were assured
that the conquest of the city would soon be accomplished amid the
darkness and confusion of night.

Meanwhile the Zealots in the temple were anxiously awaiting the
result of their enterprise; and when they found that the Idumeans
were entering the sacred enclosure, they boldly came forth and joined
them, and then altogether falling on the guard, many of whom were
buried in a profound sleep, they commenced a fearful slaughter.  The
guard at first gathered themselves together, and made head against
their assailants; but when they found that the Idumeans were among
their foes, they were convinced that the city was betrayed, and the
greater part of them threw down their arms in a sudden panic.  A few
of the youngest and most courageous still maintained the conflict,
and supported the attack of the Idumeans, while some of the older men
escaped, and fled shrieking down the streets, awaking and alarming
the slumbering inhabitants with an announcement of the dreadful
calamity.  They were answered by the screams and cries of women and
children, sounding shrilly through the storm; while the wild shouts
of the Idumeans and the Zealots came fearfully from the heights of
Mount Moriah, and murky clouds gave forth their awful flashes and
pealing thunders.  No mercy was shown by the Idumeans to any of the
guard who fell into their hands.  In vain they appealed to the
sanctity of the holy temple for protection; even its most sacred
precincts were deluged with blood; and in despair many of the
terrified men threw themselves headlong from the lofty rock on which
the temple stood, and were dashed to pieces in the deep abyss below.

[Illustration: DEATH OF ANANUS.]

The whole of the outer court was strewed with the dead and dying; and
when daylight broke on this awful scene of carnage, eight thousand
five hundred bodies were found heaped on this one spot.

But the pure light of day did not put an end to the deeds of darkness
and of blood that disgraced it.  The ruffian band broke into the
city, slaying and pillaging on every side.  Ananus--the wise, the
patriotic Ananus, on whom rested the hopes of all the rational and
well-disposed inhabitants--and Jesus the son of Gamala, were seized
and put to death, and their bodies trampled under the feet of their
murderers, who reproached them with being traitors to the nation.  To
such a height did they carry their barbarity, as to cast forth the
mangled remains of these priestly men to be devoured by dogs and
birds of prey, in defiance of the superstitious veneration which had
ever been entertained by the Jews towards the bodies of the dead.
Had Ananus lived, doubtless the affairs of Jerusalem might have
terminated more favourably; but her time was come, and it pleased God
to remove all obstacles to the fulfilment of his righteous decree.
With the venerable Ananus expired all hopes of peace with the Romans,
and all prospect of tranquillity in the city; and the Jewish
historian dates the utter ruin of Jerusalem from the death of this
deeply-regretted man.

Having exercised their cruelty on these distinguished persons, the
Idumeans raged with uncontrollable fury among the rest of the
inhabitants, and slew multitudes of the meaner sort like so many wild
beasts; but the young men and the nobles they cast into prison, in
the hope that they might be induced to join their party.  Not one
complied with their wishes, and though scourged and tortured they yet
resolutely endured, until their tormentors put an end to their
sufferings by death.

During the bloody scenes of this terrific night, of which we have
given but a faint sketch, the family of Zadok were agitated by the
deepest anxiety.  A few days previous to the arrival of the Idumeans,
Naomi had left the city with her uncle Amaziah, and his wife Judith,
to reside for a short time with them in a beautiful country-house
which they possessed near the village of Bethany.  Her return was
expected on that fatal day, when a host of barbarous enemies so
suddenly and unexpectedly appeared before the walls of Jerusalem.
The gates were immediately closed and strictly guarded, and orders
were issued that no person should, on any pretence, be allowed either
to pass in or out of the city.  Zadok was hastily summoned to assist
the council of Ananus; and in trembling anxiety did Salome, and
Claudia, and the aged Deborah, remain seated on the housetop, looking
out over the dense multitude of Idumeans beneath the walls, and
straining their eyes in the direction in which they expected Naomi
and her friends to approach.  What might be their fate if they came
within sight of the barbarous invaders?--and from the hollow
situation in which the Idumeans were encamped, they could not be
perceived by those descending the Mount of Olives, until they might
be so near them as to render escape impossible.

In this emergency, what course could be pursued, and how would it be
practicable to send intelligence to Amaziah of the alarming state of
the city!  Salome at length resolved to go herself to Ananus, and
entreat his aid and counsel.  The present state of suspense was not
to be borne, and any danger was preferable to the chance of her
lovely and beloved daughter falling into the hands of the barbarians.
The dreadful thought inspired even the timid Salome with courage; and
covering herself with a thick veil, she descended from the flat roof
of her dwelling, and went forth into the crowded and tumultuous
streets, followed by several armed servants, and accompanied by the
faithful Deborah, who could not be persuaded to remain behind.

The way by which Salome had to pass to the house of Ananus was
thronged with men, many of them armed, and all in a state of great
excitement.  The adverse parties which tore the city with their
dissensions were not united by the common danger that now threatened
them, and loud and angry were the voices that fell on the ears of the
trembling Salome as she hastily pursued her way through the crowd,
and expected every moment to be assailed by the rude hands of robbery
and violence.  Happily the minds of all men were so much occupied
with the dangers that then menaced the city, that Salome and her
little group of attendants passed unnoticed, and reached the lofty
portico in front of dwelling of Ananus in safety.  The marble stops
were crowded with priests and elders, and the chief men of the city,
who were hurrying to and fro, to execute the orders of Ananus, or to
join in the deliberations that were going forward in the
council-chamber.  Salome was at first unheeded, and sought in vain to
obtain admittance to the chief-priest; but at length she raised her
veil to look around among the throng for some one with whom she was
acquainted, and who would conduct her to Ananus.  The first
countenance that met her gaze was that of Zadok, who started with
surprise and alarm at beholding his gentle and timid wife so far from
her home, and exposed to the tumult and disorder of the excited
populace.

He hastily approached her, and inquired what could have led her forth
at such a time.  And when Salome felt that she was leaning on the arm
of her intrepid and high-minded husband her confidence returned, and
she quickly told him the object that had brought her thither, and had
made her almost forget her own danger in anxiety for the safety of
Naomi.  In the hurry and occupation of the last few hours, it had not
occurred to Zadok that his daughter had appointed that day for her
return to the city, and thus might be exposed to the peril of falling
into the power of the Idumeans.  But now his whole soul was filled
with apprehension on her account; and, accompanied by Salome, he
hastily entered the council-chamber, and entreated that he might be
permitted to go out of the city by one of the gates the furthest
removed from the Idumean camp, and endeavour to make his way by
secret paths to the house of Amaziah, in the hope that he might be in
time to warn him of the danger of approaching the city.

Ananus hesitated; he was most unwilling to be deprived of the council
and the assistance of Zadok at a period of so much danger and
anxiety; and he also dreaded his falling into the hands of the enemy,
who would show no mercy to one who was well known to be his friend
and adviser.  But the perilous situation of Naomi and her relations
moved him, and he demanded whether no other person of courage and
fidelity could be found who would go on the errand, and who could be
better spared than Zadok, in case it should be found impossible to
return into the city.  The mission was a dangerous one, and who could
be found ready to undertake it?  Zadok again requested that he might
himself go forth, and promised at all risks to attempt a speedy
return.  At that moment Theophilus, the son of Amaziah, entered the
apartment, and begged permission instantly to depart from the city
and seek his father.  He had been to the house of Zadok, and there
Claudia had informed him of Salome's fears, and her errand to Ananus,
and he had hurried after her to offer himself as the messenger.

Ananus gave his consent, and Salome saw the brave youth depart, with
a feeling of joy that her husband was not exposed to the perils of
the enterprise.  Zadok then himself conducted her home, and
immediately returned to the council; while his wife and Claudia again
took their station among the flowering shrubs with which the roof was
thickly planted, and from whence, unobserved by the crowds beneath
them, they could perceive the movements of the multitudes both within
and without the walls, and watch for the distant figure of Theophilus
when he should pass over the highest part of the road to Bethany.

The day closed in, and darkness covered the scene with even greater
suddenness than usual, for thick clouds had gathered over the sky,
and the sun went down into a red and lurid horizon.  Soon the rain
fell heavily, and Salome and her young companion were forced to leave
the housetop and take refuge in their apartment, where they passed
the whole of that tremendous night in fear and watchfulness,
listening to the warring elements without, and trembling when, amid
the fury of the tempest, they heard the savage shouts of the Idumeans
and the nearer cries of the fugitives from the temple.

Zadok had not returned to his home that night; at the close of the
evening he had sent a messenger to inform his wife that the
deliberations were still continued, but that before midnight he
purposed going the rounds of the guard with Ananus, and would
afterwards hasten back to his family.  Midnight came, but then the
storm raged furiously, and Salome hoped that Zadok was safe in the
house of Ananus.  As the hours passed slowly on, the terrors of that
night increased, and Salome knew from the tumult and the shouts, that
some fierce commotion was going on in the city.  Her fears were
strongly excited for Zadok, who being with Ananus, and well known to
be a powerful supporter of his party, would be exposed to the
vengeance of the Zealots, if they had broken forth from the temple.

Fervently did she implore the Divine protection to shield him from
harm, while Claudia and Deborah joined their prayers to hers; and
amid all their fears and anxiety, they could not but rejoice that
Naomi at least was removed from this scene of terror, and, as they
hoped, yet enjoying a temporary peace in her uncle's house.

When the day began to dawn, they looked forth into the street, and
though their dwelling was near the walls, and situated at a
considerable distance from the principal thoroughfares, where the
work of carnage had been chiefly performed, yet numbers of human
bodies were scattered on the ground--the mangled remains of those who
had fled to this secluded part of the city for refuge, but had been
pursued and murdered by their savage enemies.  No living beings were
to be seen in the desolate street, except a few lean and hungry dogs
which had crept out to tear and devour the yet warm carcases that
promised them an ample meal; but the din of war and cries of agony
and fear resounded from the temple and the higher parts of the city.
Salome's heart sickened, and she turned away: might not her noble,
her beloved husband, be already as one of these lifeless corpses?  In
agony of mind she wept, and poured out her soul before the Lord.

Her attention was recalled by a loud exclamation of joy from Claudia.
"Oh, Salome," she cried, "here is Theophilus.  He is approaching the
house, and doubtless he brings tidings of our dear Naomi."  The
affectionate girl ran swiftly down to the court; and unbarring the
heavy gate that opened into the street, she even ventured several
paces beyond the threshold in her eagerness to know the fate of her
friend.  Theophilus assured her that Naomi was safe; and then having
carefully secured the gate, he followed her to the vestibule, where
Salome met them, and there hastily told them the particulars of his
expedition.  He had narrowly escaped being taken by some scattered
parties of the Idumeans, and had only saved himself by his swiftness
in running, and his intimate knowledge of the paths through the
groves and orchards by which he had to pass.  He had happily
succeeded in eluding his pursuers, but only just in time to prevent
the cavalcade of Amaziah and his family from ascending the hill on
the eastern side, and appearing in full view of the Idumean
sentinels.  His father had received no intelligence of the arrival of
their army, and was returning with Judith and Naomi to the city, as
he had appointed.  On hearing the disastrous news, however, he
immediately turned back, and hastened again to the house from which
he had come.  There he placed his wife and Naomi, in as great
security as the circumstances would permit, and left all his servants
well armed under the direction of his faithful steward Josiah, to
protect them from any wandering bands of robbers, or Idumeans.
Amaziah had then accompanied Theophilus back to the city, and in the
darkness and tumult of the storm, which had become violent by the
time they reached the walls, they had escaped the observation of the
Idumeans, and passed safely to their own house.  There they had
remained until the shouts of the Zealots and their allies had aroused
them to a knowledge of the distracted state of Jerusalem, and called
them from the shelter of their home, to mingle in the tumult, and
give their aid in opposing the massacres and pillage that were going
forward.

Their efforts to reach Ananus had been in vain, for they found his
dwelling entirely surrounded by a dense crowd of infuriated Zealots,
crying loudly for his blood; and Amaziah had therefore again retired
to his home, with a few of his friends, to seek some means of
succouring the chief-priest and restoring order to the city; "While
I," continued Theophilus, "have hastened to you, Salome, to satisfy
your mind of the safety of your daughter, and to inquire whether my
uncle is with you, for my father earnestly desires to confer with
him."

"Alas!" cried Salome, "Zadok has not appeared at home during the
whole of this dreadful night.  He was with Ananus when the storm
commenced, and I have remained in the agony of suspense ever since.
I know not whether he yet lives, or whether the ruffians who now rage
through the city have destroyed the noblest, the wisest, the most
virtuous man who dwelt within its walls.  Oh, Theophilus! he is your
father's only brother!--will you not endeavour to save him? or will
you not at least seek for some intelligence of his fate, and let me
know the worst?  If he is slain--oh!--save his sacred form from the
insults of the murderers.  Bear it to me, and let me once more
behold, though lifeless, that countenance which is dearer to me than
all on earth beside.  Take with you all the men of our household; we
have many faithful servants, and they are well provided with arms.
They will risk their lives to save their master, or to rescue his
honoured remains from the sacrilegious hands of the Zealots.  Go,
summon the domestics, and sally forth.  Lose not a moment, and the
blessing of a breaking heart shall be with you."

Theophilus was deeply moved by the grief of Salome, and the danger of
his uncle.  He had seen the house of Ananus beset by the Zealots, and
he knew that Zadok would find no mercy from them.  He did not however
add to the fears of Salome by expressing his own; but hastily
complied with her entreaties, and set out, attended by all the
servants except two or three, whom he charged to guard the gate, and
on no account to open it until his return.

His absence was long.  To Salome it appeared endless; and more than
once she and Claudia ventured to the housetop and looked along the
street, in the hope of seeing him return.  Once the sound of coming
footsteps made her heart beat violently, and she gazed out in hope
and in fear; but it was only a party of wretched women and children
flying down the street, and soon appeared their pursuers, with drawn
swords reeking with blood, and gained rapidly on the miserable
fugitives.  Salome and Claudia retreated with a cry of horror.  They
saw not the massacre, but the shrieks that rose upon their ears told
them but too plainly that the work of death was done.  The ruffians
turned towards their dwelling, and they heard them loudly demanding
an entrance, and even striking at the gate with their swords.  But it
was too strong for their efforts, and they were already almost
satiated with plunder and carnage.  They retreated, and the trembling
inmates heard them pass along the street, which echoed with their
wild shouts and impious songs.

All Salome's resolutions and endurance were exhausted.  Her naturally
timid spirit had been roused to unusual excitement and energy; but
these feelings had subsided, and she sank into a state of exhaustion,
and almost of stupor.  Had Zadok been by her side, she would have
felt some confidence, but his absence and her apprehensions for his
safety were more than she could bear.  Even if Naomi had been with
her she would have been some support.  Her sanguine temper and
courageous spirit would have suggested fresh hope and inspired fresh
confidence; but Claudia was unable to administer comfort which she
did not feel, or to combat terrors that filled her own breast also.

Meanwhile Theophilus and his band of armed servants hurried along the
streets towards the house of Ananus.  Every dwelling which they
passed appeared to be deserted; for where the inhabitants had not
either been slain, or fled to some cave or hiding-place for refuge,
they had carefully closed and barricadoed every gate and entrance to
their houses, and remained concealed within, expecting the arrival of
the Zealots and Idumeans, to rob, to murder, and to destroy.  The
pavements were strewed with human bodies, and stained with gore: it
seemed a "city of the dead;" but the peacefulness of death was not
there--the tumult had not ceased.  The murderers had only gone
further in quest of other victims, and richer plunder; and the sounds
of conflict and slaughter were audible in the distance.

Theophilus reached the splendid dwelling of Ananus.  The crowd had
abandoned it; and the open gates and scattered wreck of costly
furniture told that the work of destruction was completed, and that
the venerable priest no longer dwelt in his marble halls.  It was
evident that a severe contest had been maintained on the grand flight
of steps leading to the entrance; for there the dead bodies of the
combatants lay heaped together; and beneath the dreadful burden
Theophilus beheld the robe of Zadok.  It was a garment of fringes,
the work of Naomi's hands, and he well remembered to have seen his
uncle attired in it when he met him the previous evening in the
council-chamber.  His worst fears were then realized; and the noble
Zadok had fallen, probably in the defence of his friend and
chieftain; and all that he could now do for the wretched Salome,
would be to carry home the lifeless body of her husband, and thus
afford her the melancholy satisfaction of bedewing it with her tears,
and rendering to the honoured clay the holy rites of sepulture, so
sacred to the heart of a Jew.  No sooner did the servants perceive
the body of their master, than they broke forth into loud cries of
grief and rage, and demanded vengeance with all the vehemence of
their national character; but Theophilus commanded them to be silent,
and to lose no time in disengaging the corpse from its present
situation, and bearing it away; for he feared that their outcries
might attract the attention of the Idumeans, who were prowling all
over the city, and that their object might then be frustrated.
Hastily the men obeyed him; and having removed the mangled carcases
that lay heavily above the body of Zadok, they raised it from the
ground, and carried it into the vestibule, that they might procure a
couch on which to transport it home.

They were startled on entering by a rustling sound, as of some person
escaping from the vestibule; and on following the steps of the
fugitive, they overtook one of the domestics of Ananus, who had
escaped the notice of the murderers, and was anxiously watching for
an opportunity to flee from the palace unobserved, when he saw a
party of armed men enter the house, and concluded that they belonged
to the Zealot party.  The eight of Theophilus, who was well known to
him, restored his courage; and he immediately directed his attendants
where to procure a couch, on which the body was immediately laid, and
a richly embroidered curtain, which had been dropped by the
plunderers, was thrown over it.  The servants placed their long
spears beneath the couch, and in this manner carried it forth into
the street and proceeded, with the greatest possible expedition
towards their home.  They were within a few paces of the gate, when a
party of drunken Idumeans sallied out of a neighbouring house loaded
with spoil, and placing themselves before the melancholy cavalcade,
demanded what they were thus secretly carrying away?  On being
informed that it was merely the body of a friend, they tauntingly
replied, that dead bodies were now too plentiful to be worth so much
trouble, and insisted on uncovering the corpse.  To avoid a struggle,
Theophilus raised the lower end of the covering, and when the
ruffians saw that it was really a human body, they uttered a shout of
derision, and one of them wantonly cast a javelin at the corpse,
which pierced the arm, and the blood flowed profusely over the damask
curtain.  The Idumeans knew not the rank of Theophilus, nor were they
aware that it was the body of Zadok, the friend of Ananus, that was
being carried to its rest, otherwise they would probably have
attempted to wrest it from the attendants; but satisfied with
insulting it, they went on their way to seek more profitable
adventures.

At the voice of Theophilus, the servants left on guard unclosed the
massy gates, and uttered a cry of despair when they beheld the bier.
The cry reached Salome's ears, and roused her to animation.  She rose
to rush forward and ascertain the cause, but her trembling limbs
refused to support her, and she sank again into her seat, with a
feeble sign to Claudia to hasten to the court.  Claudia flew along
the gallery, and met the procession at the entrance of the hall.  The
whole sad truth rushed upon her mind, and in deep grief she returned
to her afflicted friend.  Pale and speechless she appeared before
Salome, and when she met her inquiring gaze, she replied only by a
burst of tears.  Salome saw that all hope was over, and a deep swoon
deprived her for a time of the consciousness of her bereavement.

When at length she recovered, she desired instantly to be led to the
spot where her husband was laid; and leaning on Claudia and her
faithful Deborah, she entered the hall.  In the centre of the marble
pavement stood the funeral couch, yet covered with embroidered
drapery.  With a desperate effort Salome approached, and raising the
drapery, she sunk upon her knees with a passionate exclamation of
despair, to gaze upon the beloved but motionless countenance.  Oh
what words shall tell her feelings when she heard a struggling sigh
from Zadok's lips, and saw those eyes which she believed to be closed
for ever, slowly open, and fix upon her face a look of wonder and of
love!  She thought her brain was wandering, and covered her eyes that
she might not cheat her heart with vain delusions.  But then the
voice of Zadok came upon her ear as if it had been the voice of an
angel, and though weak and faltering, she could not doubt those
tones.  The ecstasy, the gratitude, the wonder, that filled and
overpowered her heart, may not be described by any human pen.  Those
who know what it is to recover once again a being dearer far to them
than their own life, alone can know what Salome felt.

Restoratives were quickly procured, and in a short time Zadok was
sufficiently recovered to relate the events which had occurred,
previous to the time when he was struck to the earth by a heavy blow
from the butt of a broken spear; and ere his senses returned, he must
have been buried beneath the bodies that rapidly fell around him.
Ananus had that night, as we have seen, omitted to go his usual
rounds to inspect the guard, but had continued in deep consultation
with the counsellors until long after midnight.  Their deliberations
were at length interrupted by a sudden and violent uproar, and on
going to the entrance to discover the cause, they saw by the light of
torches, that the street was filled with armed men.  A shout, as if
from a host of demons, greeted the appearance of the priests and
elders, and a furious rush was made by the Zealots up the flight of
steps, on the summit of which they were standing.  Vain was it to
address them; and vain would it have been to fly.  A struggle for
life or death was maintained a few moments, but overpowered by
numbers, they quickly fell.  Zadok knew not the fate of Ananus: it
was in warding off a blow aimed at the head of his chief that he had
been struck to the earth, and remained insensible to the conclusion
of the tragic scene.

The servant of Ananus, who had accompanied Theophilus to Zadok's
house, now informed him that the aged priest had been seized and
slain, and that with him was murdered Jesus, the son of Gamala.
Their bodies were dragged away by the savage troop, and he feared
must have been subject to the grossest indignities.

Zadok groaned when he heard that Ananus had fallen.  He loved and
respected him as a friend; and in him alone had he placed any
confidence, as the means of restoring peace to his distracted
country.  But his present weakness prevented him from taking any
active measures, and forced him to think of his own preservation and
recovery.  The wound which had been so cruelly inflicted by the
Idumean, had in fact been the cause of his restoration to life; for
the blood had flowed freely, and combined with the rapid motion and
fresh air, had removed the stupor consequent on the blow he had
received, and which might doubtless have ended in death had not
circulation been restored by the javelin of the robber.

It was a very happy circumstance that the fall of Zadok had been seen
by many of the Zealots, and that the belief of his death became
general, otherwise his well-known character would have exposed him
and his family to destruction.  And as his weakness compelled him,
though most unwillingly, to remain idle within his own walls, no
inquiries were made about him; and his house was left unmolested,
except by wandering bands of robbers, who found the gates too strong
for their efforts.  Amaziah, who had passed that night of horror in
active exertions to assist the unoffending inhabitants, repaired to
his brother's house, when he found he could no longer be of service
in the contest, and that the Zealots were complete masters of the
city.  He had heard and believed that Zadok was slain, and his joy
was great at finding his brother alive, when he had only hoped to be
a support and protection to his widow.  He only remained a few days
with his brother, and then returned to his anxious wife, leaving
Theophilus as a comfort to Salome and Claudia.

For many days the massacre continued, until at length the Zealots
were weary of such indiscriminate slaughter, and affected to set up
the forms of justice.  They composed a Sanhedrim of seventy of the
populace, and before this court they arraigned Zacharias, the son of
Baruch, a man of worth and high character, and with no fault but that
of being rich and patriotic.  The Zealots thirsted for his wealth and
his blood; and they accused him of holding correspondence with the
Romans.

Zacharias boldly defended himself from their charges, and despairing
of saving his life, he ridiculed his accusers, and set them at
defiance, and even reproached them with their iniquity and injustice.
The Zealots drew their swords, but ere they used them, they called on
the judges to condemn the innocent victim.  The Sanhedrim unanimously
acquitted the prisoner, and declared that they would die with him
rather than condemn him to death.

Then the fury of the Zealots broke forth, and two of them rushing
forward, struck Zacharias dead, as he stood undaunted in the court of
the holy temple.  They then dragged the body along the pavement, and
cast it into the abyss below.  They beat the judges with their
swords, and drove them out of the court with every indignity.

The Idumeans, now satiated with plunder and revenge, began to repent
of the bloody work in which they were engaged, and declared that they
had come to Jerusalem to defend the city against the Romans, and not
to share in murder and rapine; and they announced their intention of
abandoning the Zealots to themselves.  Before they departed, however,
they opened all the prisons, and released two thousand of the people,
who immediately fled away and joined Simon the son of Gioras.  The
populace, relieved of the presence of the Idumeans, began to resume
their confidence, and many ventured out in open daylight, to gather
up the bodies of their friends for burial, or to cast over them a
little earth where they lay, to protect them from the birds of prey
and ravenous dogs.  But the Zealots did not lay aside their power or
their cruelty, with the departure of their allies; they continued
their lawless iniquities, and every day fresh victims fell.

The state of the city was well known to Vespasian, and his friends
besought him to march to the capital, and at once put an end to the
war.  But he preferred leaving it to its own inward distractions,
which he was convinced would soon bring it to utter weakness; and he
was encouraged in this opinion by the multitude of deserters who
every day flocked to his camp; though some of these afterwards
returned to Jerusalem of their own accord, that they might die in the
holy city, so great was their attachment to the hallowed spot.

During all this confusion, John of Gischala pursued his ambitious
schemes; and at length all the real authority and power was centred
in him.  The Zealots now formed two parties; one surrounded John as a
despotic chief, the other composed a lawless democracy; and both vied
with each other in cruelty and oppression towards the people.  To add
to the miseries of war, tyranny, and sedition, the Sicarii or
Assassins, who had obtained possession of the fortress of Massada
near the Dead Sea, now sallied out and surprised Engaddi, during the
night of the passover (A.D. 68), and slew about seven hundred
persons.  Other bands collected in the neighbouring regions, and the
whole country was filled with confusion and rapine.


[Illustration: Absalom's Tomb]




CHAPTER VIII.

Far different to the scenes we have just described were those which
Naomi was called to witness; and had not her mind been harassed with
anxiety for her beloved parents and her young friend Claudia, she
would have considered the days which she passed with her relatives,
in their beautiful country residence, as the happiest of her life.
It was not that the scenery around her was lovely, and the air was
fresh and pure, in the elevated spot on which the house was situated;
nor was it because Amaziah and Judith had always loved her as a
daughter, and now treated her with the most affectionate kindness,
that Naomi felt it was a blessed privilege to be under their peaceful
roof.  On the first evening of her arrival with her relatives at
their country-house, Judith had proposed to her that they should walk
to Bethany; and to the surprise of Naomi, they no sooner entered the
village than her aunt proceeded to the cottage where Mary dwelt.

The aged Christian was alone; but solitude was not sad to her, for
the bright prospects of futurity, and the blessed remembrances of the
past, shed a heavenly light over her lonely and humble abode.  She
rose to meet her visitors with a smile of cheerful welcome; and Naomi
was startled and almost terrified when she saluted her, in the
hearing of her aunt, with her accustomed benediction, "The blessing
of our Lord and Saviour be upon you, my child."

Judith saw what was passing in her mind, and hastened to remove her
apprehensions.  She took her hand, and said, "I have brought you
here, my dear Naomi, that in the presence of our venerable friend I
may acknowledge to you that I also am an unworthy disciple of that
Lord and Saviour whose name you have been taught to worship.  She who
has been the blessed instrument of bringing you to the knowledge of
the truth, was also the means of removing the dark cloud of error and
prejudice that hung over my mind and that of Amaziah.  Many years
have elapsed since the happy change took place; but our safety
required that it should be kept secret; and as so much of our time
has been passed in the country, our renunciation of the religion of
our forefathers was not discovered.  Often have I wished and prayed
that the time might come when I could be permitted to instruct you,
Naomi, in the truths of Christianity; but I felt that I should be
abusing the confidence reposed in me by your parents if I attempted
to do so without their knowledge and consent.  The very strong
prejudice which your excellent father entertains against the
disciples of Jesus, made it hopeless for me to expect that consent;
and I could only offer up my fervent prayers, that in his own good
time the Lord would call you to the knowledge of himself.  My prayers
have been answered, and you may imagine my feelings of joy and
gratitude when Mary informed me that you had confessed your sincere
faith in the Son of God."

Naomi's astonishment was only equalled by her delight at finding that
her beloved relatives were also united to her in the bonds of one
faith, and one hope in Christ.

"Now," she exclaimed, "I shall feel that I am not alone and divided
from all I love on earth.  Oh that my father and my mother, and my
poor misguided brother would also believe in the Redeemer, and find
that rest to their souls which I never knew, until I was convinced
that in him my sins were blotted out, and that by his death my
salvation was purchased.  And all this I owe to you, my excellent--my
beloved teacher.  I saw that amid poverty, and persecution, and
infirmity, you were happier than the wealthiest, the proudest of the
self-righteous Jews with whom I was acquainted; and I felt sure that
nothing but a true faith could produce the heavenly calm that reigned
over your soul.  And when I heard of the love and pity, the wisdom
and power of Him in whom you put your trust, I could no longer wonder
at your joy and peace; and thankfully I acknowledge, that, in a
humble degree, the same faith and the same hope now animate my soul."

Long and interesting was the conversation of these Christian friends;
and Judith informed her niece of the particulars of her own and her
husband's conversion to Christianity, and their admission by baptism
into the church of Christ at Jerusalem.  Theophilus had also
sincerely embraced the same religion, and had received the sacred
rite several years since.  Naomi was surprised to find how numerous
had been the company of Christians in Jerusalem; until the period
when James, the brother of the Lord, and the first bishop of that
city, was murdered.

"Since that unhappy event, which you, Naomi, must well remember,"
added Judith, "the church has been dispersed and persecuted; and
those of its members who have remained in Jerusalem have feared to
appear so openly as they ventured to do during the life of that
upright and excellent man."

"I do remember his death," replied Naomi, "and I also well remember
my father's indignation at the cruel manner in which he was slain.
Though he looked upon James the Just as a mistaken and deluded man,
and despised his religion, yet I have often heard both him and his
friends say that he well deserved the title which was bestowed on him
of 'the fortress of the people,' for that he commanded the love and
admiration of the whole city, from his divine temper, and his
meekness and humility.  My father even once declared, since the
troubles of our nation commenced, that he considered the barbarous
murder of that righteous and venerable man as a principal means of
bringing the wrath and the chastisements of God upon the city.  He
was present when James was led to the top of the temple-wall, and
placed there in sight of the collected multitude below, in the hope
that he would declare to them his conviction that Jesus of Nazareth
was not the long-promised Messiah; and he shared in the general
disappointment when, instead of doing as was expected, the venerable
saint lifted up his voice, and loudly proclaimed that Jesus was the
Son of God.  But my father did not join in the cry to hurl him from
the wall--he would have saved his life, if possible; but the
infuriated populace cast him down the precipice.  I have seen the
tears in Zadok's eyes, when he has described to us the old man rising
on his knees after the fall, in which he miraculously escaped being
killed, and with uplifted hands praying for mercy on his persecutors.
Oh! how hard must have been the hearts of those who could behold him
thus, and not be moved to pity, but stoned him as he knelt!  If he
were living now, with what different feelings should I regard him
from those which I entertained when, as a child, I learned to call
him Nazarene, as a term of reproach, though even then I never saw his
holy countenance without an emotion of awe and veneration!"

"His presence was indeed a blessing, and his death a calamity, both
to Christians and to Jews," replied Judith.  "He was the only one of
the sacred band of apostles whom I ever knew, though I remember to
have seen several of them during my youth, before they were dispersed
and scattered into distant nations, when Herod stretched forth his
hands to vex the church.  Mary has been more highly blessed, for she
was acquainted with all those chosen men, and still more blessed was
she in being permitted to enjoy the presence and share the friendship
of the Saviour himself."

"Yes," paid Mary, "my eyes have seen those things which many prophets
and kings have desired to see, and have not seen--I have seen the
Lord Jesus in his human nature, and in his humility: and now all the
desire of my heart is to behold the King in his beauty, and see him
on the throne of his father David.  When he comes in his majesty
every eye shall see him, and all shall equally confess that he is the
Son of God.  But oh! how will those regard him then who have rejected
him in his low estate?  And how will they stand before his throne of
judgment who have despised his offers of mercy?"

"Is it the belief of the Christians," asked Naomi, "that the Messiah
will speedily return in his glory?"

"The church looks for his coming," replied Mary, "both speedily and
suddenly.  Some of our brethren even expect his appearance during the
life of his only remaining apostle John.  But this arises from their
misunderstanding the words of the Lord to Peter, when, after the
resurrection of his Master, that disciple inquired of him what should
be the fate of the beloved John.  'If I will that he tarry till I
come,' said Jesus, 'what is that to thee?'  And therefore a saying
went abroad that John should not die until the Lord came again.  But
he himself did not so understand it: and he is now at Ephesus,
anxiously awaiting the hour when he shall be summoned by death into
the presence of that Lord whom on earth he loved so devotedly."

"And is John still living, then?" exclaimed Naomi.  "I supposed that
none remained on earth who had seen the Saviour, except you, Mary."

"Yes, the highly-favoured and divine apostle John is still alive,
though of a great age.  He governs the churches in Asia, and edifies
the believers in every nation by his pious and holy writings, which
all breathe the same spirit of Christian love and tenderness that
shines so brightly in his own life and character.  But John was not
always the angelic being that I have described him to you.  I knew
him in his youth, ere the voice of Jesus had called him to be his
disciple; and then both he and his brother James were impetuous and
fiery of temper.  It was the love of Jesus that changed his heart,
and made him what he is.  His Master's character was reflected in
that of the disciple whom Jesus loved."

"Surely the same effect will, in some measure, be observed in every
one who contemplates the graces that were displayed in the life of
the blessed Redeemer," observed Judith.  "We cannot look on him with
our bodily eyes, but by faith we may behold him; and the more we love
him the more we shall strive to be like him.  Already, my dearest
Naomi, I perceive something of this change in you.  Your countenance
no longer expresses the same pride and self-confidence that I have
always lamented in your character; and your manner is meek and
gentle, like that of one who has renounced all human pride and human
dependence, and consented to learn of Him who was meek and lowly of
heart: and oh, may you thus find rest unto your soul--that rest which
He has promised, and that peace which He alone can give.  I would not
wish, my child, to take from you one spark of the enthusiasm that is
now directed to so noble an object, or to weaken that firmness and
resolution which have always marked your disposition, and may one day
be called for to enable you to bear the trials and sufferings of
life.  By God's grace these qualities will now be properly guided and
controlled, and we shall see you, through good report and evil
report, through persecutions and afflictions, or in the more
dangerous trials of prosperity, exhibiting that singleness of heart
and courageous determination to honour your Master's name that should
always characterize his true disciples.  Alas! that some should so
sadly have fallen short of this resolution and courage, even among
his earliest and most privileged disciples!"

"It is because I now feel the sinfulness of my own heart that I am
not the proud creature I used to be," replied Naomi.  "When I
consider the purity and holiness of my Redeemer's life, and compare
my own corrupt inclinations, and evil thoughts and actions, with his
faultless character, surely I must feel humbled in the dust.  But
when I remember that that divine Being shed his blood to wash away my
sins, can I fear any sufferings, any trials, by which I may prove my
love and gratitude?  Oh! sometimes," she continued, clasping her
hands fervently, while her eyes sparkled through tears of
enthusiastic emotion,--"sometimes I envy the apostles, and the
blessed martyr Stephen, and all those holy Christians who have
already been called to shed their blood in confirmation of their
faith!"

"Trust not, my beloved Naomi, to your present ardent feelings,"
interrupted Mary, in a gentle voice, "nor suffer yourself to be too
confident in the firmness of your faith.  I pray God that you maybe
endued with strength by his Spirit, to carry you triumphantly through
every trial that he deems fit to send upon you; but I covet neither
for you nor for myself the sore temptations to which some of our
brethren have already been exposed.  Remember how Peter, the brave,
the lion-hearted Peter, failed in the hour of danger, because he
trusted in his own strength and boasted of his own courage."

"Oh yes, I do remember that sad event," replied the young Christian,
somewhat abashed at the mild reproof of Mary.  "That denial of Peter,
and the desertion of their Master by all his disciples at the last,
have always been a source of astonishment to me.  I have frequently
heard it related by my father, and the rabbis who frequent his house,
as a strong argument against the truth of the Christian doctrines,
and the belief of the disciples in the divinity of their Master.  And
even when I considered Jesus of Nazareth as merely a human teacher,
and perhaps also as an impostor, I still wondered that those who had
dwelt with him, and followed him, and professed to believe in him,
should forsake him in his hour of sorrow and suffering."

"It is indeed a humbling proof of the weakness and depravity and
selfishness of the human heart," answered Mary; "and for this reason
it has been faithfully recorded by some of the apostles themselves,
as you have seen in the precious copy which I possess of the life of
Jesus Christ, written by Matthew the publican.  At the time of the
Redeemer's death the Holy Spirit of God had not descended upon his
disciples, and without the aid of that Spirit none can hope to stand
in the time of trial.  All must be born again, as our Lord himself
informed Nicodemus, or they cannot enter the kingdom of God--they
cannot belong to Christ on earth, or dwell with him in heaven.  But
when the apostles were endued with power from on high, according to
the promise of their Master, then they were enabled to declare the
truth with boldness, and to endure a great fight of afflictions, and
at last to receive the crown of martyrdom, and enter into their rest
with songs of rejoicing.  In the strength of the same Spirit which
supported them can we alone hope to stand, and for that Spirit let us
unceasingly pray."

"But, Mary," asked Naomi, "can we expect that the Holy Spirit will
descend visibly upon us, as you have told me it did upon the
apostles, and give us power to work miracles, and speak with tongues
as they did?  Neither you nor Judith possess those gifts, and yet I
feel sure that you are the true disciples of Jesus."

"No, my daughter, those gifts are now very rare; for as the Gospel of
Christ has spread already over so great a part of the world, and many
of almost all nations have been converted, the gift of tongues is no
longer necessary.  And doubtless also, the miracles that were worked
so abundantly by our Lord and his first disciples, were intended in a
great measure to prove that Jesus was the Son of God, and possessed
the power of God, and that his disciples were his true servants and
his authorized witnesses.  Those miracles cannot now be denied; they
were seen by multitudes, and have been recorded by eye-witnesses, who
have moreover sealed the truth of their declarations with their
blood; and therefore the proof which they convey will remain to all
ages, and needs not to be renewed by fresh manifestations of Divine
power.  The Holy Spirit now no longer descends in a visible manner,
but his influence may be clearly discerned in the heart, by
increasing love to God and to his Holy Son Jesus, and greater zeal in
his service."

"Then may I hope," asked Naomi, "that the Lord has sent his Spirit
into my heart?  It u still full of evil; and every day I see that
evil more clearly, and lament it more deeply; but then I also hope
that I love the Lord Jesus more and more, and feel more desirous to
do his will and walk in his steps."

"The feelings you describe," replied Mary, "and which I believe to be
sincere, are the best proof of the presence of God's Spirit in your
heart.  May he ever abide with you, and strengthen you day by day for
the service of the Lord, until you enter into that world where God
has prepared such joys as eye hath not seen nor ear heard, neither
have entered into the heart of man to conceive, but which shall be
the portion of all those who love Him."

Naomi was moved at the affectionate earnestness of her aged friend;
she silently embraced her, and as Judith now rose to depart she
followed her from the cottage.  The sun was setting as they left the
village, and they hastened forward while the short twilight of an
eastern climate yet remained to guide them.  Their way led through
groves and orchards and rocky ravines, and they regretted that they
had been induced to remain so long at Bethany, for though this part
of the country had hitherto been undisturbed by the bands of robbers
who infested the more distant regions, yet Judith and her young
companion felt alarmed at finding themselves alone, so far from home,
and in the rapidly increasing darkness.  They had entered a thick
grove of olive-trees, and were with some difficulty tracing the
narrow path that led through it, when they were startled by
perceiving several lights at some distance before them, and evidently
approaching towards the spot where they stood.  Hastily they
concealed themselves among the thickest branches of the dark
olive-trees, and waited in trembling anxiety until the dreaded party
should pass.  The lights came nearer and nearer, and those who
carried them raised loud and frequent shouts, which added to the
terror of Judith, until Naomi, whose eye and ear were quicker, and
whose presence of mind was greater, started from her hiding-place and
exclaimed, "It is Amaziah's voice! and now I see his tall figure
advancing through the bushes.  No doubt he has come to meet us."

"True, my child," replied Judith; "I ought first to have recognised
his voice and suspected his anxious care.  Let us hasten to relieve
his mind of all fears on our Account."

Amaziah was well pleased to see his wife and Naomi in safety.  Their
long absence had alarmed him, and the accounts which had reached him
that day of the unsettled state of the neighbourhood, made him
apprehend that danger might lurk even among the groves of Bethany,
and within sight of his own dwelling.  He desired that henceforth
Judith and her niece should confine their rambles to the immediate
vicinity of the house unless he was able to accompany them; and
knowing how greatly they would both regret being deprived of the
society of Mary, he kindly proposed to send a letter the following
day to bring her to their own residence, where she could remain until
they returned to the city.

This plan was put into execution, and on the morrow their venerable
friend was established under their roof.  For many years Mary had not
left her humble dwelling, to which she was fondly attached.  It was
but a portion of the house in which she and her sister and Lazarus
had been wont to receive the visits of the Redeemer, that now
remained in her possession; for poverty, and a desire for obscurity,
had led her to relinquish the greater part of the range of low
buildings that surrounded the courtyard, and to retain only two small
apartments that opened into a narrow and unfrequented street.  But
the spot was dear to her heart, and she hoped to live and die in that
once happy home.  She had therefore hitherto declined all the
requests of Amaziah and Judith that she would spend the remainder of
her days with them; and it was only the hope of being useful to the
young convert that now induced her to leave her obscure abode to
spend some days in the spacious and beautiful villa of her Christian
friends.

"What are these marble pavements and rich furniture to me," she
observed one day to Naomi, "compared with the ground on which my
Saviour has stood, and the seat on which he rested while I sat at his
feet and listened to his words?--and what are these lofty pillars and
gilded ceilings, compared with the rocky cave where once I saw him
stand and call my dead brother to life with a voice of almighty
power?  Nothing but the consciousness that I have been permitted to
assist you, my child, in the path towards eternal life, and the hope
of being yet serviceable to you, could have drawn me from my beloved
retreat even for a few days."

"Have you then dwelt entirely at Bethany ever since your brother was
restored to life?" asked Naomi.

"Yes: both during the years that were added to his mortal life, and
since he descended a second time to the grave, it has been my
constant and my cherished home.  For some time after my brother's
resurrection we suffered much persecution and much alarm on his
account.  The chief priests and the Pharisees saw how many of the
people believed in Jesus after he had performed that astonishing
miracle; and as they could not deny the fact that Lazarus had been
dead and was alive again; they sought to kill him, that by his
presence and his words he might no longer bear witness to the power
of the Son of God."

"Could they suppose," exclaimed Naomi, "that He who had exerted that
power to restore your brother to life, would suffer his work of love
and mercy to be frustrated by their malice?  Oh! how could they
themselves refuse to believe in Him, when so undeniable a proof of
his Godhead was before their eyes!"

"Pride and ambition and self-righteousness blinded their eyes,"
replied Mary.  "They looked for a triumphant, kingly Messiah; and
they would not receive the meek and lowly Jesus, who had not even
where to lay his head, and who chose his own immediate attendants not
from among the learned, or the rich, or the holy in their own eyes,
but from among humble fishermen, and the yet more despised class of
publicans."

"It was the belief that Christ would appear in his glory at his first
advent," replied Naomi, "that so long prevented me from fully
comprehending that Jesus was indeed the Messiah spoken of by all the
prophets; and it is the same error that causes my father and all his
pious but mistaken friends to regard the Christians as deluded
fanatics.  Our people are accustomed to consider only those
prophecies that speak of the glory and victory of Christ, and the
restoration and happiness of our nation; and all those passages which
you have pointed out to me, as so wonderfully describing the
humility, and sufferings, and death of Jesus, are disregarded, or
supposed to relate to some other person.  It now appears
unaccountable to me, how I could so often, in former days, have read
the book of the prophet Isaiah, and yet have doubted who was spoken
of as the 'Man of Sorrows, and acquainted with grief.'  Truly was he
'despised and rejected of men,' and truly have the Jews 'hid their
faces from him.'  Oh, when will the time come that the report of the
prophets and apostles shall be believed among God's chosen people,
and the arm of the Lord revealed to that nation who are called by his
name!"

"It is not for us to know the times or the seasons which God hath put
in his own power; but most clearly are we told by the mouths of the
prophets that God has mercy yet in store for his people, and that at
the end of the days they shall again be restored to greater power and
greater happiness than they have ever yet enjoyed; and then will
Messiah return the second time in glory, and then will all the
majestic prophecies relating to his reign be accomplished.  But ere
that blessed time arrives our Lord himself has told us that there
shall be wars and rumours of wars, and great tribulations and
sorrows, such as never have been yet on the earth: but he has also
told us that he that endures unto the end, the same shall be saved."

"And do you believe, Mary, that those days of tribulation are now
coming on the earth, and that the Messiah will shortly appear again
in glory?"

"I believe, my child, that heavy judgments are about to be inflicted
on the daughter of Zion, and that those only will escape who put
their trust in the Lord Jesus.  It was his own command that his
disciples should not remain in Jerusalem when they saw these things
begin to come to pass; and at the commencement of the war he revealed
to some of his devoted servants that the days of sorrow were coming,
and that they must flee for refuge to the city of Pella, on the other
side of the river Jordan before the city is encompassed with armies.
Many of the Christians have already removed thither, and all my most
valued friends, except Amaziah and Judith, are among the number.  My
age and obscurity and poverty have hitherto protected me from danger
and from insult; and until I find that it is no longer safe to remain
at Bethany I am unwilling to leave my home.  My days on earth cannot
be many, and if it is the will of the Lord, I would wish to end them
where I have dwelt so long; but I must not presumptuously remain in
danger, from which my Lord and Master has warned me to flee; and,
therefore, when I find my present abode insecure, I shall, with God's
permission, follow my brethren to Pella.  Doubtless Amaziah and
Judith will remove thither in due time, and they will permit me to
accompany them.  Would to God that you and your whole family could be
persuaded to do the same, Naomi, and thus escape destruction."

"My father will never leave Jerusalem while one stone stands upon
another.  With his feelings and his belief, I cannot wonder at it;
and my mother would not be separated from him to escape the greatest
sufferings or avoid the greatest dangers.  Do not, then, blame me,
dear Mary, if I resolve to remain at all hazards with my parents.  If
distresses come upon them, I can be a comfort to them; if death be
their portion, I can close their eyes and shed tears over their
remains.  And if I fall myself, death is no longer terrible to me.  I
know in whom I believe; and I would not wish to survive my family,
and witness the desolation of our beloved, our beautiful city."

"I have no doubt, my dear Naomi, that the Lord will make your duty
clear to you when the time for decision arrives.  At present I would
have you remain with your natural protectors, and seek by prayer, and
by every other means in your power, to promote their happiness both
spiritual and temporal.  But you must not throw away your life: the
Lord has called you to himself, and has given you grace to believe in
him to the saving of your soul, and you must in return devote
yourself to him in spirit, soul, and body, and be willing to serve
him on earth so long, and in such a manner as he in his wisdom shall
appoint.  It is indeed a blessed change, when the believer falls
asleep, and his spirit wings its way unfettered to the presence of
his Saviour and his God: but we must wait his time, and bless him for
every day in which we can glorify him and serve our fellow creatures."

"That is true, Mary, and yet I often wish to die; and I have thought,
while reflecting on your brother's being recalled to life, that it
would have been better for him to have remained in the grave.  His
spirit must have been blest, for he was the friend of Jesus; and it
seems sad for him to return to this cold world again, and mix in its
cares and its troubles, and even to dwell in it so many years after
the light of the Saviour's countenance was removed."

"Your feeling is perhaps a natural one," replied Mary, "but Lazarus
never murmured at his rest being delayed a few short years.  He was
thankful to be restored to us, and to be allowed again to be our
comfort and our joy; and he was thankful to be permitted to be a
witness of his Master's power, and to have the privilege of so
greatly adding to the number of his disciples.  When again his time
was fully come, most joyfully did he resign his spirit into the hands
of his beloved Master; and then did I and my sister Martha once again
weep over his grave: but, oh! how different were our feelings then,
from those which harrowed our souls at his first departure from us.
When the second time he expired, which occurred only seven years ago,
we would not have recalled him to life if we could have done so; for
then we knew that his ransomed spirit had fled to the presence of his
Saviour, and there we hoped ere long to rejoin him.  Martha followed
him very shortly, and I remained alone.  I have had many Christian
friends, and many consolations and blessings, but nothing could
restore the earthly happiness I once enjoyed.  My heart is now in
heaven, where my treasure is; and there, through God's mercy in Jesus
Christ, I trust I shall soon meet those who have passed through the
valley of the shadow of death before me."

The conversation was interrupted by a summons for Naomi to join her
uncle and aunt, who were about to set forth on their return to
Jerusalem; and Mary also took leave of them, and proceeded with an
attendant towards her native village.  Amaziah and his party had not
gone far on their way, when, as we have already related, Theophilus
met them with the dreadful tidings of the arrival of the Idumeans,
and they hastened back to their secluded dwelling.  The safety of
Mary was immediately thought of, and a messenger was dispatched in
pursuit of her.  She had not reached Bethany when he overtook her;
and before Amaziah and his son left their home and returned to
Jerusalem, their aged and revered friend was again safely lodged
under their roof.  The house was situated in a commanding position,
and being strongly built, and partially fortified since the recent
disturbances, it was looked upon as a place of sufficient security
until Amaziah could take further measures for the removal of his
family, either to his dwelling in the city, or, if necessary, to
Pella.

The events of that dreadful night and the succeeding days have been
already recorded; and when Amaziah returned from the bloody city to
his quiet home in the mountains, he could hardly believe that such
scenes were yet going forward within so short a distance from the
peaceful spot.  But he could not conceal from himself, that however
tranquil all appeared around them, their present abode was no longer
a secure one, and he proceeded with the greatest dispatch to make the
needful preparations for removing to Pella.  Naomi was greatly
shocked and distressed at the account which her uncle brought of the
state of her family, and of her father's severe wounds, and
consequent illness.  She would instantly have hastened to rejoin
them, and lend her aid in nursing and cheering her beloved parents
and her friend Claudia, but it was quite impossible for her to enter
the city under the present circumstances; and Amaziah also brought
her a letter from Salome, in which she was desired by her parents to
continue under the protection of her uncle, and to accompany him to
whatever place he might find it desirable to make his temporary
residence.

Amaziah declared his intention of retiring to Pella, as the refuge
pointed out by express revelation, where the people of the Lord
should hide themselves until this tyranny should be overpast; and
though Naomi would gladly have encountered danger and suffering to be
again with her father and mother, she could not but rejoice in the
prospect of spending some weeks in the company of a society of
Christians, where she might observe their manners and share their
worship, and even be admitted by baptism among the members of the
true church.  The removal to Pella was soon effected; and Mary
consented to accompany her friends, in the hope that when the Idumean
army had departed and the present violent disturbances were quelled,
she might be permitted again to return to Bethany and end her days.

During the whole of the winter the civil war raged in Jerusalem with
unabated violence, and it was impossible for Naomi to rejoin her
family.  Occasionally Theophilus contrived to send intelligence to
Pella of the proceedings in the city; and by his messengers Naomi
received long and affectionate letters from her parents and Claudia,
and enjoyed the satisfaction of knowing that her father's health was
restored, and that he and his family were safe and unmolested.  How
long their security might last was very uncertain, as the robbers and
assassins became daily more powerful and more insatiable,
notwithstanding the efforts of the other party; and Naomi trembled
for her friends.  Her fervent prayers were joined to those of her
Christian brethren for the preservation of those so dear to her, amid
the destruction that threatened them; and still more fervently did
she pray that they might be brought to the knowledge of the Gospel,
and preserved from the far more terrible destruction which she
believed was yet to come upon her nation, and to swallow up all who
wilfully despised the grace of God in Jesus Christ.

Every day did that grace become more precious to her, and her faith
become more lively and more deep.  The beautiful and simple forms of
worship that were observed by the Christians powerfully affected her
heart.  In the meetings of this holy band all was calm and peaceful:
tears of deep devotion and unaffected humility stole silently down
the cheeks of many a once hardened sinner, and many a young and
ardent convert, as they knelt together in their unadorned sanctuary,
and joined in the prayers and confessions which were pronounced by
the elders of the community.  Meekly they bowed their knees; but
there were no prostrations on the earth, no outward gestures or
vehement excitement; and their prayers were offered up with the
devotion of creatures before their Creator, the love of ransomed
sinners before their Redeemer, and the confidence of children before
a Father, who has promised, that wheresoever two or three are
gathered together in his name, there will He be in the midst of them.
Those who had witnessed the imposing magnificence of the
temple-service, and beheld the thronging multitudes, the glittering
gold and jewelled dresses of the priests, the costly sacrifices, the
clouds of incense, the marble pavements and splendid altars, and
listened to the brazen trumpets and united voices of the choristers,
that were ordained to impress the senses, and fix the attention of
the Jews, might have smiled at the simplicity of this little church
in the wilderness.  Frequently they held their meetings in the
silence and the obscurity of night, and selected some neighbouring
glen or rocky recess in the mountains as their place of worship.
There, undisturbed by the Jews who dwelt in Pella, they united their
voices in hymns of prayer and praise, while the caverns re-echoed the
loud "Amen," and repeated the joyful "Hallelujahs" of these poor and
exiled brethren.  Naomi's soul was lifted up with gratitude and
devotion; and she felt that this was an offering and a sacrifice more
worthy of the Redeemer, and more acceptable to him than all the blood
of bulls and goats, that were only a type of his own complete and
all-atoning sacrifice.  She ardently desired to be received into the
Christian church by baptism, and allowed to partake in the holy
communion of the body and blood of Christ; and when she was
considered to be duly instructed in the doctrines of her
newly-adopted religion, and had satisfied the catechists and elders
that her faith was sincere and her conduct consistent, the ceremony
was performed with the same pious simplicity that distinguished all
the outward manners and customs of the primitive Christians.  Naomi
rejoiced in being permitted thus to make an open profession of her
faith, and of her firm resolution, by the grace of God and the help
of his Spirit, to "renounce the devil and all his works, powers, and
service," and "the world, and all its pomps and pleasures."  Her mind
was fully made up as to her future line of conduct; and much as she
dreaded her father's displeasure, she was determined, on her return
to Jerusalem, to confess to him her conversion to Christianity, and
her firm resolve to live according to the dictates of that religion,
and no longer to conform to the rites and ceremonies of Judaism.  She
knew his violent prejudices against the religion of the Nazarenes;
and she knew how grieved and disappointed both he and her mother
would be when they found that she had renounced the way of her
fathers, and adopted the faith which they so greatly despised.  But
then she trusted to her Saviour to support her under all trials, and
carry her through all temptations which were incurred for his name's
sake; and she felt that she could not without hypocrisy any longer
conceal her true belief, or appear to take part in the Jewish rites
and customs, that were so strictly observed in her father's house.
She hoped also that Zadok's fond affection for her would prevent him
from using any harsh measures; and she knew that her mother's gentle
and forgiving temper would not long cherish anger towards her; but
that she would use all her influence with her husband, to soften his
heart towards his beloved and hitherto dutiful and obedient daughter.
Therefore she checked her fears and her anxieties, and strove to
derive all the benefit that was possible from the intercourse of the
pious company, with whom she was so unexpectedly and so happily
permitted to dwell.

The privilege of attending the Holy Eucharist, or Supper of the Lord,
was allowed to the young Christian after her baptism; and she
frequently and thankfully partook of it, to the strengthening and
refreshing of her soul.  In those early days this sacrament was
administered to baptized believers on every Lord's day, and also on
many other occasions.  In some churches it was celebrated four times
a week; and it is even recorded, that while (in the words of St.
Chrysostom) "the spirit of Christianity was yet warm and vigorous,
and the hearts of men passionately inflamed with the love of Christ,"
they communicated every day; and found themselves stronger and
healthier, and more able to encounter the fierce oppositions that
were made against them, the oftener they fed at the table of their
crucified Saviour.  Would to God that the same love of Christ now
animated the hearts of all who have been admitted as members of his
visible church!  We should not then see his table neglected, and his
command disregarded, as now we do; and the same blessed results might
be expected.  We, like our holy fathers in the faith, should become
"strong in the Lord, and in the power of his might;" we should indeed
"eat his flesh and drink his blood," and find it to be "the food that
nourishes to salvation."

The manner of celebrating the holy sacrament in the first days of the
church differed very much from that which we are accustomed to see,
as a banquet or supper usually preceded the administration of the
consecrated elements.  These repasts were called Agapæ, or
Love-feasts; and there rich and poor met together as equals, and
partook in common of the food which was provided from the oblations
and gifts of the communicants, which were always bestowed, according
to their respective ability, for this purpose, and for the relief of
the poor.

In her intercourse with the Christians, Naomi could not but observe
and admire the sobriety which marked their apparel, the temperance
which they observed in regard to their food, and the modesty and
simplicity that reigned in their whole deportment.  They were
governed by the rule of the apostle, who directed his converts,
"having food and raiment, therewith to be content;" and while they
avoided singularity and affectation, they were careful to fall into
no excess, and indulge in no vanity or worldly pleasures.  Naomi
contrasted the jewelled tiaras, the embroidered shawls, the silken
robes and sashes fringed with pearls, the massive and highly-wrought
armlets and bracelets, the golden clasps, and all the other dazzling
ornaments and glowing colours that then distinguished the attire of
the wealthy Jews, with the plain and sober garb of her new
associates; and she felt how much more suitable was the appearance of
the Christians to the condition of those who are but "strangers and
pilgrims on the earth," and profess to seek a home in heaven.  All
her own ornaments, with which the indulgence of her father had
liberally supplied her, were laid aside; and she would have disposed
of them all, and given the product to her needy brethren, had not
Judith reminded her, that as the gifts of Zadok, she had no right to
part with them without his consent; and especially for the relief of
those who were in his judgment unworthy of the air they breathed, and
not to be approached by a faithful son of Abraham without
contamination.


[Illustration: Bethlehem]




CHAPTER IX.

The winter passed away, and it was now the spring of the year 68, and
the commencement of a new campaign.  The Jews who had deserted, or
fled for refuge to the camp of Vespasian, earnestly besought him to
march without further delay towards the capital; but the Roman
general thought it more prudent to defer that step until he had
reduced the rest of the country.  The first place which he attacked
was Gadara, the chief city of Peræa.  Some of the most influential
inhabitants sent a deputation to meet and conciliate Vespasian; and
the rebellious party, after revenging themselves on some of those who
had offered to surrender, withdrew from the city, and the conqueror
was received with acclamations of joy.  A garrison was placed in
Gadara, for the protection of the inhabitants; and Vespasian having
dispatched Placidus, with five hundred horse and three thousand
foot-soldiers, to pursue the insurgents who had fled from the city,
returned to Cæsarea with the rest of his forces.  The fugitives had
taken possession of a large village called Bethanabris, which they
fortified as well as lay in their power.  The Romans attacked them in
their place of refuge; and being unable to scale the walls or force
the gates, Placidus employed his favourite stratagem to draw them
from their hiding-place.  He feigned a retreat; and when the
Gadarenes sallied forth to pursue his army, he faced round, and
getting between them and the gates, effectually cut off their
retreat.  Before night the village was taken and destroyed, with a
dreadful slaughter.  Those of the insurgents who escaped, fled
towards Jericho, and being joined by a number of the peasants on
their way, they became a considerable body before they reached the
eastern bank of the Jordan, near Bethabara.  Here Placidus overtook
them; and the river being much swollen, they found it impassable, and
were compelled to turn and fight.

The Romans charged with all their accustomed vigour, and multitudes
of the half-armed peasants and wearied fugitives fell before them.
Hundreds were driven into the rapid and foaming waters, and many
plunged in of their own accord, to escape the swords of their
assailants.  The river was almost choked with bodies, and countless
numbers were carried down the stream into the Dead Sea, and lay
floating on its dark and stagnant waters.  Fifteen thousand were
killed on this spot, and upwards of two thousand taken prisoners;
while an immense number of cattle of every description were driven
off as a valuable prey, from that fertile and pastoral district.
Placidus did not immediately rejoin the main body of the Roman army,
but remained for some time in that neighbourhood, and reduced the
whole country of Persea, and the coast of the Dead Sea, as far as
Machærus.

The moon was high in the heavens, and her clear and silver light fell
softly on the bleak and barren scenery around, and glittered on the
motionless surface of the deadly "sea of the plain."  No sound of
life broke the oppressive stillness of the night, save the footsteps
of a solitary soldier, who slowly wandered along the margin of the
lake, and gazed on the dark outline of the ruins that yet remained
near the shore, a standing witness of the wrath of God on the sinful
cities of the plain.  The shattered remnants of walls and towers were
covered over with a coating of asphaltum or bitumen, which preserved
them from crumbling away; and the margin of the sea was strewed with
pieces of the same bituminous substance, thrown up from the depths
below, where all the wealth and all the grandeur of Sodom and
Gomorrah lay engulfed in utter ruin.  Who has ever looked upon the
black expanse without a shudder?  Marcellus felt that the scourge of
God had passed over the spot, and he contemplated it with intense
interest.  Life was extinct around him--no animal bounded over the
sterile rocks, no bird sank to rest in the small tufts of shrubs that
scantily covered their surface.  The low monotonous sound of the
distant Jordan, forcing its way through the heavy waters, and the
sighing of the wind among the reeds, only added to the gloom of the
scene.  Marcellus had been disgusted that day with the cruelty and
bloodshed which he had witnessed.  He had fought like a Roman, for
glory and for victory; but he had remembered that he was a Christian
soldier, and had shown mercy where mercy was possible.  He had
endeavoured to restrain the wanton massacre that was carried on by
his comrades; and had exposed himself to the charge of cowardice and
faint-heartedness for his humanity.  But his conscience approved his
conduct; and he rambled from the distant camp to enjoy the silence
and calm of the night, and to commune with his own heart and with his
God in peace.  He ascended the rocky cliffs that bounded the lake to
the west, and looked over the sleeping water, and the lower eminences
on the eastern shore, until his eye rested on the far distant towers
and fortresses of Jerusalem.  The moonlight sparkled on the gilded
pinnacles of the temple; and the clear blue sky threw out the summits
of the lofty buildings in bold relief.  Marcellus thought that Naomi
was within those walls; and, oh, how his heart yearned to be
permitted to join her there, to share her anxieties and her dangers,
and to protect and cheer her in the coming days of trouble and of
woe!  But he was enrolled among tin ranks of her enemies, and he must
be among those who would seek the ruin and destruction of her beloved
city.

His only consolation was the hope, that when the Roman army should
actually besiege the walls of Jerusalem, and as he doubted not, carry
the city by storm, he might have it in his power to preserve the
lives of Naomi and her family; and this hope made him rejoice, that
since he could not take part with her countrymen, he was at length
brought to the scene of action, and should be near her, though
numbered with her foes.  The fate of Jerusalem, so awfully predicted
by the Messiah, pressed heavily on his mind; for who in that day
should escape but the people of the Lord?  He knew the bigotry of
Zadok, and he feared that Naomi inherited all his prejudices, and
shared his abhorrence of the Nazarenes.  His dear sister too, what
would become of her?  Hitherto Rufus had found it impossible to have
her safely conveyed from the city to the camp, though he had sought
earnestly to find an opportunity of doing so ever since the war had
approached the neighbouring regions; but the distracted state of the
metropolis rendered it impracticable; and if Vespasian were now to
march to the attack, Claudia must remain among the besieged.

The reflections of Marcellus were deep and melancholy; and almost
unconsciously he wandered on, and was descending the rocky boundary
of the dismal lake, by a path that led into a narrow valley to the
east, when he started from his reverie at the sound of footsteps,
hastily approaching towards him.  The light of the moon was
intercepted by the lofty rocks that overhung the pathway, and
Marcellus did not recognise the figure of Javan, until the latter
advanced close to him, and presenting a drawn sword, fiercely
demanded who went there.  The voice discovered him to the young
Roman, who immediately perceived that Javan had escaped from the
camp, and was now hastening through these unfrequented valleys, in
the hope of making his way round the southern extremity of the Dead
Sea, and rejoining his countrymen in Judea.

"Is it you, Javan?" he replied; "you may sheath your sword, for you
need fear no evil from me.  But tell me, wherefore are you here?"

"I have fled from captivity, Marcellus.  Liberty is the right of
every man, and especially of every Jew.  Had I met any other Roman in
this dark glen, revenge and self-preservation would have urged me to
plunge my sword into his bosom; but I can trust you, though a
heathen."

"I have not the power to compel you to return to the camp," replied
Marcellus; "otherwise it would be my duty, however unwillingly, to do
so.  You were on your oath, Javan, to remain within the palisades;
and to effect your escape you must have bribed Clodius, who had the
charge of you, and broken a sacred promise.  Let me entreat you to
redeem your word, and return with me to the camp."

"What is there binding to a Jew in an oath taken to a heathen, and
that oath a compulsory one?" answered Javan, in a tone of contempt.
"The life and liberty of one son of Abraham are worth a hundred
promises; and the wily Romans have deserved no confidence at our
hands."

"The word of every man should be sacred," said Marcellus; "the
Almighty Jehovah heard and recorded your promise, and in his sight
you are guilty of falsehood."

"What is the Lord of Israel to you, Marcellus? and why do you utter
his great name with so much reverence?" asked Javan, with an
involuntary feeling of awe.

"Because I have learnt to acknowledge your God as King of kings, and
Lord of lords, and to know that all our thoughts, and words, and
actions lie open before his eye; and therefore, Javan, I should fear
to be guilty of a wilful sin against his holy laws, more than to
dwell in captivity, or even to be put to a violent death."

"If you, Marcellus, have been taught the knowledge of the true God,
yet Clodius and the rest of your comrades are but base idolaters.  I
would not break my word to a Jew: but now I am free, and I rejoice
too much in my liberty to resign it for the sake of a promise to a
Roman.  Farewell, Marcellus; I hasten to Judea; and when next we
meet, it may be at the walls of Jerusalem."

"Since you are resolved to go we will part as friends," replied
Marcellus, extending his hand towards Javan.  who received it, though
with an air of suspicion, and at the same moment grasping his
sword-hilt, to guard against any treacherous design on the part of
the Roman.

"You do not yet know me, Javan," said Marcellus: "I trust one day we
may be better acquainted.  My sister Claudia is in your father's
house; I charge you to be a brother to her, until we can find means
of conveying her to a place of greater safety.  Bear to her my most
affectionate salutation and blessing--and to Naomi also--may I not
send the same message to her?  She lives in my memory and in my heart
as a beloved sister.  It may be that the time will come when a friend
in the Roman camp may be of service to her and her family.  Tell her,
Javan, that Marcellus will use every influence, and brave every
danger to promote the safety and the happiness of those whom he has
loved so long."

There was something in the tone and manner of the noble young Roman
that softened even Javan's rugged nature.  "Forgive me, that I
doubted you for a moment, Marcellus," he replied; "you were always
brave and generous, and kind; and I will bear your message to my
sister, though I fear she will value it more than will be for her
peace.  She has always regarded you more kindly than a Jewish maiden
should have done; and it will but revive her girlish affection to
hear, that amid the gaiety and magnificence of Rome, and the toil and
excitement of a camp, you still remember her.  I hope she never may
be reduced to need the protection of any Roman; but should such be
her fate, there is not one of that proud nation to whom I would so
willingly or so confidently consign her as to you."

With these words Javan left his friend, who watched his dark figure
as he traversed the valley, and emerged into the bright moonlight,
that rendered the open plains as clear as in the day.  Marcellus
envied him, for he was going where Naomi dwelt; and it would be his
privilege to protect her in time of danger: but he pitied the deceit
and the pride of his heart, which could induce him to seek safety and
freedom at the expense of truth, and regard his captors as unworthy
to be treated with the faith and confidence due from man to man,
whether friends or foes.

He returned to the camp, and found Clodius in great dismay at the
flight of Javan.  He had allowed his prisoner more liberty than was
usual, in dependence on his promise to remain in the precincts of the
camp; and he feared the anger of the centurion, who had the command
over him.  Great power was in the hands of the centurions; and they
might chastise with blows any offending member of their company; but
only the generals could punish with death.  Happily for Clodius, his
commander was Rufus, and he was a just and a merciful man.  Marcellus
also undertook to state the case to his father, and persuade him to
intercede with Placidus for the pardon of the delinquent, which was
at length obtained, though such was the strictness and severity of
the Roman discipline, that but for the influence of Rufus and his
son, it is probable that Clodius might even have forfeited his life
for his negligence.

Placidus having completed the conquest of Persea, remained in the
neighbourhood of Jericho, to await the further movements of
Vespasian, who was at this time greatly disturbed by the news which
had just reached him of the state of affairs at Rome.  Vindex had
revolted against the power of the emperor in the province of Gaul;
and Vespasian foreseeing that his army might be required to take part
in the war consequent on this rebellion, was very desirous to hasten
the operations in Palestine, and put an end to the war without loss
of time.  He marched from Cæsarea, and successively attacked and
reduced Antipatris, Lydda, and Jamnia, and blockaded Emmaus, which
for some time resisted his forces.  But Vespasian did not suffer this
event to delay his progress; he seized on the avenues leading to the
city, fortified his camp with a strong wall, and leaving the fifth
legion to maintain the blockade, he proceeded southwards through the
toparchy of Bethleptepha, wasting all around with fire and sword.
From thence he entered Idumea, and seized and fortified such castles
and fortresses as he found convenient for his designs, and took also
Bataris and Cephartoba, two towns in the very heart of the country,
where he put to the sword upwards of ten thousand men, and carried
away a great number of prisoners.  In these towns he placed a strong
body of troops, and left them to overrun and ravage all the
neighbouring mountainous region.  He himself, with the rest of his
forces, returned to Emmaus, and thence by Samaria and Neapolis to
Jericho, where he was joined by the army which had been employed in
the conquest of Persea.

Before the arrival of the Romans, a multitude of the inhabitants fled
from Jericho, and took refuge among the mountains that bound the
wilderness of Judea, on the borders of the Dead Sea; but those who
remained in the city perished.  Vespasian found this important place
almost deserted, and his army entered it without resistance; and
gladly reposed for some time among the fertile and lovely gardens,
and the shady groves of palm-trees that lay around the city, before
they proceeded to traverse the dreary and mountainous desert that lay
between Jericho and Jerusalem.  The plain of Jericho is surrounded by
wild and barren mountains, extending northward as far as the country
of Scythopolis and southward towards the shores of the Dead Sea, and
the great plain of the Jordan.  This very extensive plain may be said
to reach almost the whole length of Palestine, and to contain within
its limits the two seas or lakes of Genesareth and Asphaltites.
These lakes are united by the Jordan; but their waters are of the
most opposite qualities, those of the former being sweet and
salubrious, while the latter gives nourishment to neither animal nor
vegetable life, but diffuses barrenness and death around its dismal
shores.

At the period when Vespasian encamped at Jericho, it was a luxuriant
and delicious spot.  A plentiful fountain rose near the old city, and
poured its copious streams among the adjoining meadows and orchards.
Tradition related that this fountain was the same that in the days of
old was healed by the prophet Elisha, when at the request of the men
of the city, he cast salt into the spring of the waters, and rendered
them henceforth sweet and wholesome, and the ground was no more
barren.  The district that received the benefit of this fertilizing
stream was fruitful to a wonderful degree, and produced fruits and
herbs and honey of the finest quality.  The climate also appeared to
be affected by the temperature of the water, which in winter was very
warm; and the air was so mild that though the other parts of Judea
were subject to snows, the inhabitants of Jericho were accustomed at
that season to wear only a garment of fine linen.

Here did Vespasian take up his quarters, while he sent detachments to
reduce all the neighbouring country.  He dispatched Lucius Annius to
Gerasa, with part of the cavalry and a considerable body of
foot-soldiers; and at the first charge they took the city, and slew a
thousand of the young men.  The families were carried away captive,
and the soldiers had full license to plunder all their goods; after
which the houses were burnt, and Lucius proceeded to the adjoining
towns.

The fury of the war spread through all the mountains as well as the
plains around Jerusalem, and the inhabitants of the metropolis were
entirely blocked up.  Those who would gladly have made their escape,
and fled to the Romans, were narrowly watched by the Zealots; and
those who had no wish to favour the conquering army were afraid to
venture forth, as their forces now invested the city on every side.
Every day they looked out, in the fearful expectation of seeing the
golden eagles glittering on the plain to the north, and the enemy
approaching to their very gates.

But it pleased the Almighty Disposer of all events yet to postpone
for a time the destruction of the place where once his honour dwelt;
and to allow his people a still longer time in which they might by
repentance seek to avert their doom, and also make preparations for a
more regular and vigorous resistance.  News arrived from Rome that
Nero was slain, after he had reigned thirteen years, and that Galba
was proclaimed emperor in his stead.  Vespasian paused in his
operations, and held his army together, though inactive, that he
might be ready to take advantage of any events that should arise to
open a way for him towards the sovereignty of the Roman empire.

When the army of Vespasian had approached the neighbourhood of
Jerusalem, Zadok feared that Pella was no longer a safe retreat for
his daughter; and with some difficulty he sent a messenger and a
small band of armed men to Amaziah, to entreat him to return with
Judith and Naomi to the city.  Amaziah put perfect faith in the
revealed promise, that the disciples of Jesus should be safe in the
refuge which had been appointed for them, and he wished to remain
there and keep his niece with him.  But he knew that his confidence
in the security of their present abode would neither be shared nor
understood by his brother, and Naomi also was very anxious to rejoin
her family; he therefore complied with their wishes, and immediately
made arrangements for returning to Jerusalem.  Amaziah did not,
however, take Judith or Mary with him, but they remained at Pella
with her Christian friends, until he had safely deposited Naomi in
her father's house, when he hastened back to the chosen city, to
abide there in conformity to the command of the Lord, until Vespasian
should withdraw his troops from the neighbourhood.

But we must follow Naomi to her home, and tell of her joys and her
sorrows.  She was received with the warmest affection and delight by
her mother and Claudia and old Deborah; but Zadok was at the temple
at the time when she and Amaziah entered his house.  He was engaged
in the performance of divine service, for the form of worship was
still continued whenever it was possible, though the house of God was
defiled with blood and violence.  Naomi and the rest of the family
were seated on the housetop, enjoying the evening breeze from the
mountains, and the delicious odour of the fine Persian roses that
grew luxuriantly in rich marble vases placed on the roof, when they
heard the voice of Zadok in the vestibule below.  How joyfully did
Naomi bound down to meet and embrace her father; and how
affectionately did Zadok receive his beloved daughter, after her long
and anxious separation from him!  But there was a mixture of fear and
sorrow in the heart of Naomi, and she trembled with a feeling nearly
allied to self-reproach as she was folded in the arms of her father,
for she knew how soon his high opinion of her would be changed into
contempt, and perhaps even his affection into hatred.  She had
resolved to declare to him her conversion to Christianity, and to
implore his permission to observe the customs and the sabbaths of her
brethren in the faith: but she felt that all her own courage would be
insufficient to support her through the dreaded avowal; and she
lifted up her heart in silent supplication for grace and strength to
enable her to take up the cross and carry it after her Saviour, even
if it should involve the severest trials and domestic persecutions.
She had requested her uncle to be present at her confession, as she
thought that his kindness and sympathy would support her, and his
influence with her father might also soften his anger towards her.
It was likewise Amaziah's intention to confide to his brother his own
change of religion and that of his wife, and to urge him to read and
examine for himself the records of the Christians, and to weigh well
their pretensions to truth and divine revelation.  He hardly hoped to
obtain any concession on these points from his prejudiced but
high-minded brother; yet he could not bid him farewell, perhaps for
ever, without making one effort to enlighten his mind and open to him
the true way of salvation.

The evening meal was served, and after it was finished, Zadok,
according to his general custom, called his family to join in prayer
before they retired to rest.  The forms he used were in strict
accordance with the Jewish ritual; but the piety and devotion to
God's service which were expressed both in the words and the manner
of the priest were such as would do honour to any Christian worship,
and Naomi joined with heart and voice in celebrating the evening
service to which she had been accustomed from her earliest childhood.
At the same time she felt how imperfect and how unsatisfactory were
any prayers that were not offered up in the name and through the
mediation of the Saviour of mankind, and secretly she invoked his
aid; while she concluded every petition with the words so precious to
her soul, "For the sake of Jesus Christ, thy Son."

Her feelings were highly excited, and unconsciously she repeated this
solemn adjuration in an audible whisper, as her father terminated the
evening's devotions, and no other voice prevented her soul-felt
prayer from being heard.  In an instant she was aware of the
inadvertency; and rising from her knees, she turned and saw the keen
eye of Zadok fixed upon her with an expression of anxious inquiry,
mingled with astonishment.  She had intended to defer the important
avowal of her faith until the following day, and to request an
audience with Zadok, with no one present except her uncle; but now
she saw that her long-cherished secret was already divulged.  She
approached her father with faltering steps, and sinking on her knees
at his feet, she caught the hem of his embroidered robe, and
exclaimed, "Yes, my father, I have betrayed myself sooner than I had
intended; I have called on the name of the Lord Jesus Christ; and
oh--spurn me not from you when I declare myself to be his most
unworthy disciple!"

Words could not paint the feelings that chased each other across the
expressive but stern countenance of the priest, as this open avowal
of her apostasy fell from the quivering lips of his daughter.  Horror
and amazement held him motionless for a few moments, and strong
affection for his suppliant child restrained him from any violent
expression of anger; but all the prejudices of his nation and all the
pride of his sect repressed his rising pity.  He looked on Naomi with
an expression of bitter disappointment and contempt; and unable to
command the grief that wrung his heart, he drew his garment from her
convulsive grasp, and would have retired from the apartment had not
Amaziah detained him.

"Zadok, my brother," he said, "leave us not thus in anger; but hear
your innocent, your most devoted daughter, towards whom I know your
spirit yearns, though deep-rooted prejudice would prompt you to cast
her from you.  Hear me also, for I must encounter your wrath and your
scorn.  I must confess that the faith which now animates Naomi's soul
has for many years been established in my own heart and that of my
wife, and that we have been in part God's instruments in
strengthening the same belief in your daughter's mind.  The knowledge
of the Lord Jesus Christ was imparted to her many months ago by one
of hie most enlightened and most favoured disciples; and when we
found that she believed in him as the Messiah, the Son of the Most
High God, we joyfully encouraged her, and instructed her in the
truth."

"Oh, fool that I was," exclaimed Zadok, "to suffer my treasure to be
so long removed from my own care and my own watchful guardianship!
But how could I look for such a return from a brother's hands, for
all the love that I have ever borne towards him?  Speak not to me,
Amaziah.  Had you plunged a dagger to Naomi's heart you would have
less deeply injured me, than by thus instilling into her guileless
breast the doctrines of the impostor of Nazareth.  Oh!  I have
watched her from her infancy with feelings of anxiety and affection
which none but a father can tell.  I have exulted in her abilities,
her graces, and still more, in her piety and zeal, and knowledge in
our holy religion; and in her dutiful affection and gratitude I hoped
to receive a rich reward for all my care and solicitude.  But now
what has she become?  A curse and a shame to her parents--an apostate
from the only true faith--a believer in a blasphemous creed, worse
even than idolatry, founded on impostures, invented by a malefactor,
who was unable to save himself or his followers from the punishment
which they drew on themselves by their false pretensions.  O God of
Israel! avenge thy great name, and suffer not these deluded Nazarenes
to draw away thy lambs from thy fold.  Restore my child to her
religion and her parents, and let her not be an outcast from thy
people, a disgrace to the tribe of Aaron!"

Zadok spoke with all the passionate vehemence so characteristic of
his Hebrew blood.  His hands were clasped energetically, his eyes
flashed fire, and his whole form seemed animated with powerful
emotion.  Salome gazed alternately on him and on her stricken child,
whose head was bowed to the ground in humiliation and sorrow, while
her long black hair fell in profusion over her neck and face, and
concealed the tears which she strove ineffectually to repress.  Her
mother could not feel the indignation that filled the breast of
Zadok; she could not forget that Naomi, however erring, was still her
only, her most beloved daughter, and she stooped to raise her from
the floor, and to whisper words of comfort.  But Naomi refused to
rise.  "Oh, my mother," she murmured, "has not my father cursed me?
Let me lie in dust and ashes, until once more I hear his voice recall
those dreadful words, and bless his child."

[Illustration: SALOME INTERCEDING FOR NAOMI.]

"He cursed thee not, my Naomi; he only spoke in sorrow and in anger
of the sad change that has been wrought in you.  But tell him that
you will listen again to his instructions--tell him that you will
strive to shake off and forget the errors into which you have so
unhappily been led, and he will bless you again, and joy will yet
return to our house.  I will kneel with you, my child.  Zadok never
yet denied me what I asked.  I will plead for you, and promise for
you that you will return to the holy religion of your ancestors."

Salome's tears fell fast as she uttered these words, and she knelt by
her daughter's side before the dignified form of her husband.  He
could not see her thus abase herself before him unmoved, nor behold
the tears that flowed down her gentle countenance without emotion.
He approached, and raised her from the ground, while he replied in a
softened tone, "For thy dear sake, Salome, I will pardon the child
for whom you plead so well.  But I only restore her to my favour, and
acknowledge her as my daughter, on the terms which you yourself have
named.  She shall promise no more to use the name of the God of the
Nazarenes, and she shall attend to all the forms and customs of our
religion, and again receive instruction from our most holy rabbis and
from myself, on the points concerning which her faith has been
shaken.  Naomi, promise me this, and then come back to my arms and my
heart, as my own lovely and beloved child."

Even Zadok's self-command was failing, and the natural tenderness of
his heart was ready to triumph over the lofty calmness that usually
distinguished his manner and deportment.  His wife and Claudia,
Deborah, and all the other attendants wept aloud from sympathy and
anxiety, while Amaziah bent his eyes on Naomi, and waited in almost
breathless expectation of her reply to the appeal of Zadok.  She had
raised her face, and shaken back her clustering hair from her pale
brow and weeping eyes, while Salome's words of kindness were
whispered in her ear, and she had sought to interrupt her mother when
she spoke of forgetting the faith she had so lately learned.  But
when Zadok addressed her she paused in deep reverence, and waited in
silence until he called for her reply.  Then she rose from her knees,
and stood erect and self-possessed.  Her mother's promise that she
should return to the Jewish faith had startled her, and recalled her
to a sense of her duty, and a confident reliance on the aid she had
implored to keep her firm and unshaken under every temptation and
trial.  Her countenance was as pale as death, and the beating of her
heart was almost audible, yet she spoke firmly.

"My father, you have commanded me to renounce the faith which I have
embraced because I feel that it is true.  Sooner could I gaze up at
the noonday sun, and say that it gives no light, than I can behold
the character of Jesus of Nazareth, and say that the glory of the
Godhead shines not therein.  My soul was dark, my heart was hard, my
spirit was proud and unhumbled, and therefore I knew not peace; when
many months ago I met an aged disciple of Jesus Christ, and she told
me of his power and his love, and the words that he spake, and the
miracles that he wrought.  She told me how he left his Father's
throne on high, and lived with sinful men, in poverty and affliction
on earth, to teach them how they ought to live.  And she told me how
at length he died, a sacrifice for sin and an atonement for us
sinners; and having borne his Father's wrath, and drained the cup of
sorrow that was mixed for us, how he rose triumphant from the grave,
and ascended again to his God and our God, there to plead his death
for our forgiveness, and to prepare mansions of everlasting peace and
joy for all who truly love and serve him.  When I heard all this, my
father, I felt my heart was changed.  Could I be too grateful to him
who had done so much for me?  Could I feel proud and self-righteous
when the Son of God had died to wash away my guilt?  Could I any
longer put my trust in the blood of calves and goats to wash away my
sin, when the blood of the Messiah had been shed as a perfect
oblation and satisfaction?  I received the Lord Jesus as my God and
Saviour, and he has given rest unto my soul.  Never, never will I
forsake Him who gave himself for me!--never will I renounce that name
whereby alone I hope to be saved!"

Naomi had gathered courage as she continued, and ere she concluded
her reply the colour had returned to her cheek, her eyes had
recovered their wonted brightness, and her hands were clasped in an
attitude of firmness and devotion.  She was astonished at her own
boldness, and still more at the forbearance with which her father
listened to the end.  Zadok, and all who heard her, were struck and
impressed by the earnestness and solemnity of her manner, and could
not repress the admiration that was excited by the zeal and the
firmness she displayed.  Amaziah rejoiced with thankfulness at this
evident proof that she was sustained by the grace of God, and he felt
proud in being the relative and the instructor of the devoted
creature who stood before him.  At length Zadok spoke:

"Would to God, Naomi, that all this warmth of feeling, and this
firmness of spirit, were directed in the way of truth and reason.
Alas!  I can now only deplore that the powers of your soul have been
so misled.  My heart is wounded within me, and I am unable to answer
you as I ought to do.  Go to your chamber, and remain there until I
either visit you to-morrow, or call for you to listen to the teaching
of Rabbi Joazer.  If you return to your duty and your religion all
shall be forgiven; but if the delusions of the evil spirit cannot be
removed, and you still refuse to acknowledge yourself a true daughter
of Abraham, then, O my God! enable me to act according to the spirit
of thy holy laws, and be the first to bring to judgment the
idolatrous member of my house, though my heart-strings break in the
effort!"

Zadok hurried from the room, and shutting himself up in his private
apartment, passed the night in prayer for the soul of his child.
None of the family retired to rest, for Salome and Claudia would not
leave Naomi, on whom they hoped their persuasions would have some
effect, and incline her more readily to obey the wishes of her
father.  Amaziah also remained with his niece, to strengthen and
support her, for her spirits sank after the violent effort she had
made; and he also entertained a hope, that while he defended the
cause of his niece, his arguments might have some good influence in
weakening the prejudices of Salome and Claudia.  Had Zadok been aware
of the discussion that was carried on for several hours that night,
he would have put a stop to it, nor have suffered his wife to listen
to the doctrines and the narratives so eloquently set forth by his
zealous brother.  Salome's naturally mild and amiable disposition had
always prevented her from manifesting the same hatred and contempt
for the Nazarenes that was felt by her husband and her son.  The
malignant violence of Javan had ever inspired her with fear and
horror; and even Zadok appeared to her to cherish sentiments at
variance with true religion and charity.  The character also of
Jesus, of whom in her childhood she had heard innumerable stories of
love and mercy, had to a certain degree impressed her heart; and
though she looked upon his assumption of Divinity as unfounded and
blasphemous, and ascribed his miracles to the agency of evil spirits,
according to the belief of all her mistaken people, yet she could not
withhold her admiration from the holiness, and purity, and
self-devotion of his life, and that of his followers and disciples.

The enthusiasm and determination of Amaziah and her daughter also
greatly influenced her mind, and she respected a firmness which she
felt herself incapable of sharing.  She knew not then the
all-powerful effect of the Christian faith in giving courage and
boldness to the weakest believer; she knew not how the contemplation
of the Redeemer's love could inspire such a corresponding feeling of
gratitude and devotion, as to banish all weakness and all regard for
personal suffering, and make death in its most terrible form less to
be dreaded than one act of unfaithfulness to Him.  Had Zadok been a
Christian, Salome would have found no difficulty in receiving the
same doctrines: but she looked up to him as a model of wisdom, and
judgment, and piety; and when she heard him laugh to scorn the "wild
delusions of the Nazarenes," she was convinced that he must have good
reason for the contempt he expressed, and that it was the weakness of
her own mind that inclined her to favour a system to which her
husband was so averse.  Had she looked simply to the word of God, and
studied it attentively, with prayer for the guidance of his Spirit,
and cast aside all human dependence, doubtless her mind would have
been speedily enlightened, and she would have been spared much of the
sorrow, and doubt, and anxiety by which she was eventually tried and
afflicted.

Claudia had not so many prejudices to overcome.  She had been brought
up in the belief of the existence of a multitude of deities, and if
required no great effort for her to admit the God of Israel to a
share of her worship, when she was instructed by Naomi in the wonders
he had performed, and the manifestations he had made of his power and
goodness to his peculiar people.  But her friend had found it much
more difficult to persuade her that all the divinities to whom she
had from her childhood been taught to pay adoration were but
senseless images, helpless and powerless.  Time and reflection, the
perusal of the Scriptures, and the prayers of Naomi, had by degrees
eradicated the errors of her youth; and the letter which she had
received from her brother, declaring his renunciation of all the gods
of the heathen, had gone far to convince her that they were unworthy
of her worship.  During the period of Naomi's absence from Jerusalem,
her time had been passed in perfect retirement.  The state of the
city had made it necessary for females to remain as secluded as
possible, and Salome and Deborah had both taken advantage of this
season of comparative inactivity to improve the good impressions
already made by Naomi's instructions.

At the period of which we are now speaking, Claudia was therefore in
belief a Jew.  Naomi had not ventured to confide to her the change
which was worked in her own sentiments, for she feared that it might
weaken Claudia's newly-acquired faith in the one true God of heaven
and earth, if she knew that her young teacher paid divine worship to
Jesus of Nazareth.  Naomi waited until she could be satisfied that
her pupil had a right understanding of the nature of Jehovah, as
revealed by himself; and then she anticipated with delight the task
of displaying to her mind the light of the Gospel, and showing her
how the same God who reigns over the universe had manifested himself
to the world in the person of his Son--and this for the salvation and
redemption of guilty, fallen man!

The conversation of Amaziah on the night of her return to her home,
deprived her of the privilege of being the first to declare Jesus
Christ to her friend as the Messiah, the Lord; but she saw with joy
the evident impression that was made by her uncle's arguments both on
her mother and Claudia, and earnestly she prayed that the good seed
then sown, might, by the influence of the Holy Spirit, spring up and
come to perfection, and bear good fruit; and that it might be her
blessed privilege to help forward two beings so dear to her in the
way of eternal salvation.


[Illustration: Fountain of the Virgin]




CHAPTER X.

We have mentioned that Galba had succeeded to the throne of the Roman
empire, in the room of the tyrant Nero; and that Vespasian prudently
abstained from taking any active measures in Judea, lest he should
weaken his forces, but kept them together in readiness for any
enterprise that might seem calculated to promote his ambitious views,
and hasten the accomplishment of the prophecy that had been
pronounced by his Jewish captive, Josephus.  Had all the inhabitants
of Jerusalem and the neighbouring country improved this season of
rest and respite from foreign war, their city might have been better
prepared to receive the assaults of the Roman army when at length the
siege was determined on; or, better still, they might, by a timely
submission, have appeased the anger of the new emperor, whose
attention was greatly occupied by the unsettled state of affairs in
the regions nearer to the capital of the empire.

But no such salutary and prudent steps were taken by these misguided
and rebellious people, who only turned the arms that were no longer
exerted against a foreign enemy, with greater animosity against each
other.  Simon the son of Gioras, the bloody and vindictive Simon,
added a third party to those which already distracted the metropolis.
This scourge of his country might rival even John of Gischala in
cruelty and ferocity, but he was not a match for him in cunning.  He
had been conspicuous in the rout of Cestius' army, which had occurred
at the beginning of the war and since that period he had carried on a
course of pillage and violence.  He had been expelled from Acrabatana
by Ananus, and entering Masada, he had succeeded in making himself
master of the town.  His party had gradually augmented; and having
traversed the region of Idumea with his fierce and victorious band,
he at length turned his eyes towards Jerusalem, and began to
entertain hopes that he might vanquish the two parties that already
contended for the superiority within her walls, and himself become
the leader and the chief of all.

When his approach was known in the city, a considerable body of the
Zealots sallied forth to oppose him, but they could not stand against
his forces, and were driven back again with discomfiture and loss.
Simon did not, however, venture to attack the city immediately; but
apprehensive of his own strength, he resolved on returning to subdue
Idumea before he commenced that enterprise.  He therefore placed
himself at the head of twenty thousand men, and hastened back to the
frontier.  The Idumeans speedily assembled to the number of
twenty-five thousand and leaving the rest of their forces to guard
their families and possessions from the incursions of the robbers
from Masada, they met Simon on the borders of their territory, where
a long and doubtful contest was maintained the whole day.  It is hard
to say which party should be called the victors, for Simon retreated
to the village of Nam, which he had previously fortified and put in a
state of defence, and the Idumeans retired to their own country.  But
Simon shortly afterwards made another incursion upon them with a
still more powerful army, and having pitched his camp before Tekoa,
he dispatched one of his associates, named Eleazar, to persuade the
garrison of the neighbouring fortress of Herodium to surrender to
him.  The garrison were so indignant at the proposition that they
attacked Eleazar with their drawn swords, and he was obliged to leap
from the wall into the deep ditch that surrounded it, where he died
on the spot.

The Idumeans dreaded the power and the vengeance of Simon, and they
determined, if possible, to ascertain the strength of his army before
they again met him in battle; and one of their princes, named Jacob,
offered to accomplish this object.  But he was a traitor, and only
sought the opportunity of betraying his country into the hands of her
enemy.  He went from Colures, which was the head-quarters of the
Idumeans, to the camp of Simon, and immediately made an agreement to
assist him in reducing the whole country to his subjection, on
condition that he himself should be well treated, and rewarded with
riches and honours.  To these terms Simon promised a ready
compliance, and having regaled him with a grand entertainment, he
dismissed him with extraordinary courtesy.  Jacob was elated with the
prospects which he saw before him; and on returning to his
countrymen, he endeavoured to alarm them by a false account of the
forces of Simon, describing them as much more numerous than they
really were.  He afterwards tried various arts and persuasions with
the princes and the chief men, separately, to induce them to lay down
their arms, and receive Simon as their governor; and while he was
thus treacherously endeavouring to weaken the courage and corrupt the
fidelity of his countrymen, he secretly sent to Simon, desiring him
to commence the attack, and promising that he would disperse the
Idumeans.  To effect this, as soon as the enemy approached, he
mounted his horse and pretended to take flight, followed by those
whom he had already made his accomplices; and the rest of the army,
being seized with a panic, left their ranks and fled away towards
their homes.

Thus, almost without bloodshed, Simon entered the country, took the
ancient city of Hebron, and wasted all the neighbourhood.  Marching
from thence, he ravaged the whole land of Idumea, and carried off all
the provisions and cattle of the wretched inhabitants.  His army had
increased to such a multitude from the number of irregular troops who
followed him, that the country could not furnish necessaries for
them; and the consequent distress of the peasantry, added to the
cruelty of Simon, made them groan beneath the weight of their
accumulated misfortunes.  Simon's army carried desolation wherever
they turned: they burned some places, and pulled down others; seized
and destroyed whatever fell into their hands, and trampled under-foot
every species of vegetation, so that the land became a desert, and
appeared as if it had never been cultivated.  These proceedings
against their former allies added fury to the resentment of the
Zealots, and yet they dared not meet the destroyer in open battle;
but having placed ambuscades along the road, by which they were
informed the wife of Simon was to pass, they succeeded in carrying
her off a captive to Jerusalem, with several of her attendants.  They
hoped by these means to bring Simon to terms, for they knew that the
loss of his wife would distract him; and therefore they expected that
in order to obtain her release he would bind himself by an agreement
that they might dictate.  But the feelings of Simon were not to be
acted upon in the manner which they anticipated: instead of
approaching their walls a humble suppliant for the restoration of his
wife, he came raging like a wounded beast of prey.  All who ventured
to set their foot outside the gates, to gather olives in the gardens
or bring in other necessaries, were seized by his watchful
emissaries, and brought to their savage master, who put them to
death, without distinction of age or sex, after inflicting on them
unparalleled torments.  He is said to have been hardly restrained
from tearing their flesh with his teeth, so ungovernable was his fury
and vengeance.  Some of his victims he spared from death only to
inflict on them a worse punishment; for he cut off both their hands,
and in this mutilated condition sent them back into the city, with
orders to tell the leaders, that Simon had sworn by the Almighty,
that if they did not immediately restore his wife to him, he would
break through their walls, and treat in the same barbarous manner all
who were within the city, without any distinction.  This dreadful
threat alarmed the people, and even the Zealots.  In hope of
appeasing their furious enemy, they sent out his wife to him, on
which he laid aside his intention of an immediate slaughter, and
withdrew his army from the walls.

During the preparations for his departure, a party of his sentinels
brought into the camp a young Jew, whom they had discovered lurking
among the neighbouring hills, and apparently watching their motions
with great anxiety.  He fled at their approach, but they pursued and
caught him, and now conducted him into the presence of Simon as a
spy.  The young man had a bold and crafty countenance; and his
appearance bespoke that he had endured much hardship and fatigue; but
he almost trembled at the fierce aspect of the son of Gioras, whose
character was doubtless well known to him.  Simon sternly demanded
who he was, and what had brought him so near his camp; and believing
that deceit could not, in this instance, be of any advantage to him,
Javan (for it was him) replied:--

"I am the son of Zadok the priest, and have long been a captive in
the hands of the Romans.  With danger and difficulty I escaped from
them, when they were encamped on the shores of the Dead Sea.  For
months I have wandered among the mountains and the deserts, seeking
vainly to find an opportunity of returning to my native city, and
rouse my countrymen to a fiercer opposition against my hated captors.
The approach of Vespasian so near the walls of Jerusalem long
deterred me from the attempt to gain entrance, as I dreaded falling
into the hands of any of his skirmishing parties; and though I burned
to find myself upon the battlements of Zion, and to cast defiance at
the infidels from her proud bulwarks, yet I was forced to loiter away
my time in restless inactivity.  When Vespasian withdrew his forces
from the neighbourhood, I again approached my native district, but
was again disappointed in my object, by finding that your valiant
troops were contending with those ruffian Zealots.  The succeeding
war in Idumea prevented me from passing through that country, until
you left it to seek vengeance for the insult offered to you by John
of Gischala and his robber band.  Then I entered Judea by a secret
path through the mountains, and was anxiously watching for a moment
of security, that I might present myself before the gates of the city
and join her brave defenders, when I fell into the hands of your
brave men."

Simon was satisfied that the prisoner was not deceiving him, and he
replied,--

"Why then did you not boldly come to me, and join the ranks of my
patriotic followers?  You might have known that the welfare of
Jerusalem is my only object; and that I seek to rid her of her
present oppressors, that I may establish again the rules of order and
good government, and restore the neglected worship of the temple to
its former holiness and magnificence.  My righteous efforts will
doubtless be blessed with success, and the God of battles will put to
rebuke those miscreants who now so audaciously trample on his holy
sanctuary and despise his laws."

"Most noble Simon," replied the wily Javan, "your holy zeal finds an
echo in my breast.  Had I known the object of your enterprise, I
should long ere this have hastened to enroll myself under your
victorious banner, and have rejoiced to lend my aid to so meritorious
a purpose.  I am now ready to take an oath of fidelity to you and
your cause; and, by the blessing of the Almighty, we shall soon
triumph over the Zealots, and restore the city of the Great King to
prosperity and peace."

Thus spoke Javan, partly actuated by a politic regard to his own
safety, and partly prompted by his fanatical zeal and pride.  He
hoped that Simon's party might gain the ascendancy, if they once
obtained a footing in the city; and he knew enough of their leader to
be convinced that he would forward to the utmost all his own schemes
and projects, for what he called the honour of God--by which he
meant, the oppression and destruction of all who differed from the
proud, self-righteous sect to which he belonged.  He believed that in
so doing he should promote the cause of religion, and strengthen the
party of those whom he considered as the only true children of
Abraham.  He therefore made up his mind to attach himself to Simon,
and, if possible, to gain his confidence, and penetrate all his
schemes.  Should they succeed, he would enter Jerusalem as his
follower; but if he failed in opening her gates, either by force or
by subtlety, Javan depended on his own cunning to make his escape
from his adopted leader, and unite himself to whichever party he
should find the most congenial to his own bigoted feelings, when he
had succeeded in obtaining an entrance into the city.

A compact was soon entered into between these two crafty men, who
both affected to conceal their own cruel and ambitious views under
the disguise of zeal for religion.  In this profession Javan was more
sincere than Simon; he had devoted a great part of his early life to
the study of the sacred writings, and still more sacred traditions,
so profoundly reverenced by his sect; and for the honour of these
voluminous and erudite productions, and the observance of the
wearisome regulations which they enjoined, he held it to be his duty
to consecrate his time and his strength, and even to abandon every
tie of natural affection that might interfere with the views which he
entertained.  But with the son of Gioras, ambition and revenge were
the darling objects; and religion was little more than a cloak, under
which to exercise every violence and every cruelty that was dictated
by his own evil heart.  He once more resolved to defer his intended
attack upon Jerusalem, and wait until the forces within the city had
wasted yet more of their strength in civil contests; and also until
he had further augmented his own army.  He therefore retired again
into Idumea, where for a considerable time he continued his former
system of pillage and oppression.

The suspension of hostilities on the part of the Romans, and the
departure of Simon, encouraged some of the Christians at Pella to
forsake for a little time their place of refuge, and to return to
Jerusalem, either to secure some of their effects which had been
neglected at the time of their retreat, or to see again those members
of their families who, though separated from them in faith and in
hope, were yet united to them by the bonds of affection.  Among those
who thus visited the holy city at this time were Amaziah and Judith.
They had come to the resolution of finally abandoning their devoted
and rebellious country, and retiring to Ephesus with their son, who
had hitherto remained in Jerusalem.  They knew that they should there
find a numerous and increasing church of Christians, and that the
venerable apostle John then dwelt there, and watched over the
spiritual welfare of his beloved brethren in Christ, with all the
affection and all the zeal that glowed in his devoted heart.  To
enjoy the privilege of his presence and his instruction was one great
motive that induced Amaziah and his wife to select Ephesus as the
place of their retreat; and they also possessed friends and
connexions among the believers established there.  Before they
undertook so long a journey, they wished to see and to bid farewell
to their relations in Jerusalem; and they likewise intended to make
an effort for the preservation of their dear Naomi, by endeavouring
to persuade her parents to allow her to accompany them, and remain
under their protection, until Judea should again be restored to
tranquillity.  Such a result of the war they did not themselves
anticipate; for they looked confidently for the fulfilment of the
denunciations of wrath pronounced against their countrymen by the
Lord Jesus; and they feared that if Naomi remained in the city, she
would share the fate of its obstinate inhabitants.  Oh how gladly
would they have persuaded Zadok and Salome also to be the companions
of their exile!  But that they knew to be a fruitless wish, so long
as they despised the name of the Redeemer, and disbelieved alike his
threatenings and his promises.

They found their niece unshaken in her faith, and fully resolved to
hold fast to the religion which she had so boldly professed, in spite
of all the sorrow which that profession had brought upon her.  It is
true that the influence of her kind and affectionate mother had
preserved her from any severe manifestations of her father's wrath;
but all the domestic comfort and happiness which she had so long
enjoyed was gone.  Zadok no longer regarded her with affection and
pride, and no longer delighted in conversing with her, and
instructing her in all the learning for which he was himself so
celebrated.  As much as possible he avoided seeing her, and when they
met, his countenance expressed such deep grief and such repressed
anger, that Naomi shrunk from his presence, and in her own apartment
shed many bitter tears of sorrow, but not of weakness or indecision.
The severest trial she had to undergo was when at stated periods she
was summoned to attend her father and rabbi Joazer, to whom the
secret of her apostasy had been confided, and in whose learned
arguments her parents placed their only hope of her restoration to
the true faith.

Rabbi Joazer spared neither time nor pains to accomplish this desired
object; but all his tedious harangues, and all his copious appeals to
the rabbinical writings and the traditions of the elders, only served
to show to Naomi more plainly the folly and absurdity of exalting
these human inventions above the word of God, and made her feel more
devotedly attached to the faith she had adopted, and which she knew
to be verified by Scripture, and founded on divine revelation.  With
humility, and yet with firmness, she replied to the assertions of the
rabbi; and quoted the words of the prophets to prove that Jesus was
indeed the Christ.  Joazer would not listen to her; he only
overwhelmed and silenced her, by long and rapid quotations from the
cumbrous volumes on which he rested his creed; and at length
dismissed her with anger and impatience to her chamber again.

Claudia was her constant companion, and her greatest earthly solace.
She sympathised in the afflictions of her friend, and listened with
an interest that daily increased, to the detail of all that she had
seen and heard at Pella, and all the affecting narratives that had at
first attracted Naomi's own attention, and excited her own curiosity,
and led to her own adoption of the faith of Christ.  The heart of
Claudia was touched, and it was evident that the work of the Spirit
had commenced within her, though it advanced but slowly, and she did
not, as it were, grasp and comprehend the doctrines that were
presented to her, with the rapidity that had characterized Naomi's
conversion.  Her less energetic disposition was alarmed at the wonder
and the novelty of the religion that was proposed to her belief; and
though in the mythology which she had been taught in her childhood,
there were many pretended instances of the heathen divinities
dwelling with men upon the earth, yet the history of Jesus Christ,
God manifest in the flesh, was altogether so different from these
idle tales, and the miracles which glorified his earthly life were so
astonishing and so awakening, that Claudia paused before she could
give full credence to all that her friend related to her.

Salome had repeated to her husband the substance of the interesting
discourse of Amaziah on the night of Naomi's return; and Zadok saw
plainly that an impression had been made on her mind, which he was
very anxious to obliterate.  He therefore strictly enjoined her never
to renew the conversation with his daughter, on the plea that it
would only strengthen Naomi's unhappy belief if she was called on to
defend it; but his real object was to preserve his wife from the
contamination of her obnoxious doctrines.  He also took every
opportunity of repeating to Salome his strongest arguments against
Christianity, and all the popular slanders that were circulated
against its Founder, and his immediate followers.  By these means he
succeeded in silencing the voice of conviction that was beginning to
make itself heard in her breast; and the seed of the Spirit lay
dormant beneath the weight of ancient prejudice, and mistaken
reverence for the opinion of her intelligent and upright husband.

Things were in this state when Amaziah and Judith returned to
Jerusalem.  The house in which they had formerly dwelt when resident
in the city, had been pillaged and destroyed during the recent scenes
of anarchy and confusion; but Amaziah was a man of wealth, and had
secured sufficient property in gold and jewels to provide for the
maintenance of himself and his family, besides allowing him to
indulge in the benevolent pleasure of ministering largely to the
support and comfort of his poorer brethren.  Zadok, somewhat
unwillingly, invited him to reside, during the short period that he
intended to remain in Jerusalem, in a portion of his own spacious
dwelling; but he never ate at the same table with his brother or his
family, and he allowed as little intercourse as possible between the
members of his own household and the Nazarene inmates of his house.

The comparative state of security to which Jerusalem and its vicinity
were restored, by the inactivity of the Romans, also induced the aged
Mary to return to her beloved home at Bethany, under the protection
of Amaziah, who left her in her secluded dwelling, before he and his
well-armed party descended the Mount of Olives and entered the city.
Naomi could not rest when she found that her venerable friend was
again at Bethany without seeking the first opportunity of going to
visit her; and as she was allowed to walk out under the guardianship
of the indulgent Deborah, she succeeded several times in inducing her
to extend their rambles to the village, and permit her to rest awhile
in Mary's cottage.  The old nurse knew that Naomi was under the
displeasure of her father, and as she was present on the evening when
the disclosure of her sentiments took place, she was well aware of
the cause of Zadok's anger, and therefore she could not imagine that
his daughter's visits to the aged disciple of Jesus would be approved
of by him.  Nevertheless she could not deny her dear young mistress
in anything, and by her means Naomi enjoyed much delightful
conversation with her friend.  Perhaps the young and ardent convert
would have been more strictly in the path of duty if she had not thus
acted in opposition to the wishes of her parents; but we are only
describing a human character, liable to sins and errors, and not a
model of perfection, such as the world has never seen but once.
Naomi believed that she could not be wrong in seeking the society of
her to whom she owed the knowledge of salvation, and endeavouring to
obtain from her instructions fresh knowledge and fresh strength, to
support her in any coming trials or sufferings.  The increasing
infirmities of her beloved teacher also acted as a strong stimulus to
her to seize every opportunity of visiting her, not only that she
might benefit by her discourse as much as possible, but also that she
might cheer her solitude, and minister to her wants, and, as far as
lay in her power, render her latter days easy and comfortable.

Claudia always accompanied her friend on these expeditions; and the
words of the venerable and evidently declining saint powerfully
strengthened the impression which had already been made on her mind.
The sacred peace and joy that shone in the countenance of Mary,
riveted her attention and commanded her respect; while the kindness
and benignity of her manner, her zeal for the spiritual welfare of
her young pupils, and her tender indulgence for their faults and
backslidings, won her warmest affection.

Judith and Amaziah also made frequent visits to the dwelling of Mary;
and by their care, a poor Christian woman was discovered in the
village, and engaged to attend upon her, and provide for her comfort.
Hannah was a humble but most devoted disciple, and she joyfully
undertook to watch the declining days of one so holy and so
privileged as Mary of Bethany.  Her own poverty had prevented her
from retiring to Pella at the commencement of the war, and the entire
seclusion in which she lived, had caused her to be overlooked by
those who would willingly have assisted her; and she now rejoiced
that she had been appointed to remain in danger and distress, since
it was her lot at length to share the dwelling, and listen to the
discourse, of her who had sat at the feet of Jesus, and heard from
his own lips the words of grace and salvation.

One evening near the time of sunset, Naomi and Claudia were returning
from their favourite walk to Bethany, attended only by the faithful
Deborah, Theophilus, who was their frequent companion, being unable
to join them.  They crossed the rippling stream of Cedron, and
entered the garden of Zadok, which extended from the margin of the
brook to the road by which they always approached the city gate.  The
thick foliage of the overhanging trees cast a deep shade across the
garden path, and the young maidens were startled at observing the
figure of a man lurking in one of the darkest spots.  Claudia would
have fled from the garden, and Deborah shrunk back, trembling more
from a superstitious fear of meeting an apparition than from any
apprehension of danger from a living man.  But Naomi, with her usual
presence of mind and undaunted spirit, drew them forward, whispering,
"Fear not: if evil is intended it is useless to fly, for we must be
overtaken; and if we boldly proceed, our confidence may deter the
intruder from approaching us."

They advanced along the most open path, and Naomi continued talking
to her companions in a cheerful tone of voice, when even her courage
was almost put to flight by the stranger suddenly springing towards
her through the bushes, and catching her in his arms.  But what was
her surprise and delight when she heard the voice of Javan exclaim,--

"It is my own dear sister Naomi!  I thought I could not mistake your
form and step--but your voice completely satisfied me.  I have been
lingering here for some hours; for I was anxious, if possible, to see
some member of my father's household, and learn the present state of
the city before I presented myself at the gate.  But as I find you,
Naomi, walking thus slenderly attended, I conclude that the civil war
has somewhat subsided, and I may fearlessly enter the city under your
escort."

Naomi most joyfully embraced her brother, for whom she had a sincere
affection, notwithstanding the many annoyances and provocations which
she had received for his violent temper.  Indeed all these were
forgotten and forgiven during his long absence; and she remembered
but that Javan was her only brother, who had been in danger and in
captivity, and had now returned to be her friend and companion, and
the comfort, as she hoped, of her parents.  She assured him that he
could safely enter the walls of Jerusalem, as the Zealots were almost
constantly shut up in the temple, except when they sallied forth to
insult or pillage the more peaceable inhabitants.

"But happily," she added, "the situation of our father's house, so
near the water-gate, allows me to walk out constantly in this
direction; and not only to enjoy the beauty and fragrance of our own
garden, but to ramble unmolested among the olive-groves of yonder
mount, and to visit the lovely village of Bethany."

Naomi sighed as she spoke of Bethany, for she feared that the return
of her brother might put a stop to the happy and interesting hours
which she passed there with Mary; for she knew that if he once
suspected the object of her visits to the village, his anger would be
ungovernable, and she dreaded his becoming acquainted with what he
would call her impious apostasy.  She could have wished that he might
remain ignorant of it, but she felt that it was almost a hopeless
wish, and she only prayed that she might be supported under the
bitter addition of a brother's anger and a brother's scorn.

Claudia did not receive the salutations of Javan with unmixed
pleasure.  She feared for Naomi, and she feared for herself, and she
felt a gloomy foreboding that his presence would only bring fresh
trouble and discord.  But Deborah was overpowered with delight at
again beholding her beloved young master in freedom.  All the
waywardness of his disposition had not weakened her attachment to
him, and he returned her affection with great sincerity.  Javan was
not devoid of good natural feelings, and when they were called forth
he displayed a warmth of heart that would have made him amiable and
beloved, if it had been united to the Christian graces of humility
and charity.  But pride and fanaticism were his predominant passions,
and too often stifled or concealed all that was good and estimable in
his character.  He loved his parents and he loved his sister.  His
father's learning and strict attention to the observances of religion
and the customs of his sect, were with him a source of pride, and he
could not but respect the deep piety and integrity of Zadok; while
his mother's gentle and affectionate manner, and the tender
admonitions which she had bestowed on him at parting, had made an
impression on his heart that could not be obliterated.  In the energy
and determination of Naomi's character he found a counterpart of his
own; and he admired her spirit, though it had been the frequent cause
of dissensions between them in former days, while yet his sister's
heart was unchanged, and the faults of her education were uncorrected
by the mild spirit of Christianity.  But all the more engaging points
in her character were unshared by her brother, and found no sympathy
from him when his love for her was opposed by his prejudices or his
passions.

On reaching the threshold of their father's house, Naomi hastened
forward to acquaint her mother of Javan's return, for she feared that
the sudden joy of seeing him so unexpectedly might overpower her.
She found Salome and Zadok, with their friend Rabbi Joazer, sitting
on the terrace at the back of the house, from whence there was a fine
view of the Mount of Olives and the surrounding country.  The
situation of Zadok's house was very elevated; and this terrace, which
was a favourite resort of the family, entirely commanded the city
walls to the east, and afforded a cool and pleasant retreat when the
sun was sinking towards the western horizon, and casting the deep and
broad shadows of the temple and the battlements across the fertile
valley that lay below.  A small but richly cultivated garden of
flowers had been formed at the foot of the terrace, and the perfume
of roses and jessamines, and other odorous plants, rose deliciously
in the evening breeze.  The moon had just risen above the summit of
the Mount of Olives, and though it yet appeared but as a brilliant
crescent, yet in the pure atmosphere of that favoured land its mild
beams were sufficient to shed a soft and lovely light on all around.
Naomi paused involuntarily when she drew near the group who were
seated in this enchanting spot.  Zadok and Joazer were conversing so
earnestly that her light step was unperceived, as the faces of the
speakers were turned from her, and unintentionally she heard some
words of their discourse.

"She is an obstinate apostate!" exclaimed the rabbi, with warmth.
"She is unworthy of the name of Zadok's daughter!  Let her be
_anathema maranatha_."

"Oh! say not so," cried the trembling voice of Salome.  "Curse not my
child, most holy rabbi.  If, as you say, she is possessed by the
spirits of evil, let us rather pray for her."

Zadok was about to reply, when a sigh that burst from Naomi's
burdened heart attracted the attention of her parents and the rabbi,
and they turned towards her.  It must have been a heart of stone that
could look upon her at that moment, and not be touched by the
expression of deep grief and patient resignation depicted in her pale
countenance.  Her hands were clasped, and her glistening eyes turned
upwards, as if seeking from above that comfort and that protection
which it seemed probable would soon be denied her on earth.  Anxiety
and sorrow had already left their traces on her form and face, and
quenched the brilliance of her clear black eye; but she was more
lovely and more interesting in her patient grief than she had been in
the pride of her joyous youth.

A tear rolled down Salome's cheek as she gazed upon her beloved, but,
as she believed, her deluded and erring child; and Zadok turned away,
and strove to conquer the love and the compassion that swelled within
his breast.  But the rabbi was unmoved.  Years of laborious and
unprofitable study had extinguished his social affections, and dried
up the current of his natural feelings.  In the firmness of the young
Christian he saw nothing but the machinations of Satan, and in her
touching sorrow he only recognised the wiles of the evil one to
soften and deceive her parents.

"Away, thou child of the devil!" he exclaimed, "and seek not to move
your too indulgent parents by this vain show of sorrow, while by your
perverseness and impiety you are all the while breaking their hearts.
Oh that you resembled your holy and zealous brother Javan!  Then
would you be a joy and a comfort to the house of the righteous Zadok,
instead of bringing shame and dishonour on the descendant of Aaron,
the saint of the Lord.  But why do I waste my words on one so
obdurate and so unworthy.  Satan hath blinded thine eyes, and shut
out the light of heaven; and but for your mother's false tenderness,
you should be sent forth an outcast, as his portion."

To this passionate malediction the unhappy Naomi made no reply.  She
felt that it was but a portion of her appointed trial, and in her
heart she repeated the meek words of the fugitive King of
Israel--"Let him curse, for the Lord hath bidden him."  She turned
towards her mother, and said in a faltering voice,

"I come only to announce my brother's safe return.  He feared to
startle you if he suddenly appeared.  May he be a blessing to you.
For myself, I can only expect his scorn and hatred when he hears that
I have learned to honour the holy name which he despises.  But be it
so.  My proud heart has need of all this to convince it of its own
weakness and its own depravity."

Joazer had not waited for the conclusion of Naomi's sentence, but had
hurried from the terrace to meet and to welcome his former pupil; and
Salome seized the opportunity of his absence to entreat her husband
to conceal from Javan, at least for a time, the apostasy of his
sister.

"Doubtless," she urged, "our prayers and our arguments will, ere
long, bring her back into the path of truth; and you know, Zadok, the
violence of Javan's feelings with regard to the Nazarene faith.
Before I go to meet my son, let me hear you promise to keep from him
the knowledge of what would so deeply grieve him."

Zadok gave the promise which she required, for he hoped that Naomi
might derive benefit from the conversation and the learning of her
brother; and he knew that if Javan even suspected her of being a
disciple of Jesus of Nazareth, he would hold it to be contamination
to have any intercourse with her.  Naomi rejoiced in this concession,
for she dreaded her brother's wrath; and she determined that she
would not confess to him her faith so long as duty and sincerity did
not require it.  She would gladly have retired to her own chamber,
and related to Claudia all that had occurred, but she felt that her
absence from the family circle on this occasion would excite the
surprise and call forth the inquiries of her brother; she therefore
endeavoured to subdue her emotion, and to assume a cheerful aspect,
before Javan and the rabbi, joined by her father and mother, appeared
on the terrace.

The greetings and the animated conversation that ensued, allowed her
time to rally her spirits and regain her composure.  Javan had much
to tell of his perils at Jotapata, of his long and irksome captivity,
and of his escape and subsequent adventures.  And as the name of
Marcellus was frequently mentioned in his narrative, and Javan also
faithfully delivered the parting messages of their former friend to
each member of the family, Naomi felt so deep an interest in the
discourse as to forget for a time her own peculiar trials and
sorrows.  Claudia also was delighted at the news of her brother's
safety and prosperity.  It was a long time since he had been able to
send her any intelligence; but in his last letter he had informed him
that their father was anxiously awaiting any favourable opportunity
for recalling her from Jerusalem, and placing her in some secure
retreat, before the Roman army should commence a serious attack upon
the capital.  She had therefore, since the departure of Simon and his
army, been in constant expectation of receiving a summons from Rufus,
and an intimation of the plan which he wished her to pursue in order
to join him.  She ardently desired again to see her father and
brother; and yet she dreaded this summons, for her heart was linked
to Jerusalem by many ties, and she regretted that she had not been
born a Jewish maiden, that so her duty as well as her affections
might lead her to share the dangers and remain to sympathise in the
sorrows of her friends.  She had prospects of happiness laid out
before her, the particulars of which shall be detailed hereafter, but
she feared that her father's consent might not be obtained for their
accomplishment, and that he might demand from her a sacrifice that
she felt she could hardly make.

When first she recognised Javan in the garden, she thought that he
might have been employed by her father to escort her out of the city
to meet him in some safe place; and she listened with mingled anxiety
and fear, until she found from his conversation with Naomi that he
had escaped as a fugitive from the Roman camp, and not come as an
emissary from the centurion.  And when she heard the story of his
wanderings, and knew how long a period had elapsed since he left the
camp, though relieved from the dread of being recalled from
Jerusalem, she again felt anxious and surprised at her brother's long
silence, and feared that his messengers must have been unfaithful, or
that his letters had been intercepted by the way.  While she was
minutely interrogating Javan concerning her father and brother, Zadok
drew the rabbi aside, and communicated to him his reasons for
consenting to keep secret from the zealous young Pharisee the fact of
his sister's conversion to Christianity and with some difficulty he
obtained Joazer's concurrence to the plan.  The fanatical rabbi
burned to disclose the whole story of Naomi's crimes to her brother;
for he fully anticipated that he should then have Javan's support and
assistance in bringing about those harsh measures which he had vainly
pressed upon her parents, as most likely to conduce to her
restoration.  It was therefore with a bad grace that he agreed to
allow a further period for the trial of gentle treatment, and
consented to meet and converse with the delinquent, in the presence
of her brother, with the same freedom and cordiality that had marked
his manner towards her in former days.  These two learned but
mistaken men then rejoined the party, and listened with considerable
interest to Javan's account of the forces and discipline of the Roman
army, and also to as much as he thought proper to disclose of Simon's
projects.  He had left his adopted leader in Idumea, and had entered
Jerusalem as a spy upon the Zealot party.  His design was to incline
as many of the influential men as he could induce to listen to him,
to invite Simon into the city, and make him their chief, in
opposition to John of Gischala, and when he considered affairs in a
proper state for the appearance of the son of Gioras at the gates of
Jerusalem, he had promised to send him intelligence by a trusty
messenger, or himself to go into Idumea, and summon him to be the
deliverer of his country.

The greater part of these schemes Javan kept profoundly secret; and
after he had lauded the courage and the zeal of Simon, and expatiated
on his patriotism and his fitness to take the command of the Jewish
forces, as successor to the captive Josephus, he turned the
conversation to his own personal adventures and dangers, since he had
escaped from the Roman camp.  His sufferings and privations had
frequently been very severe, as he was compelled to lurk among rocks
and uninhabited wildernesses for several days together, for fear of
falling into the hands of his enemies.  In the village of Bethezob,
in Peræa, he had found a refuge for some time, at the dwelling of
Mary, the daughter of Eleazar, who was a near relation of his
mother's, and with whom he had become acquainted during her temporary
residence in Jerusalem some years before.  She was a woman of great
wealth, and lived on the estates which she had inherited from her
father, in a style of magnificence and luxury.  Her attendants and
domestics formed a numerous retinue; and her influence in the
neighbourhood was so great, that when Placidus, shortly after Javan's
visit to his relative, ravaged the district of Peræa, he deemed it
prudent to leave the noble lady unmolested, in the hope that his
moderation might induce her to favour the Roman party.

Javan informed his parents that he had endeavoured to persuade Mary
to remove, with her only child and all her movable wealth, to the
metropolis for security, before the Roman army should enter Peræa;
but she had refused to do so at that time, as she felt convinced that
with the comparatively small body of troops which Placidus had under
his command, he would not attempt the subjugation of the province.
Her conjectures had proved false, and the Roman general had not long
afterwards carried his conquering arms through the whole region.
Mary had however remained in safety on her own territory; and when,
some time subsequent to his first visit, Javan had again found it
necessary to retreat to Peræa, to avoid the wild bands who, under
their leader Simon, were ravaging Idumea, he found her meadows and
orchards as fertile and uninjured as when he saw them before the
descent of Placidus.  The lady of Bethezob had, however, been so much
alarmed at the destruction which the Romans had effected in the
surrounding country, that she told Javan she had resolved to abandon
her estates and retire with her family into Jerusalem, to await in
the security of its walls and battlements, the termination of the
war.  Better had it been for the wealthy daughter of Eleazar to have
remained near her native village, subject to all the chances and the
dangers of an invading army, than to join the inhabitants of Zion,
and share in all the sorrows and sufferings and revolting crimes to
which the long-protracted siege at length drove this most desperate
and enduring people!


[Illustration: Convent at Santa Saba]




CHAPTER XI.

The return of Javan to the home of his father put an end, in a great
degree, to the freedom and independence that Naomi had hitherto
enjoyed in directing her rambles according to her own inclination.
Her brother constantly offered to be her companion and protector,
when he was not engaged in carrying on his secret machinations in
favour of Simon, and it was therefore but seldom that she could now
find an opportunity of visiting her beloved old friend at Bethany.
Occasionally, however, she enjoyed that satisfaction, accompanied by
Claudia and escorted by her cousin Theophilus.  Since her return to
Jerusalem from Pella, she had become better acquainted with her
cousin than she had been before.  He was naturally extremely reserved
in his manner, and the consciousness that on the important subject of
religion he differed from the family of Zadok, had made him rather
shun his relatives, when he was not called upon by duty or kindness
to associate with them.  It has been mentioned that during the time
of Zadok's illness, when the Zealots carried on their wildest
outrages, Theophilus remained in Jerusalem to be a comfort and
protection to Salome and Claudia.  To the former he had always been
very much attached, for the gentleness and meekness of her
disposition accorded with his ideas of what was becoming in a female
character much more than the energetic spirit of her daughter; and he
frequently lamented that she should remain ignorant of the religion
of Him who was eminently "meek and lowly of heart," and whose
doctrines he felt sure would have found a suitable abode in her
amiable and pious spirit.  But "the Lord seeth not as man seeth," and
judgeth not as man judgeth.  The proud and self-confident Naomi
became, by the teaching of His Spirit, a mild disciple of Christ--she
whom Theophilus regarded as too high-minded and self-willed to
receive the humbling doctrines of Christianity, had already embraced
them with eagerness and sincerity; but her more gentle mother shunned
and dreaded the same doctrines, and while appealing to the mercy of
God, yet put confidence in the flesh, and--as she had been brought up
to do--trusted in part to her own works for acceptance with Him.

For Claudia Theophilus conceived a much warmer affection.  The
candour of her disposition, and her openness to conviction when he
conversed with her on the folly and iniquity of her former religion,
won his esteem; and the intelligence and seriousness of her remarks
made him hope that in due time her heart would be prepared for the
reception of that faith to which he was a most zealous convert.  He
delighted to read and explain to her the writings of Moses and the
prophets, and to point out to her, through the whole series of sacred
Scripture, the promise of the great Messiah, the seed of the woman
who should bruise the serpent's head.  He did not altogether dwell on
these glorious passages which depict his triumphant advent.  He had
learned to believe and adore him in his humiliation, and he showed to
Claudia how the Saviour must be stricken and smitten, and bear the
transgressions of men; and how he must be despised and rejected by
those whom he came to save; and at last, how it was written of him
that he should make "his grave with the wicked, and with the rich in
his death," though "he had done no violence, neither was any deceit
in his mouth."

By these means he opened her mind to the real character of the
Messiah, whose coming she still regarded as future, and prepared her
to receive the lowly Jesus of Nazareth as "him of whom Moses and the
prophets did speak."  When Naomi returned home, Theophilus had not
further enlightened his young pupil in the Christian faith.  He was
well satisfied with the progress she was making under his instruction
and that of Salome and Deborah; but when at their next meeting she
informed him of the confession which her friend had so boldly made,
and with tears entreated him to try and convince her of her error,
and thus restore her to her father's favour, he felt that he could no
longer dissemble his own faith.  Amaziah, in declaring himself and
Judith to be Christians, had not mentioned his son; he had wished him
to act as he saw best for himself; and Claudia had no idea that her
preceptor was also a Nazarene, and that he had hitherto purposely
withheld from her the knowledge of his being so.  She was therefore
not a little astonished at his declaration that he had been baptized
into the church of Christ many years ago, and that the dearest wish
of his heart was to see her as sincere a believer in the crucified
Jesus as he was himself.

From that time Theophilus took every opportunity of conversing with
Claudia on the subject most interesting to him; and Naomi rejoiced to
find that her friend's prejudices against Christianity were gradually
disappearing.  She delighted to join in the animated discussions that
frequently occurred between Claudia and her young teacher, and her
own fervent enthusiasm inspired fresh zeal into the calm but devoted
spirit of Theophilus.  The same faith animated them both, and perfect
confidence was soon established between the cousins, such as they had
never felt in former days.  Naomi was regarded by Theophilus as a
sister; and the warmest efforts and the most heartfelt prayers were
exerted by these Christian relatives for the advancement of Claudia's
true happiness and eternal salvation.

When Amaziah and Judith became inmates in the house of Zadok, they
saw with much concern the evident attachment that subsisted between
their son and the young Roman maiden; for they knew not that the
Spirit of the Lord was working in her heart, and bringing her out of
heathen darkness into the glorious light of the Gospel.  But when
Theophilus informed them of the progress which the true religion had
already made in dispelling the errors of her education, and bringing
her to the knowledge of God, they rejoiced that he had bestowed his
affections on one so amiable and so sensible as Claudia.  The
interest which they would naturally have felt in instructing so
engaging and ingenuous a pupil, was greatly enhanced by the prospect
of her becoming ere long their daughter; and they resolved that as
soon as she was prepared to embrace the religion of Jesus, and to
receive baptism, they would solicit her father's consent to her union
with Theophilus, and removal with them to Ephesus.

Naomi sincerely rejoiced in her friend's happiness; but the idea that
the time was drawing near when Amaziah and Judith were to depart from
Jerusalem, and that then Claudia also would be removed far away from
her, and she should be left without one Christian friend in whom she
could confide, filled her with sorrow.  While Mary of Bethany lived,
she knew that she should not want either sympathy or counsel; but she
saw that the aged saint was sinking gradually into the grave, and her
own prospects were cheerless and gloomy as regarded the present
world.  Nevertheless all the persuasions and arguments of Claudia and
her relatives were quite unavailing to induce her to accompany them
in their exile.  Her parents would have consented to her doing so,
for Zadok saw how hopeless it was that she would ever return to the
faith of her fathers; and he would not have opposed any plan by which
the dishonour of her apostasy might have been kept from the knowledge
of the world.  To Salome the loss of her daughter's society would
have been irreparable and severe; and yet she almost entreated her to
go.  She believed that Naomi would thus be removed from many griefs
and much anxiety; and she also dreaded the evil days that her heart
foreboded were coming on Zion, and desired to know that her beloved
child was placed beyond the reach of Judea's chastisement.  Not even
her mother's wishes could in this instance shake the resolution of
Naomi: she could not believe that it was her duty to forsake her
father and mother, so long as she was not absolutely prevented from
exercising her own religion, and compelled to conform to anything
which her conscience condemned.  This was not the case, for Zadok was
too wise to resort to such measures; and in the privacy of her own
chamber she was permitted to pass her time according to the dictates
of her own unalterable faith, and the customs which she had learned
from her Christian brethren at Pella.  No prospects of personal
security and happiness could tempt her to leave her parents, more
especially in a time of danger and anxiety; and her firmness on this
point moved the heart of Zadok towards his daughter, and made him in
some measure relax from the sternness of manner which he had assumed
towards her ever since her return from Pella.

Javan knew not that his uncle and Judith were members of the sect
which he so greatly despised.  Their apostasy had been hitherto kept
secret from him; and therefore if he had believed that heavy
calamities were coming on the city of his pride, he would have urged
his sister to remove for a time to Ephesus.  But Javan dreamt only of
his country's triumph, and admitted not one thought of her
desolation.  He looked forward with hope and confidence to the result
of the war, and exulted in the prospect of meeting the Romans, hand
to hand, before the walls of Jerusalem.  Therefore he encouraged
Naomi to remain, and witness the glorious deliverance which the Lord
would bring about for his own people; and though far from sharing his
triumphant expectations, she was well pleased that he did not oppose
her wishes, and her determination to share whatever peril should
betide her parents.

The family of Zadok were thus circumstanced and thus influenced,
when, on a calm and lovely evening, Theophilus, with his cousin and
Claudia, crossed the brook of Kedron, and ascended the Mount of
Olives.  Theophilus led his companions a little out of the direct
road to Bethany, that they might visit the garden of Gethsemane--that
spot so sacred and so dear to every one who bears the name of Him,
who beneath those aged trees wept and agonized for them!  Tradition
had preserved the situation of the very spot on which the Saviour
knelt; and in deep emotion the three young converts now stood round
the consecrated spot, while Theophilus fervently prayed that they all
might be partakers in the redemption purchased by the mysterious
sufferings of the Son of God.  Naomi had not visited that garden
since she had been taught to feel so deep an interest in the Divine
Being, whose presence had so frequently hallowed it, and who loved to
retire to the calmness of its peaceful shades, after the toils and
trials of the day were over.  There had he conversed with his
highly-favoured disciples, and there had he passed hours in prayer
for them, and for all who should in after ages believe on Him through
their word.  How precious was the remembrance of those prayers to the
heart of Naomi.  She had already met with difficulties and
temptations in her Christian course, and she had reason to anticipate
still further trials and sufferings; yet she knew that she might
apply to herself the words of her Lord to Peter, "I have prayed for
thee, that thy faith fail not;" and trusting to his intercession, she
believed that strength would be given her to take up the cross, and
follow the Lamb whithersoever he should lead her.

Her reflections therefore on her future prospects were serious, but
not desponding; and they occupied her mind during the remainder of
the walk to Bethany so entirely that she took no part in the
conversation of Theophilus and Claudia.  Their discourse naturally
turned from Gethsemane to the succeeding events in the sorrowful life
of the Redeemer; and when they reached the dwelling of Mary, the
interesting subject was unfinished.

"Mary," said Claudia, as she seated herself by the couch on which the
aged disciple rested, "we have been to the garden of Olives, where
you used to say you would lead me and Naomi, and tell us of the
latter days of Jesus of Nazareth.  I fear your feeble limbs will
never again carry you to the holy spot; but will you not relate to us
now what you remember of the Redeemer's last visits to this house,
and all the sad events that closed his life?"

"My child," replied Mary, "it is now my happiness and my support to
dwell on those days; though when they were present, I believed that
the misery and woe which I endured would have broken my heart.  My
soul, now that it is about to quit this earthly scene and appear
before its Maker, rests wholly on those sufferings of my Lord and
Saviour for the expiation of the sins that crowd on my memory, and
would press so heavily and so hopelessly on my conscience, had he not
borne their weight and endured their punishment.  Not one word or
look of my blessed Master has escaped my memory.  Oh, his countenance
was light, and his voice brought peace and joy to all who loved him
as I loved him!  And yet I lived to hear that voice lifted up in
anguish, and to see that heavenly countenance grow cold in death!  It
is to that last awful period that my own soul clings; but I will tell
you of the days of anxious grief that went before.  It was on the
evening of the last sabbath before the Passover that Jesus came to
dwell beneath our roof.  We did not know all that should befall him
ere the close of that great festival; but we saw that his disciples
were filled with grief and anxiety, and we heard from them of the sad
announcement which he had made of his approaching sufferings; and our
hearts were heavy.  The Lord graciously accepted the invitation of
one of his disciples named Simon, who dwelt in Bethany, to sup in his
house, and it was the happy privilege of my sister and myself to wait
upon him."

"And it was on that occasion, dear mother," interrupted Naomi, "that
Judith has told me you anointed the feet of the Lord, and wiped them
with your hair, and that he so kindly received that mark of devotion,
and so remarkably commended it."

"Yes, my dear Naomi, it did please the gracious Redeemer to manifest
his approbation of so slight and unworthy a service, to teach his
followers, in all ages, that he will accept the humblest offering of
the meanest disciple, if brought to him in love and gratitude.  He
who so soon afterwards threw aside the cloak of hypocrisy, and was
known as the traitor, reproved me for thus expending what might have
been sold for a large sum, and given to the poor; but the Lord
silenced him, and gave this melancholy sanction to what I had done:
'She is come aforehand to anoint my body to the burying.'  Then we
knew that all our worst fears were well founded, and that our beloved
Master was indeed about to leave us; and then did every moment of his
presence become, if possible, doubly precious to us all.  The
following day he remained with us here; and the report having reached
the city that he was abiding at Bethany, multitudes of Jews came out
to see him, and also to behold our brother who had been dead, and was
alive again.  The approach of the Passover had necessarily brought
great numbers of Jews from distant places to keep the feast; and many
of these had never seen Jesus, though his fame was spread abroad over
all the land, and they had heard of the miracles which he had
wrought, and were eager to be convinced of the truth of the
resurrection of Lazarus.  How rejoiced were we that our beloved
brother should thus become a convincing proof of the divinity of our
Lord and Master!  And the time of his departure being now so near, he
no longer refused to be publicly acknowledged.  The hour was coming
in which the Son of Man should be glorified; and the next day he sent
two of his disciples before him to Jerusalem, to bring him the ass on
which the prophet had foretold that he, the King of Zion, should
enter the city.  Seated on that lowly animal, and surrounded by all
the inhabitants of Bethany, he descended the Mount of Olives.  A vast
concourse of persons from Jerusalem met him as he proceeded, and
while they waved aloft the palm-branches which they had gathered, and
cast their garments on the road before him, they raised the exulting
cry, 'Hosanna! blessed is the King of Israel, that cometh in the name
of the Lord!'  O my children, that was a glorious sight!  In the
triumphant feelings of that moment we forgot the anxiety and fear
that had so heavily oppressed our hearts.  But when we turned to look
on Him who was the object of all this enthusiastic feeling, we saw
that he took no part in the general rejoicing.  His eyes were fixed
in sorrow and pity on the magnificent city towards which he was
approaching, and the measure of whose guilt he knew would so soon be
filled up.  The shouts of the countless multitude were hushed, for
the King of Zion opened his lips to speak; and while tears of
compassion flowed from his eyes, he uttered that awful prediction,
which doubtless will ere long be terribly fulfilled.  Never can those
words be forgotten:--'If thou hadst known, even thou, at least in
this thy day, the things which belong unto thy peace! but now they
are hid from thine eyes.  For the days shall come upon thee, that
thine enemies shall cast a trench about thee, and compass thee round,
and keep thee on every side, and shall lay thee even with the ground,
and thy children within thee; and they shall not leave in thee one
stone upon another; because thou knewest not the time of thy
visitation.'  My dear young friends," continued Mary, in a voice
trembling with emotion, "I shall not live to see those evil days, for
I feel that my departure is near at hand; but you may expect to
behold the vengeance of the Lord executed on the rebellious city,
which has been blessed and favoured above all other cities on the
earth.  May you all be preserved from sharing her punishment, as, by
the mercy of your Redeemer, your souls have been snatched from her
guilt!  Naomi, my beloved child in the Lord, I know your
determination to abide with your parents; and I believe that you are
acting according to the will of God.  Therefore, come what may, I
know that you are safe in his hands; and that whether in sorrow or in
joy, in life or in death, his eye shall watch over you, and his hand
shall guide you, until at last he shall bring you to those heavenly
joys for which your ransomed spirit pants already."

Mary paused awhile, for her feelings were unchilled by age, and they
were too powerful for her strength.  Theophilus begged her to
converse no more at that time, and promised that he would on the
following evening bring his young companions again, to hear the
remainder of her interesting recital; but she assured him that it was
her greatest delight to discourse with them of those events which
were so indelibly impressed on her own heart.

"How," she added, "can I better spend the small remains of time and
strength which I still receive from his mercy, than by telling of all
that he has done and suffered for my soul, and for the souls of those
who hear me; yea, even for the souls of the thoughtless and guilty
multitude, who refused to listen to the things that belonged to their
peace, and who so soon exchanged the hosannas and blessings with
which they hailed his entrance into their city, for menaces and cries
of 'Crucify him, crucify him!'  Doubtless had the children of Zion by
faith beheld their King; had they repented in sack-cloth and ashes,
like the inhabitants of Nineveh at the preaching of Jonah, and wept
and prayed unto the Lord, even then the judgment might have been
reversed, and mercy have triumphed.  But they hardened their hearts,
they killed the Holy One and the Just, and the city which saw his
death must see his vengeance.  The day on which our Master made his
public entrance into Jerusalem, he passed much time in the temple,
preaching and teaching the people; and when eventide was come, he
again returned to our dwelling, accompanied by his twelve apostles.

"Again on the following morning he repaired to the temple, and to the
astonishment of the priests and elders, he drove out all those who
were profaning his Father's house by buying and selling within the
sacred courts.  They were filled with indignation at his boldness,
and at the applauses of the multitude; and these ministers, appointed
for God's service, who should have led the people to the feet of
Jesus, to listen to his words, took counsel how they might slay him,
because many believed on him.  But as yet they feared to take him,
for they saw that the multitude who constantly surrounded him would
rise up in his defence; and that night also he returned unmolested to
Bethany.  It was not till the following evening that the traitor
Judas went to the chief priests, and offered to deliver up his master
into their hands; and the next day was the Passover.  The treachery
of Judas, and the determination of the chief priests to put him to
death, must have been well known to the Lord; yet he openly went
again to the city, and eat the Passover with his twelve disciples,
not even excluding him who had already betrayed him.  Then did he
institute that holy feast, which it is the happiness and privilege of
his disciples, in every age and every land, to celebrate in
remembrance of him.  You, Theophilus and Naomi, have already been
permitted to partake of this memorial of your Saviour's dying love,
and our dear Claudia will soon enjoy the same privilege.  May it ever
be your highest joy thus to declare yourselves his disciples; and may
you so eat his flesh and drink his blood that you may be partakers in
the salvation which by his death he purchased for you.  When our
beloved Master left Bethany on the day of the Passover, we little
thought of the circumstances under which we should next behold him,
and that he would never again return to our house before his death.
But that very night the treacherous schemes of Judas were
accomplished.  I have often repeated to you already, what I
afterwards heard from the blessed disciple John, of the gracious and
affecting discourse which he addressed to his chosen followers before
he left the room in which he had eaten his last supper; and how,
having sung a hymn with them, he repaired to the garden which you
have visited to-day, and passed hours in deep and mysterious agony,
such as we cannot comprehend.  There, to a retired and favourite
spot, where Judas had often followed his Master, he now led the
soldiers who were commissioned to take him.  No admiring multitude
now stood round him, to prevent the deed of sacrilege.  The darkness
of night shrouded alike the divine sufferer and his malignant
enemies.  The powers of evil were abroad, and were permitted in that
hour to bring to pass what had been decreed in the everlasting
counsels of Jehovah.  Even the chosen disciples, the lion-hearted
Peter and the devoted John, were sunk in sleep, worn out with sorrow
and anxiety, and watched not with their sorrowing Lord, until he
roused them to meet the approaching foe.  Oh! my heart burns when I
think of the insult which he then received from Judas.  The traitor
met him with a kiss!  And the Lord of heaven and earth, who could
have called down legions of angels to his defence, submitted to the
salutation, and suffered himself to be bound and led away
unresistingly, as a lamb to the slaughter.  The rumour that he was
taken prisoner by the chief priests reached us at Bethany before
break of day; and in anguish not to be told, we hastened to the city.
We found that he had been led to Ananius first, and at the entrance
of his court we waited in trembling anxiety, until we beheld him
brought forth, not, as we hoped, to freedom, but only to be dragged
from thence to the palace of Caiaphas.  John was permitted to follow
his Master into the palace, and my heart went with him, but we were
not allowed to enter.  Soon the beloved disciple returned and took in
Peter also: but it had been well for him if he had not been admitted.
You all know how Satan overcame him, and how grievously he fell.
That fall has been a warning to us all; and may we be instructed by
it!  But we will not dwell on the errors of that distinguished and
now glorified disciple.  They were pardoned by his benign Master, and
are only recorded for our instruction."

"Was John standing by him when he uttered his denial?" asked Claudia.
"I think the affectionate heart of the disciple whom Jesus loved must
have been deeply wounded to hear such words from the mouth of his
companion."

"John had followed the Lord Jesus into the presence of the
high-priest, and did not therefore witness the cowardice of Peter.
But he who knew even the thoughts of their hearts, heard his name
denied three times; and it must have added to the sorrows that
already weighed so heavily on his soul.  But pity was all he felt;
and he turned on Peter such a look as reached him in the distant
crowd, and told him at once of the grief and the forgiveness of his
Master.  His repentance was instant and sincere, and with bitter
tears he mourned his guilt."

"Did you see Jesus again, Mary?" inquired Claudia.  "I know that he
was at length condemned by our Roman governor; but where did that
take place?"

"Oh! my child, they led him from court to court, and from one judge
to another.  They insulted and scourged him; they clothed him in
robes of mockery; and we saw him thus brought forth to the people by
Pilate, and heard him loudly proclaim that he found no fault in him.
Then we believed that he would be set free, and that his humiliation
was over.  But Pilate's declaration of his innocence was received
with deafening cries of 'Crucify him, crucify him!'  The chief
priests moved the people to demand his death, and their voices
prevailed over Pilate's own conviction that he had done no evil.  A
murderer was released, according to the custom of the governor to set
one prisoner at liberty on that day, and Jesus was led away to be
crucified.  Tearless, and almost stupified, my sister and I followed
in the crowd.  We could not believe that what we had seen and heard
was true; but soon we beheld our own adored Master bending beneath
the weight of the cross on which he was to suffer.  I cannot dwell on
what followed.  You have all heard the particulars of that dread
hour, and all have learned to cast your souls at the foot of that
cross, and seek salvation there.  Martha and I stood afar off; we
could not leave the spot, nor could we bring ourselves to approach
nearer to the scene of suffering.  But the mother of the Lord stood
by, attended by three of her faithful friends, and the beloved
disciple supported her.  She who had watched over his infancy, and
noted in her heart every manifestation of his divine nature--she who
had ever received from him the affection of a son, now stood beneath
his cross, and saw his dying agonies.  Not even the horrors of that
hour could make him forget his mother; he looked down and blessed her
and with his dying breath committed her to the care of John."

"And he well discharged the trust," observed Theophilus.  "My father
has often told me of his devoted attention to her while she lived.
He was indeed a son to her; and nothing which could soothe her spirit
or promote her comfort was neglected by John.  With what impatient
delight do I look forward to seeing that blessed man at Ephesus!  He
will repeat to me again and again all that you have told me so often,
Mary; and by God's help I shall learn from him yet more and more to
love my risen Lord.  Oh, if I had lived while Jesus was on earth, I
feel as if my love for him would have emulated that of John!  He is
indeed blessed beyond all the other sons of men; for he is that
disciple who was eminently beloved.  He was privileged to hold such
intimate communion with him as we can never know."

"True, my son," replied Mary, "the Lord will return no more to earth
as a man of sorrows, and deign to accept the sympathy and the humble
services of his disciples.  But your eyes, Theophilus, shall wake to
see him come in glory; and if your faith and love hold on steadfast
unto the end, you shall meet him as a friend, and enjoy such proofs
of his favour as shall far surpass all that were ever bestowed even
on John."

"But tell me," interrupted Claudia, "what did you see and hear of the
fearful prodigies that attended the death of Messiah?  I love to hear
the recital from you, who were an eye-witness of all the awful events
which declared him to be indeed the Son of God.  My father once
mentioned with contempt the centurion, who at that moment confessed
his divinity; but he knew not the truth of all that then occurred to
force conviction on the heart of the Roman soldier.  It is my warmest
prayer that one day I may hear him also exclaim, 'Truly this was the
Son of God!'"

"May the Lord grant it!" replied Mary.  "No soul that was not blinded
by the devices of Satan could have witnessed what that centurion saw
and not have believed.  An awful darkness had covered the land for
three hours, and then, when all had been accomplished--when pardon
had been pronounced on the expiring thief--when an asylum had been
provided for his heart-broken mother--and when everything had been
fulfilled, even to the letter, that had been prophesied concerning
him--the Lord proclaimed in a loud voice, 'It is finished!'  Heaven
and earth heard the cry, and man's redemption was complete.  Then he
said, 'Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit;'--and bowing his
head in death, his divine spirit left the house of clay in which it
had so long sojourned and suffered.  Then did the powers of nature
give evidence to the awful importance of the work that was finished.
The earth quaked to its foundations, the rocks were rent asunder, and
the graves burst open.  And more ominous still, the veil of the
temple was rent asunder, and the priests who were waiting there
rushed forth in terror, to declare the wonderful event.  The hearts
of the multitude, who had come together as to a spectacle, were
stricken with awe.  They smote their breasts, and returned in wonder
to their homes.  But we who knew and loved him best, yet tarried to
watch his corpse.  We knew that all life was fled, for we had seen
his body pierced by the spear of one of the soldiers; but we could
not leave his sacred form to be the object of their insults.  We had
not power or influence sufficient to obtain permission to bury it;
but Joseph of Arimathea, who believed in him, and feared not to
acknowledge his faith, even at that time of danger and distrust, went
boldly to the Roman governor, and having requested the body of Jesus,
it was delivered to him for interment.  It was the weakness of our
faith which led us to be so anxious about the burying of our Lord's
body; for had we believed all that he himself had said concerning his
rising again the third day, we should have known that all our cares
and precautions for its preservation was needless.  But as yet we
knew not the Scriptures nor the power of God and when the Lord was
laid in the sepulchre of Joseph, we saw a great stone laid against
the door, and departed with the melancholy satisfaction of knowing
that all due respect had been paid to his honoured remains."

"But how wonderfully," observed Naomi, "was this very circumstance
made to show forth the truth of God's word!  The Jews even now say
that his disciples came by night and took him away; and such is my
father's reply, when I speak of his miraculous resurrection.  But he
cannot deny the security of the sepulchre.  He acknowledges that the
stone was sealed, and a watch was set by the chief priests.  Surely
then their own precautions prove the falsity of what they say."

"Yes, my child," continued Mary, "the malice of these wicked men was
overruled by God, to accomplish what he had desired; and their
jealous prudence was the means of proving that he did not suffer his
Holy One to see corruption.  While we, his weak and sorrowing
disciples, were mourning his death with bitter tears, and hiding our
grief in solitude, for fear of the vengeance of the priests, the Lord
was preparing for us such joy and triumph as our desponding hearts
could not conceive.  What words can tell the feelings which
over-powered us when first we heard the glorious news, 'He is risen!'
And oh! when at length we saw him, when our eyes were blessed with
the sight of his heavenly countenance, and we heard again that voice
of mercy and of love, truly could we then have taken up the words of
the aged Simeon, and said, 'Lord, now are we ready to depart in
peace, for our eyes have seen thy salvation!'  We knew that our
redemption was accomplished and accepted; we knew that henceforth
whosoever believed in Jesus should inherit eternal life.  All our
doubts and fears were gone, and peace and joy for ever established in
our souls.  The Lord did not tarry long with us, but ascended to his
Father.  There does he watch over his church, and sympathise in all
the trials and temptations of his children; and there do they join
him and behold his glory, as one by one the hand of death comes to
set them free from this earthly tabernacle, and open to them an
entrance into the mansions of everlasting bliss.  Oh! my dear
children, my spirit longs to take its flight, and soon, I feel, will
the summons come."

Mary closed her eyes and sank back on her couch, greatly exhausted by
the effort she had made.  She had hoped that the account of all that
she herself had heard and seen might make a deep impression on the
heart of Claudia, and she was not disappointed; but her strength was
almost unequal to the exertion of so long a discourse on subjects so
profoundly interesting to her, and for a few minutes she lay silent
and motionless, while in her spirit she fervently prayed.  Her young
friends and her faithful attendant Hannah, who had listened to the
conversation with deep attention, stood round her in silence, until
she had somewhat recovered her strength, when she raised herself, and
again addressed them, but in a weak and faltering voice--

"The evening is closing in, my children, and you have already tarried
too long with me.  I will detain you no more: but if we meet again in
this world, I will tell you yet many things that will touch your
hearts with love to your Redeemer, and furnish you with blessed
subjects for reflection when youth and health are gone, and you are,
like me, laid on the bed of death.  Let me bless you before you
depart."

The three young disciples knelt beside the couch of the dying saint,
and with tears received her blessing.  They then rose, and embracing
her affectionately, left the house and hastened towards the city.
The sun was sinking behind the hill of Zion as they began to descend
the Mount of Olives, and the short twilight had faded away before
they reached the valley of Kedron, and entered the gardens that
bordered the murmuring brook.

Their spirits were oppressed with awe and sadness, for the solemn
interest of Mary's discourse had deeply impressed them, and her
parting address had filled them with sorrow.  They felt assured that
their beloved friend was leaving them; and though it would be to her
a transition from a world of care to a world of joy unutterable and
full of glory, yet they could not think of losing her without
emotion.  They proceeded almost in silence, until, as they were
passing by the verge of a thick grove of olive-trees, Claudia pressed
the arm of Theophilus, and hastily whispered:

"Listen, Theophilus: some one is surely watching us.  I have heard
footsteps behind us several times; but I saw nothing, and I feared
you would chide me for cowardice if I spoke my fears.  But now I am
sure we are followed.  I saw the figure of a man folded in a dark
garment pass stealthily beneath those trees."

"Why should you fear, my Claudia?" replied Theophilus.  "No one can
harm us here.  See, the gates are in sight, and I can perceive the
dim forms of the watch-men moving slowly along the walls.  We are
within reach of help, and I am armed, so do not tremble."

"I do not fear for myself, Theophilus, but for you and Naomi.  If
Javan knew of our visits to Bethany--if Javan knew that his sister
and his cousin were disciples of Jesus--oh, I believe no ties of
blood would prevent him from denouncing you to the tyrants who make
religion a mask for cruelty and murder."

"Silence, dear Claudia," said Naomi in a low whisper; "your eagerness
makes you forget that you are perhaps within hearing of the person
whom you think you saw lurking so near.  Let us proceed quickly.  I
cannot share your fears, but I dread my father's inquiries as to the
cause of our long absence."

A short time sufficed to bring them to the threshold of Zadok's
house, where Deborah met them with a countenance of alarm and anxiety.

"Why are you so late, my children?" she exclaimed.  "I have been
watching from the housetop in great uneasiness, until it became so
dark that I could no longer distinguish the road up the Mount of
Olives.  Javan came in soon after you left the house, and asked
eagerly in what direction you had walked out.  My fears told me that
you were gone to Bethany; but I concealed my suspicions, and tried to
persuade your brother that you were gone by Solomon's pool, towards
the valley of Hinnom.  He looked stern and angry, and without
replying hurried from the house."

"Then," cried Claudia, "my fears were not unfounded, and it was Javan
himself who followed us.  Something in the figure of the person I saw
reminded me of him; and yet I tried to believe it could not be.
Gracious Heaven! preserve us from his vengeance!"

Both Theophilus and Naomi were greatly alarmed at what Deborah had
communicated, for they had lately heard Javan express himself with so
much bitter hatred towards the Nazarenes that they felt convinced he
would use all his influence for the persecution and destruction of
any who bore the name; and they feared that even those who were of
his near kindred would be sacrificed to his zeal and fanaticism.
Claudia entreated Theophilus to leave them instantly, that Javan
might not return and find them together; and also that he might
repair to his father's apartments and inform him of what had
occurred.  He complied with her wishes, and was passing across the
vestibule, towards the gallery that led to the suite of rooms
occupied exclusively by his parents, when Javan entered, and in a
voice of assumed kindness called to him to return.

"Come, Theophilus," he said, "I have seen but little of you lately,
my time has been so much engaged.  I have to thank you for so well
supplying my place, and giving a brother's protection to Naomi in her
evening rambles.  Let us go altogether to the terrace, and join my
father and mother, and you can entertain us with an account of your
lengthened excursion, for you have been absent so long that you must
doubtless have wandered far beyond the pool of Solomon."

There was an ill-suppressed tone of irony in what Javan said, that
was but too well understood by those to whom it was addressed.
Claudia turned deadly pale, and even Naomi felt that she had need of
all her resolution to enable her to follow her brother.  Theophilus
calmly turned, and with an air of perfect composure joined his
cousin, saying,--

"Yes, I believe an account of what we have heard and seen this
evening will interest you all; and I claim to narrate it myself.
Naomi and Claudia, you are not to interrupt me."

He accompanied this injunction with a warning look, which told the
two maidens that he had some plan which he feared they might impede.
The terrace they found unoccupied, and Javan left his companions
there while he sought his parents.  Theophilus immediately seized the
opportunity to inform Naomi and Claudia that he plainly saw that
Javan had discovered the object of their walk, and that his
suspicions were excited.

"But," he added, "I believe I can baffle his inquiries, and ensure
your safety, provided you both promise to be silent, and leave the
explanation to me.  You know that I will say nothing but what is true
and right."

"Oh yes," said Claudia, "I will leave it all to you; and though Naomi
does love to speak for herself, she must agree to do the same.  I
never wish, for my own part, to have anything to say to your fierce
cousin."

"Claudia," replied Naomi, "you think too ill of my brother.  His
temper is warm, and his zeal sometimes makes him appear vindictive;
but he has an affectionate heart; and to me he has shown much
kindness since his return.  Let us not anticipate evil, for perhaps
we are even mistaken in supposing that he suspects our visits to
Bethany, or at all events that he is aware of their object.  I will
get my harp, and sing to him some of his favourite hymns.  In former
days I could always drive away the evil spirit from his soul by my
music, and now I hope it has not lost its charm.  Do not say anything
rash, Theophilus, and I will promise not to interfere with your
schemes."

Naomi spoke more cheerfully than she felt, for she saw that Claudia
was trembling with apprehension, and that Theophilus had evidently
resolved on some measure of importance.


[Illustration: Group of Cattle]




CHAPTER XII.

At this moment Javan returned, and with an air of gaiety that ill
accorded with the dark feelings of his heart, summoned his young
companions to follow him.

"My mother," he said, "awaits you in the cedar hall, where supper is
prepared.  Rabbi Joazer is with her, but my father is not yet come
in.  We will have a merry banquet to-night.  Come, you do not seem in
a festal mood, Theophilus.  This evening walk has wearied you, and
chased away your spirits."

"Shall I not sing to you, my brother?" interrupted Naomi, who was
fearful that her cousin might reply hastily to Javan's taunt: "my
harp used to beguile you of many an hour in former times; but you
have hardly heard its tone since you came back to us."

"Yes, child, bring your harp: it will serve to amuse our ears until
my father returns."

Naomi obeyed, for she felt that music would be better than
conversation in Javan's present mood.  She took up her harp from the
pedestal on which it lay in the anteroom, and entered the apartment
where her mother sat, working at her embroidery by the light of a
richly-chased silver lamp.  Deborah had joined her after she had met
Naomi and her companions at the entrance, and was now occupied in the
same manner as her mistress, assisted also by two of Salome's
maidens.  The rabbi reclined on one of the couches which were placed
around the supper-table, according to the Jewish manner of sitting at
their meals; and the whole arrangement of the apartment bespoke
cheerfulness and comfort.  The hearts of several of its inmates
responded not to the bright scene around them.  Naomi approached her
mother, and affectionately saluted her, whispering at the same time,--

"Javan looks unhappy and oppressed with care.  Do not notice it, dear
mother, but I will sing his gloom away."

So saying, she seated herself on a cushion at Salome's feet, and
striking a few chords on her harp, sang in her wildest, sweetest
tones, her brother's favourite song; which she herself had composed
when first the Roman army threatened the safety of Zion:

  "Sing to the Lord!  Oh sing His praise!
  Sons of Israel, loudly raise
  Your voices to the King of kings--
  Listen how all nature sings!
  The golden spheres that roll above--
    The air that breathes around--
  And all created things that move,
  Declare the great Jehovah's love,
    To earth's remotest bound.
    Angels, who dwell on high,
    In realms beyond the sky,
    Strike your immortal harps of gold,
    And sing how Israel's God, of old
      Displayed His power.
  Now may His banner be again unfurled;
  And shouts of triumph tell from land to land,
  That God on high hath raised His mighty hand,
  And, from their boasted height of glory, hurled
      Our foes in this dark hour!"


"It is long since I have heard that song, my Naomi," said her mother.
"It once was the hymn you loved best to sing: but latterly you have
preferred more sorrowful strains."

"My spirit has lost that joyous feeling of confidence in the triumph
of my country, that animated it when I first sang that song, dear
mother.  But Javan used to take delight in it; and I have tried to
recall it now."

Naomi looked at her brother, hoping for a kind reply; but the forced
smile had left his features, and their naturally stern expression had
returned.  He sat with folded arms, and his eyes cast down; while the
compression of his lips and contraction of his brow betokened a fixed
and a painful resolution.  Probably he knew not that his sister had
selected his favourite hymn to please him; though he was glad that
the sound of her sweet voice gave him an excuse for continuing his
moody silence.

The entrance of his father aroused him from his reverie, and the
family assembled to partake of the evening meal.  The ablutions
prescribed by Jewish superstition were duly performed; and with this
form Theophilus and Naomi always complied, as it was perfectly
immaterial, and in no way opposed their private feelings.  Javan
watched his cousin during the performance of this simple ceremony
with a look of scorn.  He seemed to feel that Theophilus was
committing profanation by sharing in the act; and lest he himself
should contract defilement from sitting at meat with an apostate, he
declined joining his family at supper, on the plea of indisposition,
and remained silent and abstracted until the repast was finished, and
the servants had retired.  Then he turned to Theophilus and said,

"You promised us an interesting account of your walk this evening.  I
particularly wish to know in what direction you went, and whither you
led my sister and Claudia.  I would have joined you, but when I
returned home, I found that you had left the house more than an hour
before."

The imperious and contemptuous tone of Javan's voice struck all the
party, and they saw that he suspected something wrong; while
Claudia's changing countenance and evident agitation betrayed that
there was some ground for his suspicions.  Naomi had made up her mind
to what would probably follow; and after all she had already
undergone, she felt that her brother's hatred and scorn would be an
additional sorrow sent to loosen her affections from this world.
Theophilus was perfectly unmoved, and replied at once:--

"I perceive, Javan, that you have other reasons for your inquiries
than mere curiosity as to the direction of our walk; therefore the
most manly and ingenuous course will be at once to tell you, what I
am convinced you already suspect, that I have this evening been to
visit a poor Christian friend; and that the interest I take in her is
not merely because she is aged and infirm, and on her deathbed, but
because she is a disciple of the Lord Jesus Christ."

"Hear him, O righteous Zadok!" exclaimed the rabbi, starting from his
seat, with uplifted hands.  "The demon of heresy has again found his
way into your family."

"Silence, Joazer," replied Zadok, who feared that in his zeal the
rabbi would forget that Javan was ignorant of his sister's apostasy,
and would inadvertently allude to it.  "Silence, my friend, and
suffer Theophilus to explain himself more fully before we condemn
him."

"Yes, I will explain everything," continued Theophilus calmly.  "I am
neither ashamed nor afraid to declare that I hold the same faith with
my dying friend, and, like her, address my prayers to Jesus of
Nazareth."

"I knew it," said Javan, with a glance of fierce indignation; "and it
is well that you have not endeavoured to deceive me.  Tell me as
frankly then, have you dared to lead my sister to the dwelling of a
Nazarene, and suffered her to listen to the ravings of a dying
lunatic?  I know the wild belief and still wilder assertions of the
woman whom you have visited; and may God forbid that any one
connected with me should ever be deluded with such folly."

"You know nothing of the Christian doctrines, Javan, or you would not
call them folly," replied Theophilus.

"You know that Claudia is betrothed to me, and can you wonder if I
seek by every means in my power to convince her of the truth of that
religion which I have embraced myself?  Naomi accompanied me, and she
also entered the house of Mary of Bethany; but I may truly say that I
have never attempted to shake your sister's faith, or in any way to
influence her religious feelings."

Theophilus glanced at Naomi, to remind her of her promise to let him
reply to Javan without interruption.  He saw her heightened colour
and eager expression, and feared that she would boldly avow her
faith, rather than tacitly take part in the subterfuge, which for her
sake he had employed.

Salome also guessed what was pacing in her daughter's mind; and
knowing the frankness and intrepidity of her disposition, she was
assured that if Javan in any way appealed to her she would confess
all her sentiments.  She therefore rose from her seat, and summoned
Naomi and Claudia to follow her to her own apartment; observing to
Zadok that she thought it better they should not remain, but leave it
to him and to the rabbi to point out to Theophilus the error of his
ways.

Naomi reluctantly obeyed her mother's wishes, for she felt as if she
was guilty of hypocrisy and cowardice in leaving her cousin to bear
the whole blame of her visit to Mary of Bethany.  But she saw that
Salome was alarmed--and her own heart told her not without reason--at
the idea of Javan's discovering her departure from the Jewish faith;
and to satisfy her she promised, when they had reached another
apartment, that as long as it was possible to do so without
compromising her own sentiments, she would allow her brother to
remain in ignorance of them.  Claudia likewise was unwilling to quit
the cedar hall.  She was aware of the violence of Javan's temper, and
she feared that the cool determination of Theophilus would perhaps
exasperate him, and excite him to cruelty and persecution; and
therefore she wished to remain and hear the result of the debate,
even if she could do nothing to soften its nature.  From Salome's
chamber she could hear the angry voices of Javan and the rabbi, and
the more temperate tone of expostulation employed by Zadok; and then
the mild and determined replies of Theophilus reached her ear, though
she could distinguish nothing of what was said.  The conference was
long; and before it terminated Judith came in search of her son, and
found Salome and the two maidens in a state of great anxiety.  The
account of what had occurred filled her with alarm for the safety of
Theophilus, for she knew far more than his own family did of Javan's
unrelenting hatred towards the Christians, and of the active measures
which he had taken to discover and bring to punishment any of that
despised creed who yet lingered in or near the city.

She freely told her fears to Salome, and found in her kind feelings
both sympathy and comfort.  The sisters-in-law had always entertained
the most sincere affection for each other; and the knowledge of
Judith's having adopted a different religion had not altered the
sentiments of Salome towards her.  They conversed together on the
best course to be pursued in order to save Theophilus from his
cousin's vengeance; and it was agreed that it would be prudent to
hasten the preparations for their departure, and if possible leave
Jerusalem before Javan could have time to carry any schemes against
his liberty or life into execution.  Judith was leaving the room to
return to Amaziah, and inform him of what had happened, when
Theophilus met her.

"I am come, my dear aunt," he said, with some emotion, "to bid you
and Naomi farewell.  The discovery that I am a disciple of the holy
Jesus, has been the signal of separation between us.  Zadok has laid
on me a peremptory command to see you no more after this evening.
But whether we meet again in this world or not, my prayers will be
continued while I live, that we may meet in a happier world, and
there be all united as one family before the throne of the Lamb.  I
feel confident, Salome, that the Lord will bring you to himself.
Your prejudices are already weakened; and our dear devoted Naomi will
yet be the happy instrument of leading her mother into the way of
truth."

"Do not speak thus to me, Theophilus," replied Salome; "your words
have a strange influence over me, but I must not listen to you on
that subject.  I feared that the result of your confession would be
at least a separation between you and your uncle's family.  God grant
that nothing yet more afflictive to you may follow!  Your father will
doubtless see the necessity of hastening his departure from the city,
and I own I shall rejoice to feel that you are safe in another
country.  Javan never loved you; and now I know that his dislike will
increase to hatred."

"Oh, I do not fear him, Salome," said Theophilus.  "He was certainly
very violent during our recent conversation; and even made use of
threats, to induce me to abjure my religion.  But our rulers are too
much engaged with civil discord and military preparation to have
leisure for religious persecution.  We cannot leave Jerusalem until
we receive Rufus's permission for Claudia to accompany us.  She must
leave the city with us, and no personal considerations shall induce
me to depart without her."

"Theophilus," interrupted Claudia eagerly, "you shall not remain in
danger on my account.  If we do not receive my father's reply to
Amaziah's letter by the time that you are ready to set out, I tell
you frankly that if your mother will take charge of me, I will at
once accompany her, and wait at Joppa for my father's consent to our
marriage.  Do not think me forward in saying this, dear Judith," she
added, colouring deeply: "but I confess I have always had a secret
dread of Javan, ever since I knew that Theophilus and Naomi had
become Christians; and I shall not feel easy until we are out of his
reach.  Oh! that my dear Naomi would also go with us, and dwell in
safety at Ephesus, until happier days dawn on Jerusalem, and her
brother's hatred against our creed has subsided."

"I would join in the request," said Judith, "but I know that it would
be useless.  Naomi will not desert her mother to ensure her own
safety; and she is right.  For you, my dear Claudia, circumstances
are widely different; and you do quite right in resolving to go with
us and your betrothed husband.  I have no doubt of your father's
cheerful consent to your marriage, for he has no home himself to
which he can invite you to return; and Jerusalem is no longer a
desirable or safe abode for you.  You shall be our beloved daughter,
and I will seek to replace to you the parent whom you have lost."

"Zadok will not oppose your kind determination, Claudia," said
Theophilus; "for at Javan's urgent request he declared that you, as
well as myself, should be prohibited from all intercourse with Naomi,
except in his own or Salome's presence.  Javan fears that you may
communicate to her the heresies you have learnt from me; and he will
rejoice in your departure."

"Naomi, dearest Naomi," cried Claudia, "and am I then to be deprived
of your society so soon?  Is the short time which must elapse ere the
wide ocean divides us to be embittered by your brother's cruel plans?
I will not consent to it.  I will appeal to Zadok.  He knows that it
is from you and Theophilus I have learnt the blessed faith that I
will cherish to my dying hour; and I can have no power to teach you
anything.  Let me remain with you, my sister, my friend, until I
leave you, perhaps for ever!"

Claudia threw herself into the arms of Naomi, with a sudden burst of
grief; and her friend could no longer restrain her own emotions.  She
saw that almost all her earthly comforts were about to be torn from
her, and that she would be left alone to bear her father's
displeasure, and probably soon to incur her brother's hatred and
cruel oppression.  Her mother would, she knew, be ever her kind and
sympathising friend; but even she could not enter into all her
feelings, or talk with her on the only subject that could now
interest her.  Of Marcellus she had heard nothing for some time past,
and when Claudia should have left Jerusalem, she could not hope to
receive any intelligence of him.  Probably he would soon forget her;
and at all events she felt that they were never likely to meet again.
Her heart was heavily oppressed, and she wept silently and sadly.

Javan's abrupt entrance roused her from her anticipated sorrows, to a
sense of present trials.

"Your farewell has been a long one, Theophilus: it is high time that
my mother and sister were relieved from the presence of an apostate.
Are you in tears, Naomi, at parting with Claudia too?  The admission
of a heathen idolater into our family has brought with it the curse I
expected.  Even my father's blood is infected with worse than Roman
idolatry.  The name of the Nazarene impostor is invoked beneath my
father's roof.  But I will purge out the poison, and see that it
spreads no further.  Truly, Judith, if you knew of your son's
infidelity and madness, you should have warned us of it, and not have
suffered him to hold converse with my sister.  You should have done
more.  If he refused to listen to the counsels of Amaziah, and return
to the true faith, you should have denounced him to the council.
What are all earthly ties compared to the honour of Jehovah?  With my
own hand would I wipe away the stain of idolatry from my family.  And
yet," he added, in a lower and sterner voice, "and yet it may be my
lot to do so.  Judith, if you and Amaziah are partakers in the
impiety of your son, I warn you that it will be discovered; and even
the brother of Zadok shall not be screened from offended justice.
You need not reply.  I have my suspicions; and we will see whether
they are well founded.  Now leave us, and take your adopted daughter
with you.  She never was a proper companion for a Jewish maiden.
Probably she may become a more suitable wife for a Nazarene apostate."

Claudia caught the arm of Theophilus, trembling with fear and
indignation, and urged him to leave the room.

It was Christian forbearance, and consideration for Salome and Naomi,
that alone preserved the high-spirited young man from replying to
Javan with the severity which he well merited; but he remembered Him
who "when he was reviled, reviled not again," and bridling his
natural feelings of resentment, he led his mother and Claudia out of
the apartment.  When they were gone, Salome with tears besought her
son to lay aside his anger, and for her sake to take no measures
against his father's relatives.  Naomi joined her entreaties to those
of her mother; but they could prevail little with the fanatical
Javan, who used no moderate terms in expressing his opinion not only
of Theophilus, but also of his parents: and the family retired to
rest with agitated and uneasy feelings.

The following day Javan was absent from home until late in the
afternoon, when he came to inform his father that Mary, the daughter
of Eleazar, the wealthy lady of Bethezob, had arrived in Jerusalem,
having at length followed his counsel, and sought safety for herself
and her numerous suite of attendants in the Holy City.  She wished to
procure a large and handsome dwelling for herself; but Javan told his
father that he had assured her she would receive a welcome to his
house, until a suitable habitation could be found for her.  Zadok
readily confirmed his son's offer, and hastened with him to meet his
wife's relative, and conduct her from the inn at which she had
stopped to his own spacious house.  Both Zadok and his wife had a
great regard for Mary, though the expensive and luxurious mode in
which she always lived was entirely at variance with the simplicity
of their own manners.  It is true that the dwelling of the priest was
large and well-furnished, and everything in it wore an air of comfort
and elegance; but personal luxury and expensive indulgences he
entirely despised.  His whole equipage, his domestics and attendants,
and the attire of his family, were in proper accordance to his rank
and station and the customs of his country; but in these things he
took no delight, and his children had been brought up to regard them
with perfect indifference.  Not so Mary of Bethezob.  Her mother had
died while she was very young, and had left her to the care of a
falsely-indulgent father, who allowed her every luxury that his vast
wealth could command, and encouraged her to gratify every selfish
inclination that arose in her breast.  She was very lovely, and her
manners were sweet and engaging; but her passions were strong and
unrestrained by paternal discipline.  Early in life she married a man
of piety and good sense, who would probably have greatly improved her
character had he lived.  But he had died a year before the time when
Javan visited her in Persea, and she was left a young and beautiful
widow of independence and power, with one lovely little child
scarcely two years old.

Mary was most kindly received by her relatives, and Naomi found
consolation and delight in the playful affection of the little David,
who attached himself to her immediately, and became her constant
companion.  Judith and Claudia she saw but seldom, and that only in
the presence of her mother or Javan, when no allusion to the subject
of religion was permitted, and the conversation chiefly turned on
their approaching departure.  At this time a letter from Rufus was
received by his daughter.  It was conveyed by an emissary from the
Roman general, who wished once more to make an attempt to persuade
the rebel Jews to lay down their arms, and for this purpose he wrote
to the chiefs and rulers of the city.  His proposals were received,
as before, with a scornful rejection, and the messenger departed,
carrying the offensive reply, and also charged with a letter from
Claudia to her father, expressing her grateful thanks for his ready
consent to all the arrangements of Amaziah.  Rufus was rejoiced at
the prospect of his daughter's happiness; and not less so at the idea
of her so soon being removed from the threatened city of Jerusalem.
He knew that the siege of the metropolis was resolved on by
Vespasian, unless the inhabitants submitted again to the authority of
Rome; and he was too well acquainted with the pride and obstinacy of
the leading Jews to hope that this step would ever be taken by them.
He therefore felt how dangerous was his daughter's situation; and he
had intended to request the ambassador of Vespasian to take charge of
her, and bring her to join him in the Roman camp, when he received
the letter of Amaziah to demand her in marriage for his son.  He knew
and esteemed the brother of Zadok; and though he would have preferred
a Roman to a Jew as a husband for his daughter, yet he would not
decline so respectable an alliance, and one that promised to procure
her safety and happiness in the present unsettled state of the
country, and indeed of the whole empire.

We have said before that the subject of religion was not one of any
great importance in the opinion of Rufus: he considered that good
moral conduct was all that was incumbent on mankind; and as he knew
that both Amaziah and his son were remarkable for their excellent
lives and honourable behaviour on all occasions, he required nothing
more.  But Marcellus looked to higher principles; and when he heard
of his sister's intended marriage, it was with sincere joy that he
remembered the piety and the pure devotional feelings which he had
observed in the family of Amaziah during his residence in Jerusalem.
He knew not that the conduct of that family was actuated by Christian
motives, or he would indeed have rejoiced at the prospect of his
sister's connection with them; but at all events he knew that they
were sincere worshippers of the one true God, and his dear Claudia
would be preserved from all danger of falling back into idolatry.  He
therefore joyfully acceded to his father's proposal that they should
obtain their general's permission to leave the camp for a short time,
and repair to Joppa to meet Amaziah and his party; and that Claudia's
marriage should take place there, instead of the ceremony being
performed at Jerusalem, according to the wish of Theophilus and his
parents.  All this plan was duly explained in the letters of Rufus to
his daughter and Amaziah, and readily agreed to, as Claudia was
overjoyed at the idea of seeing her father and brother before she
left Judea, and also of their being present to sanction and bless her
marriage.

Rufus further proposed that Zadok and Naomi should accompany their
relatives, and promised that if they would consent to do so, he would
send a guard of soldiers to meet them at Lydda, and conduct them
safely to Joppa, where a number of Roman soldiers were stationed.  He
knew that it would be a great gratification to Claudia to have her
friends' presence on such an occasion; and it would also give him an
opportunity of renewing his acquaintance with friends whom he so
highly esteemed, and to whom he felt so deeply indebted for their
kindness to his daughter.

Claudia flew to Zadok with her father's letter, and rested not until
she had obtained his promise to comply with all his arrangements.
She then repaired to Salome's apartment, and joyfully communicated
all the welcome intelligence to Naomi and her mother, and received
their affectionate congratulations on the happy termination which was
thus put to all her anxieties as to the nature of Rufus's reply to
Amaziah's letter.  Shall we say that Naomi's heart beat violently,
and her colour came and went with rapid changes when she heard that
she was to meet Marcellus at Joppa?  Various feelings added to her
emotion.  It was now several years since she had seen the Roman
youth, and he might be changed from what she remembered him.  The
kindness and the amiable disposition that had won her young heart
might have worn away amid the rough scenes of a military life; or, if
he still remained the same engaging and noble-spirited creature that
once she loved, (and this his letters to Claudia led her to believe,)
yet his affection for her might have died away, and then he would
meet her only as his sister's friend.  She tried to believe that she
could bear this change with great heroism; and at all events she
thought that it was better she should see him and know the real state
of his feelings at once, and then school her own heart to a
corresponding degree of indifference.

His merely Jewish faith--as she considered it to be--was a source of
anxiety to her; for while she rejoiced that he was no longer an
idolater, she knew that under any circumstances it was her duty to
check every hope of being united to him while he acknowledged not the
truth of the creed which she had adopted.  And how could she expect
that time or opportunity would be afforded her to tell him all the
wondrous stories which had so powerfully affected her own opinions,
or that power should be given her so to set forth the Christian
doctrines as to touch his heart and convince his reason?  She could
not communicate all these doubts and fears to Claudia had she even
felt so inclined, for the prohibition to their having any private
intercourse was not retracted; but they occupied her own thoughts
while she made her preparations for the intended journey.

Mary of Bethezob removed to a large house in the street adjoining
that in which Zadok lived; and when she was established there, she
gave way to her natural inclination for gaiety and festivity, and
assembled all the thoughtless members of her acquaintance at frequent
and magnificent entertainments, utterly regardless of the misery and
distress that surrounded her, or of the civil tumults and wild
seditions that threatened the safety of the city both by night and by
day.  Javan was a constant visitor at Mary's house, and made it his
place of meeting with those chief men of the popular party whom he
was anxious to conciliate and bring over to the schemes of Simon.  He
despised the levity and ill-timed gaiety of Mary; but he found it
convenient to frequent her parties, and appear to share in the
festivities in which she delighted, for by this means he became less
an object of suspicion to those who opposed his views, and he was
able to meet and converse with his coadjutors unnoticed by the gay
throng who were only occupied with the pleasures of the present
moment.

Javan had also other projects and other schemes, which he pursued
with no less eagerness and activity than his political efforts in
favour of the son of Gioras.  He had not forgotten his wrath against
Theophilus, or laid aside his threatened plans of vengeance.  He had
used every effort to discover the few remaining disciples of Jesus of
Nazareth who yet tarried in the city, detained by ties of duty or
affection from fleeing with their brethren to Pella; and his
endeavours had been so far successful, that already several unhappy
creatures had been seized upon and cast into dungeons by those of the
priests and Pharisees who shared his fanatical feelings and cruel
spirit of persecution.  All proper legal authority had long been
suspended, and power was all that constituted a right to punish or
oppress the weaker party.  A council of priests and elders therefore
assembled to decide according to their own will, on the fate of these
innocent victims, and Javan was one of their number.  His judgment
was for death; but he requested his colleagues to defer the execution
of the righteous sentence until he was able to add at least one more
to the number of the criminals, which he assured them he had no doubt
of doing.  He informed them of his discovery of Theophilus's
apostasy, and his suspicions that his parents also shared his
opinions; but he had hitherto abstained from taking his cousin into
custody, as he wished for stronger proofs of the guilt of his uncle
and Judith before he took so decided a measure against their son as
would open their eyes to their own danger, and warn them either to
take steps to conceal their opinions, or to flee at once from the
city, and thus escape their merited doom.  The self-constituted
tribunal readily agreed to his suggestions, and warmly applauded his
disinterested zeal, which could thus lead him to sacrifice all
private and family feelings in his eagerness to promote the honour of
Jehovah, and extirpate the abominable heresy which had already spread
its baneful influence so far and wide among the children of Abraham.
Much was said by these proud Pharisees about the merit of such noble
actions, and the favour of God which would be earned by their
performance.--How profoundly ignorant were they of the real character
of that God whose holy name they profaned! and how little did they
act or feel in accordance with his gracious declaration, "I will have
mercy, and not sacrifice!"

The council broke up, and Javan proceeded to carry on his inquiries
as to the evidence which could be produced of the defection of
Amaziah and his wife from the faith of Abraham.  Nor was the humble
Mary of Bethany forgotten.  Spies were sent several times to her
dwelling, to ascertain with certainty her mode of life and the nature
of her worship.  They returned to Javan with an affecting report of
her declining state and the heavenly calmness of her mind and
conversation and he resolved to visit her himself, and endeavour to
obtain her own confession, and hear her own declarations of the
ground of her faith and hope.  He had a profound contempt of the
doctrines of the Christians, as well as a hatred for those who
professed them.  Their heroical endurance of sufferings and death for
the name of their Master appeared to him to be obstinate bigotry; and
the heavenly hopes that cheered their spirits and swelled their
hearts with joy in the midst of agony and shame, he regarded as the
effect of madness, and the delusions of evil spirits leading them on
to destruction.  Whatever therefore would tend to the extirpation of
such a creed, and deter his countrymen from adopting it, he
considered to be meritorious, and even benevolent; and if by the
infliction of torments or the terrors of death, any nominal
Christians were induced to renounce their religion, it was a matter
of sincere joy to him, as he believed that their souls were thus
saved from perdition.  To such lengths may prejudice and fanaticism
lead even those who are zealous for the honour of God, while they
remain ignorant of that blessed spirit of humility and charity, so
beautifully taught both by the life and doctrine of our divine
Redeemer.

A day had been fixed for the departure of Amaziah and his companions;
and as it approached, Claudia became nervously impatient for the time
to arrive when they should be safe beyond the walls of Jerusalem.
Her dread of Javan increased daily; and though he endeavoured in his
intercourse with Amaziah's family to appear friendly and at his ease,
and to dispel the fears that his unguarded threats had excited, yet
her watchful anxiety detected that his manner was unnatural, and his
kindness and cheerfulness were entirely forced.  She felt a dreadful
foreboding of evil which she could not conquer, and all the efforts
of Theophilus to dispel her fears, and his repeated assurances that
he entertained no suspicions or apprehensions of his cousin, failed
to restore her peace and confidence.  She had no longer the sanguine
and hopeful spirit of Naomi to cheer her as formerly, and charm away
her fears; and indeed Naomi herself was not now the same
light-hearted being that once she was.  Her natural spirits were
subdued by care and by deep and serious reflection; but her trust in
God, and perfect confidence in his overruling Providence, and his
fatherly care for his children in Christ, had replaced the buoyant
feelings that arose from youth and health and happiness, and
conscious powers of mind and body.

Naomi saw that her friend was uneasy, and she shared her
apprehensions, for she perceived that her brother's mind was
disturbed, and that he was evidently engaged in some pursuit which
made him more gloomy and abstracted than ever.  He also questioned
her frequently as to the sentiments of Theophilus, and appeared to
indulge a hope that he would abandon his new religion, and return to
the faith in which he was brought up.  Occasionally he would lament
that so well-disposed a youth should have become the victim of such
wild delusions; and endeavour, as if casually, to discover from his
sister whether Amaziah and Judith were infected with the same heresy.
He had never yet been informed of their removal to Pella, and Naomi's
residence with them there, which was known only to his own family.
He supposed that his sister had dwelt with them in their
country-house in Bethany during her long absence from home; and as he
knew also that Theophilus had remained in Jerusalem the whole of that
time, he hoped that she had escaped the pollution of his opinions.
Naomi guessed his object in the questions he put to her, and evaded
them with wonderful quickness and ingenuity; but from other sources
he obtained the information which he sought, and no doubt rested on
his mind that his uncle and aunt were Nazarenes in their hearts; and,
worse than all, that his sister had been instructed in their detested
doctrines.

[Illustration: MARY OF BETHANY INTERRUPTED BY JAVAN.]

All his suspicions were communicated to his colleagues, who urged him
to use secrecy and dispatch in securing such distinguished criminals.
The power and influence of Zadok rendered great caution necessary in
taking any steps against the persons of his near relatives; and these
blood-thirsty men knew well that with all his zeal for religion, and
horror of all deviations from the faith of his ancestors, and the
customs which were sanctioned by tradition, yet he would never give
his consent to any act of cruelty or oppression, or forget the
feelings of a brother, to gratify a spirit of bigotry.  The aged Mary
of Bethany was also marked as a victim; but her seizure was deferred
until Amaziah and his family should be secured, as Javan knew that
they were in the constant habit of visiting her, and would take alarm
if any outrage were offered to her.  He repaired himself to her
dwelling late one evening; and with all his detestation of her sect,
he could not help being impressed by what he saw and heard.  The
venerable disciple was reposing on her couch when he entered, and
Hannah was engaged in reading to her from a roll of parchment, that.
contained a copy of the Gospel according to St. Matthew Her eyes were
dim, and she could no longer pursue her favourite occupation of
perusing the sacred record; but she was listening with devout
attention, while her faithful attendant read to her the evangelist's
account of those events which she so well remembered.  The expression
of her countenance was so full of piety and resignation, that Javan
stood on the threshold, and gazed a moment in admiration and respect.
Hannah hastily rolled up the manuscript, and concealed it in the
folds of her garment; for the intruder was a stranger to her, and
frequent danger had taught her to fear her sentiments being
discovered.

Mary also was unacquainted with the person of Javan, but she
addressed him courteously, and requested to know the reason of his
unexpected visit.  Javan replied that he had heard that she was sick
and in distress, and he had called to offer her any assistance in his
power, as he believed that she was of that sect who were despised and
neglected by the rest of mankind.  Mary looked at him with a doubtful
expression: she had never seen him at any of the Christian meetings,
and yet his words led her to infer that he was of that persuasion.
For Hannah's sake more than for her own, she wished to be cautious in
declaring her religion; and she merely thanked him for his kind
offer, and assured him that she was provided with every comfort which
her situation required.

"Do not fear, good mother," answered the crafty Javan, "to tell me
that you are visited and succoured by Christian friends.  I know it
already; and it is because I would share with them in the good work
of ministering to the necessities of a venerable disciple that I have
sought your dwelling.  I am a stranger in Jerusalem, and you know me
not; but your faith and virtue are known and esteemed by me."

"Are you then a Christian?" asked Mary, with solemn earnestness.

"I wish to know more of the Christian doctrines, before I declare
myself to be a disciple," replied Javan evasively; "and I know that
there are few so competent to instruct me as yourself, and those
noble converts who so frequently come hither to converse with you on
the subjects of your faith."

"Are you then acquainted with my friends?  To which of them do you
allude particularly?" inquired Mary, with guarded anxiety.

"I speak of Amaziah and his excellent wife and son; and also of their
niece, the lovely daughter of Zadok.  She also has received the faith
of Jesus of Nazareth.  Am I not right?"

"Now may the Lord Jesus pardon you," said Mary, "if you are deceiving
me, and seeking the hurt of those who have shown me kindness.  I
cannot deny what you already seem to know, that the family of Amaziah
became acquainted with me during their constant residence in this
neighbourhood; and though I am poor and solitary, they have ever
shown themselves my friends.  If I knew their religious opinions, I
would not tell them to a stranger, who may have evil motives for the
inquiry; but for myself I freely own that I am a believer in the holy
Jesus, and I glory in the declaration."

"You are too cautious, my worthy friend," said Javan.  "Why should
you suspect me?  I have known the sentiments of your benefactors for
some time, and I have not injured them, though you must be aware how
ready our rulers are to receive information of any who follow that
persuasion, and to inflict severe punishment on them.  Confide in me
without apprehension, and remember, that by your instructions you may
benefit my soul.  That roll of a book which your domestic was
reading, and which seemed so deeply to engross your attention--was it
not a copy of the sacred records of your religion?  I know it was,
and I entreat you to allow me to see it.  I have long wished for such
an opportunity of acquiring more accurate information concerning
those wonderful things that are related of the holy Jesus of
Nazareth."

Mary was entirely without guile herself, and she had for so many
years lived separate from the world, that she had forgotten to be
suspicious.  Even the troubles and persecutions which she had
witnessed, and in some degree shared, had not taught her any great
degree of what is called worldly prudence, or dimmed the pure flame
of universal love and charity, that had been lighted by the
reflection of the perfect pattern of her Lord and Master.  To honour
Him, and to do good to the souls of her fellow-creatures, were the
first objects of her life; and in the attainment of these objects she
was ready to endure danger, suffering, and even death.  She was not
entirely satisfied of the sincerity of her strange visitor, and she
suspected that her conduct had been watched by spies for some time
past; but she would not seek to conceal her faith when it was
possible to glorify her Redeemer, or enlighten the spirit of an
inquiring sinner.  Her own safety was not to be put in the balance
with such considerations, but she was resolved that nothing should
induce her to betray her friends.

She turned to Hannah, who sat in fear and trembling, listening to the
conversation of the deceitful Javan, and said, "My daughter, give me
the blessed volume which it is your privilege to read.  Oh that in
time the truths it contains may enter your heart, and dispel all the
clouds of error and prejudice that dwell there.  You may retire now,
for I wish to speak to this young disciple in private.  It is
better," she added addressing Javan, as Hannah hastily left the room,
"it is better to dismiss that simple creature.  She is
well-intentioned; but we must not trust any one too unreservedly in
these days.  You might be sorry to have it known that you confessed
yourself a Christian, even to the aged and despised Mary of Bethany."

"Thank you, my good friend," replied Javan, "for your care of my
safety: trust me to be as watchful of yours.  Now give me the book,
and point out to me the most striking portions that I may read, and
my faith may be confirmed."

Mary did as he required, and Javan read aloud many of the most deeply
interesting passages in the inspired narrative, while his aged
companion commented on the words he read, and endeavoured to impress
the spirit of them on his heart.  The beautiful simplicity of the
language, the sublime purity of the doctrines, and the marvellous
nature of the events which he read, had power to engage his attention
and delight his mind; but alas! so strongly were the chains of
bigotry and error riveted on his soul, that even the words of
inspiration did not shake them off: and while he sat by the bedside
of the dying saint, and heard her tell of all that the Lord had done
for her soul, and saw her faith and hope and love, even then he was
devising a way to deliver her into the hands of the Pharisees and
priests, and make her a victim to their cruelty.  He was the agent of
Satan, while he believed himself the servant of God.


[Illustration: Bedouin Arabs]




CHAPTER XIII.

Hannah hastily left the chamber in which Mary and Javan were
conversing, and her benevolent mistress rejoiced that her little
scheme for withdrawing her from the notice of the inquisitive
stranger had succeeded.  She hoped that he would regard her merely as
a common domestic, whose part it was to attend and read to her
employer, but who might take no part in her religious opinions, and
be no object for his persecution, should such be the evil intention
which brought him to the house.  But it was not to secure her own
safety alone that Hannah so instantly obeyed her beloved mistress.
She did not abandon her to danger, and seek to avoid sharing it.  The
faithful creature fled from the house; and though it was now the
second watch of the night, and the dim light of the twinkling stars
was all that remained to guide her feet, she hurried down the Mount
of Olives, crossed the valley, and in a surprisingly short time
reached a small postern gate in the wall of the city, that opened
into a passage leading immediately to Zadok's house.

The great gates of the city had been closed and guarded at the usual
hour; and Hannah knew that she should have great difficulty in
obtaining an entrance by presenting herself at any of them.  But she
had frequently passed through this private door, on errands from Mary
to her friends Amaziah and Judith, and she believed that they
possessed the means of opening it at all hours; she therefore called
loudly on the name of one of their domestics, and was quickly heard
and answered.  She requested permission to see Judith immediately;
and as Zadok had put no restrictions on his brother's family, and
allowed them to receive whom they would in their own apartments, she
was led without delay to the room where they were assembled.

They were engaged in evening prayer when Hannah entered.  Her
presence did not disturb their devotions; and the Christian servant
knelt with them, and joined her prayers to theirs.  Amaziah was
concluding his customary act of worship, by imploring the blessing
and protection of the Lord on themselves, and all their brethren of
the church of Christ; and also that it would please him to turn the
hearts of their enemies and persecutors, to pardon those who sought
to injure them, and to bring them also to a knowledge of salvation.
When the little congregation rose from their knees, Hannah exclaimed,
"May our prayers be heard for my holy and beloved mistress, and for
you, my excellent benefactors!  I have come from Bethany, at this
late hour, to tell you that the enemies of our blessed Master are
surely contriving the hurt of his servants; and to entreat you to
take measures for the safety of your own family and the venerable
Mary.  For some days past our usually solitary dwelling has been
frequented by strangers.  Some of them have seen and conversed with
my mistress: she did not commit herself to them, but they must have
seen by her piety and cheerful resignation that she was a Christian.
Others I contrived to send away, and told her not.  I have heard, and
probably you have heard it also, that several of our brethren who,
like myself, yet tarried in the neighbourhood, poor and forgotten, or
dwelt as Naomi does with their unconverted relatives, have been
searched for, and taken captive; and this very evening a stranger of
dark and mysterious aspect has come to our house.  He entered
unbidden, and found me reading the blessed book, he tried to make
Mary believe that he was partly convinced of the truth of our holy
faith, and sought to be further instructed; and I fear she believed
him, for she professed her belief in Jesus, and even put into his
hands the volume which I had endeavoured to conceal.  He used various
arts to make her declare all she knew of you, Amaziah, and your
excellent family; but this she would not do.  I left the
deceiver--for such I am convinced he is--still talking to her, and
perusing the book which she delivered to him.  I heard him reading
the sacred words of inspiration as I left the house; and I have now
hurried to you for counsel and assistance."

"Was the stranger young?" interrupted Claudia, eagerly: "was he tall
and pale, with sunken eyes, and dark contracted brows?  Oh, my
fearful heart tells me who he was!"

"You have described him exactly," replied Hannah; "and, strange as it
may appear, there was an expression in his countenance when he smiled
that reminded me of the lovely lady Naomi, and almost charmed away my
suspicions.  But I knew that he was a traitor at heart."

"It must be Javan!" exclaimed Claudia; "I know that he will bring
evil upon us yet.  Oh that we were safe beyond the reach of his
malice!"

"My dear Claudia," said Theophilus, "do not suffer your apprehensions
thus to prevail over your better judgment.  I cannot believe that
Javan would really seek to injure his nearest relatives.  I know that
some of our brethren have lately been apprehended, and my father has
used great influence in their favour--I hope with success; but I have
not heard that Javan was in any way concerned in their discovery; and
his manner has been as friendly since our unhappy disagreement as it
was before, so that I believe it has not really affected his
feelings."

"You look on every one as possessing your own open, generous spirit,
Theophilus.  I think I know Javan better than you do, and I would not
trust his specious hypocritical appearance of friendship for one
moment.  Dear Judith, will you not share my fears?  It is for
Theophilus that I tremble, for I am convinced that Javan's enmity is
strongly excited against him."

Judith and Claudia felt alike, and while they communicated their
apprehensions, Amaziah and his fearless son were occupied in
questioning Hannah concerning the strangers who had lately been seen
at Bethany, as well as the visitor who had excited so much alarm on
the present occasion.  They were all aware that Mary's days were
numbered, and they could not bear the idea of leaving Jerusalem while
she lived.  It was impossible to take her with them in her present
state; and it would be difficult even to remove her to a safe asylum,
should they be able to find one.  They desired Hannah to return to
her without loss of time, and assure her that they would watch over
her safety, and if possible visit her the following day to arrange
their plans.  Theophilus declared his intention of accompanying
Hannah back to Bethany, both to protect her by the way, and also to
converse with Mary, and hear further particulars of what had passed
between her and her visitor.

Claudia would have opposed this intention, but she knew it would be
useless.  She however persuaded Theophilus to disguise his person as
much as possible, that if he should meet Javan on his way back to the
city he might not be recognised.  He did not return home for some
hours; but neither his parents nor Claudia had retired to rest, for
they were anxious to see him safe again, and to hear the result of
his expedition.  His communication did not allay the fears of
Claudia.  He had met a stranger enveloped in a cloak, as he crossed
the bridge over the brook Kedron, and he was compelled unwillingly to
own that he believed it to have been his cousin; and he was confirmed
in this opinion by all that Mary told him.  She entreated him to
forbear coming to her house again, and to desire his parents to do
the same, and also to use all possible expedition in setting out on
their journey, before it should be too late.  He added that their
beloved friend appeared exhausted, and he had no doubt that she would
soon be removed to her rest.  He had promised her that they would
none of them visit her the following day, as they would probably be
watched; but Hannah was to let them know if anything further took
place to cause alarm.

The day after the events which have just been related, Mary of
Bethezob held a feast in her splendid dwelling, and the families of
Zadok and Amaziah were invited to it.  It was not much in accordance
with Zadok's sentiments to frequent such scenes of gaiety; but as
Mary was his relative he would not refuse to comply with her request,
and he desired that Salome and Naomi would accompany him.  This was a
trying command to his daughter for her Christian principles had
taught her to shun all such revels and festivities, and she knew that
it was the practice of all her brethren to abstain from mixing in the
pleasures and follies of the world: but she felt that in this
instance she was called on to obey her father, as he did not require
of her anything that would directly compromise her opinions; and with
a heavy heart she adorned herself for the feast.  Amaziah and Judith
declined the visit altogether; but Zadok desired Claudia to accompany
his daughter, and she was very willing to seize this opportunity of
conversing with her friend more freely than she had been permitted to
do of late.

About the ninth hour of the day they repaired to the house of the
rich lady of Bethezob, and Javan was of the party.  He had never
appeared so lively and so little abstracted.  Perhaps he had been
successful in his political schemes, or perhaps he saw a prospect of
the speedy gratification of his religious and private revenge.  He
remained so long with his sister and Claudia, that they feared he did
not intend to leave them any time for private conversation; but,
happily, after the banquet was concluded, he was called away by one
of his most active assistants in forwarding the cause of Simon, and
the two maidens found themselves at a distance from him they feared,
and able to escape from the busy throng to a spot where they could
communicate their thoughts and feelings unobserved by his keen eye
and quick suspicious ear.

The splendour of the entertainment, and the glittering magnificence
of the dresses of the visitors, could not engage their attention.
Their thoughts were occupied with other things, and they only felt
the emptiness and vanity of all around them.  They passed through the
marble columns of a beautiful arcade, which was adorned with aromatic
shrubs and flowers in vases of exquisite workmanship, and hung with
draperies of purple and gold, that threw a luxurious shade on the
gilded walls, and inlaid pavement of costly stones and metals, and
softened the glowing rays of the western sun.  Claudia and Naomi
paused not to regard the beauty of the gallery; they hastened through
the gay and animated crowd, and sought the retirement of the
thickly-planted garden into which it opened.  When they believed
themselves to be out of hearing of any of the party, they conversed
with freedom and confidence on the subjects which at that time so
deeply interested them.  Claudia related the particulars of all that
had occurred the preceding night, and declared her conviction that
Javan was concerting some scheme of evil against the whole family, or
at all events against Theophilus.  She entreated Naomi to prevail on
her father to be ready to leave the city with them on the third day
from that time, as Amaziah, she hoped, would yield to her fears, and
consent to set out at that period.  To this her friend readily
agreed, as she also suspected the intentions of her brother; and she
promised that, if possible, he should remain ignorant of their
departure being hastened.  The condition of the aged Mary then
occupied their attention; and deeply did Naomi regret that she could
not go to her as formerly, to listen to her holy instructions, and to
cheer her declining life by her affectionate attentions.

"Once more, dear Claudia, I must see her.  Whatever dangers may
befall me, I am resolved, if possible, to behold her blessed
countenance again, and receive her parting benediction.  I have been
wishing for some days to see you or Judith, that I might give you a
letter which I had prepared.  It was merely to request you would
devise some method by which I could accompany you to Bethany.  I met
Hannah two days ago, as I was going with Deborah to gather fruit in
my father's garden by the brook, and she told me that our dear Mary
was sinking.  I have been very unhappy ever since, for I feared she
would die, and I should not behold her again on earth."

"Amaziah and Judith and Theophilus are gone to visit her this
evening," replied Claudia.  "They knew that Javan would be here, and
that therefore they might go with safety.  If possible, they intend
to remove her to Amaziah's house near Bethany, where a friend of his
now resides, who, though not a Christian, is a good and charitable
man, and will protect her for the short time she has yet to live.
They propose to do this immediately, if her strength will allow of
it; and when she is safe from Javan's malice you may visit her
without danger, for your brother will not know whither she is gone,
or suspect that the good Benjamin can harbour a Nazarene beneath his
roof."

"Mary can never live many days, from what Hannah said," answered
Naomi.  "It is useless to carry her away from her home; but I will go
there and see her.  Will you request Judith to accompany me the
evening after to-morrow.  I know that Javan will be occupied for some
hours at a meeting of the elders and priests, for I heard him make
the engagement.  But whether he discovers me or not I am resolved to
go.  I feel sure that I cannot long conceal my religion from him, and
it would be a relief to me to be spared the effort.  Were it not for
my dear mother's sake, I think I could brave the worst that he could
do; and even death itself would not be very terrible, if I could
glorify my Lord and Master.  Life has but little to offer me now--and
the sacrifice would not be great."

"Do not speak so sadly, my dearest Naomi," said Claudia.  "It has
indeed been your lot to have many trials of late, and it grieves my
heart to think how lonely you will be when we are gone, and our dear
Mary is taken from you.  Oh that you could be persuaded to go with
us!  But since that cannot be, and you feel that it is your duty to
remain with those who have not the faith of the Lord Jesus Christ, I
believe that he will send you comfort, and enable you to bear every
trial."

"Yes, Claudia, I know he will.  It is wrong of me to feel so much
depressed as I do now, but my spirit is very sad.  I am not afraid of
any trials that may befall me by the appointment of my gracious
Master; I think that, trusting in Him, I shall have strength to keep
my faith without wavering.  But I do dread the spiritual desolation
and solitude that await me when all my Christian friends, all whom I
love in the Lord, are removed far away.  Once I cherished a hope that
my beloved mother was awakening to the truth; and if she would listen
to all that I could say, I think her gentle, pious spirit would
rejoice to believe the glad tidings of salvation by a Redeemer.  But
she seems to fear the subject, I will continue to pray day and night
that the Lord himself will teach her: and I will try to hope, and not
doubt His mercy.  Oh if I could be the blessed instrument in His
hands of showing my mother the only way of peace, what joy, what
triumph would be mine!  And then my father too--he would hearken to
Salome, though not to me; and he would see the happiness and the
blessed fruits that spring from faith in the Lord Jesus--and he too
would become a holy, zealous disciple.  O Lord, my God," she added
fervently, while her eyes were lighted with all their wonted fire,
and her hands were clasped with energy, "grant me my heart's desire.
Let me see my parents at the foot of the cross, let me hear them call
on the name of thy Son, and then I could share with them the most
fearful death of torment to seal our faith, and be thankful."

"May the Lord hear your prayer, my Naomi, and avert the doom that you
almost seem to covet.  Surely happier days are in store for you.  You
were always wont to speak to me of hope and courage, and I feel that
I am not able to give you consolation.  In your own pious and
confiding spirit you will find it, when I am not here to use my
feeble efforts.  How rejoiced I am that your father has consented to
go with us to Joppa!  In three more days we shall, I hope, be safely
journeying thither; and as we are to travel in the same litter, we
shall enjoy many hours of undisturbed conversation and happiness
together; and at Joppa too, we shall be together and happy.  You will
see Marcellus, and you will find how true is his attachment to you,
in spite of time and absence.  Naomi, if Zadok would consent, would
you be my sister indeed?  Would you unite yourself to Marcellus, now
that he is no longer an idolater, and trust to your prayers and your
instructions to bring him into the fold of Christ?"

A deep blush mounted to the pale cheeks of Naomi, and as rapidly
subsided, while she subdued the emotion that was excited by Claudia's
question, and replied as calmly as she could:

"I will not attempt to conceal from you, my dearest friend, that if I
were permitted to choose my lot in life, I would rather be the wife
of Marcellus than share the throne of the Emperor.  I loved him as a
child; and when we grew up I loved him still, in spite of his being a
Roman and an idolater.  Now he is a believer in the true God, and I
feel confident he will one day be a believer also in his incarnate
Son.  Should that be the case, and we should then meet, with the same
feelings of attachment with which we parted, it would be my greatest
happiness to become your sister.  But all this is a mere dream, and
never likely to be realised.  I must try to banish it from my
thoughts, as I have so often done before."

"We shall see, dear Naomi.  I prophesy better things," said Claudia
gaily.  "I begin to see everything on the bright side now; I suppose
for the selfish reason that my own prospects are so happy and so
prosperous.  Three days will soon be gone, and Javan can hardly do us
any injury in that time, and then all will be well except parting
with you.  Now let us return to the house, for our long absence may
be observed, and remember we are to start before daybreak.  I may not
have another opportunity of talking to you alone."

As they rose from the marble bench on which they had been seated, a
slight rustling was heard among the leaves of a thick clump of bushes
very near them; and Naomi hastily laid her hand on Claudia's arm, and
held up her finger in token of silence.  They both looked earnestly
before them, and distinctly saw a human font moving stealthily away,
as if to avoid the path by which they were about to proceed towards
the house.

"Javan!" whispered Claudia, in breathless agitation, when the figure
had passed away, and was concealed in a distant thicket.

"The Lord forbid it!" replied Naomi, with a deep sigh.  "If he has
overheard our conversation, all your plans are detected, and we are
all betrayed.  Javan was leaving the great saloon, in deep conference
with that dreadful-looking friend of his, Isaac, the counsellor, when
we entered the gallery, and he certainly did not see us.  But if any
one has listened to our discourse it may be of serious consequence.
Let us hasten back to my father and mother; and it may be that only
the latter part of our conversation was heard, and that the listener
may not know who we are."

At this moment a loud shout was heard from the house--the sound of
the timbrels and the harps, which had come sweetly to the ears of the
young maidens, mingled with the sighing of the evening breeze,
suddenly ceased, and were succeeded by cries of terror and shrieks of
pain.  Lights were seen passing rapidly to and fro, and soon a number
of women issued from the gallery, and fled in confusion through the
garden.

It was evident that some terrible calamity had befallen, and Naomi
and Claudia hastened to ascertain the cause of all the alarm.  They
met Mary of Bethezob and several of her female attendants hurrying to
the darkest and thickest part of the garden, loaded with cups and
vases of gold and silver, and rich brocaded furniture, which they
seemed anxious to secure from some apprehended destruction.

"Is the dwelling on fire?" cried Naomi.

"No," replied Mary, "it is far worse; it is filled with a band of
Zealots, who are plundering and destroying all my possessions, and
slaying all who oppose them."

"Where are my father and mother?" inquired Naomi eagerly.  "Are they
exposed to the violence of their worst enemies?"  She was hastening
towards the house to seek her parents, but turned again, and
inquired--

"Where too is dear little David?"

Mary dropped her rich burden, and exclaimed

"O my child!  I had forgotten him.  He was playing in the vestibule
just before the ruffians entered.  Seek him, Naomi, for the love of
heaven seek him!  If he hears your voice he will come to you.  The
Zealots would not hurt him, for it was plunder they came to obtain."

Naomi looked for one moment in astonishment at the mother, who thus
called on others to save her child, while she feared to return
herself to seek him; and then she ran swiftly up the terraced walk,
followed by Claudia, who forgot her natural timidity in her anxiety
for the safety of her friend.  They entered the gallery, calling
loudly the names of Salome and David.  The din of arms, and all the
sounds of a fierce conflict, were heard from the grand apartments,
but the gallery and passages were deserted.  They advanced
cautiously, still calling Salome and the child; and soon had the
delight of hearing their cries answered, and saw the little boy bound
from behind the folds of a curtain, followed by Salome, who
tremblingly advanced and exclaimed:

"Blessed be the God of Israel! you are safe, my daughter.  I have
sought you in every apartment; and when I could not find you I
concealed myself in this place to watch for you.  I could not leave
the house while I believed that you and Claudia were yet in danger.
But come, now let us hasten away.  Zadok has promised to follow us as
soon as the ruffians are gone.  He found this poor little child in
the midst of the struggle and confusion, and bore him away in safety,
when all others seemed to forget him.  The sweet little creature
clung to me, and called for his mother; but she had fled away at the
first alarm, and I know not where she is gone."

While Salome was speaking, Naomi had caught up her little favourite
in her arms, and they were all hastening down the gallery.  They soon
found Mary in the garden, concealed behind the trunk of a large tree,
but looking anxiously towards the house to watch for Naomi's return
with her child.  When she saw him safe, she burst forth into
passionate exclamations of joy and gratitude, while she overpowered
the little boy with caresses.

"Why did you go away, and leave David with the robbers?" asked the
child innocently.  "They would have killed him, if Zadok had not
come."

Mary looked at her rescued wealth, and wondered how she could have
forgotten her only child in her eagerness to save such paltry spoil.
Always a creature of impulse, she now felt that her child was more
precious to her than even her own life; but another hour might find
her engrossed with some new object.

"Where shall I take you to, my sweet boy?  I will fly to any cave or
hole in the rocks to save you.  If the assassins come this way we are
lost.  Salome, guide me to some safe spot, and let me not see my
darling massacred before my face!"

The increasing sounds that issued from the house seemed to indicate
that the combatants were approaching the entrance to the garden, and
the affrighted group knew not in what direction to fly, until one of
the domestics remembered that a small wicket in the garden wall
opened into a narrow lane on the other side, and led to the gardens
of some of the neighbouring houses.  Mary had forgotten this outlet,
which was seldom used, and was almost overgrown with the hanging
branches of a vine; but she quickly caught at the idea, and ran to
the spot, followed by all her companions.  The bolts were withdrawn,
and they all passed through into the dark street, and groped their
way along, till Naomi having advanced before the rest, recognised a
turn that led to her father's house.  It was the same private
entrance by which Hannah had teen admitted the preceding night, and
by which also Naomi had so frequently passed out to wend her way to
Bethany.

The discovery was hailed with joy, and in a few minutes the whole
party were safely lodged in the house of Zadok.

The noise of their entrance brought Amaziah and his wife and son to
inquire the cause of their hasty return; and on learning the act of
violence which the Zealots had committed, Amaziah and Theophilus
armed themselves, and went forth with some of their attendants to
render all the assistance in their power.  Claudia and her friend
were rejoiced to see them returned from their visit to Bethany, and
were eager to know how they had found Mary, and whether they had
conveyed her away to the protection of Benjamin; but they could not
gratify their curiosity until some time had passed in narrating the
particulars of the scene of confusion from which they had just
escaped.  Then they drew Judith away from the rest of the party to
Naomi's chamber, and learned from her that their venerable friend had
rallied considerably since the last time she had seen her; and that
finding how averse they all were to leave the city while she remained
so unprotected at Bethany, she had consented to be removed to
Benjamin's dwelling.  She had however deferred the journey until the
last evening previous to their departure; for she desired to remain
in her own home as long as possible, and felt no apprehension of
being molested so long as they were near to succour and defend her.

"You, my dear Naomi," continued her aunt, "shall accompany us to that
beloved dwelling when we go on that night to bid her farewell, and
give her up to the care of Benjamin.  He will meet us there with a
litter, and we shall have the happiness of knowing that our aged and
declining friend will receive from him and his wife all the care and
attention that she can require for the short remainder of her days.
I will myself request your mother to consent to your going for the
last time to see her to whom you owe so much; and even Javan, if he
hears of it, can feel no surprise that you should wish to take leave
of her before her death, as he knows that you visited her with
Theophilus."

"I thank you, my dear aunt," said Naomi; "my heart is set upon
beholding her again, and I have been talking to Claudia on the
subject.  She says that you have determined to leave Jerusalem in
three days; and Mary can never survive until our return.  But I am
glad you have hastened your departure, for there is danger in your
remaining here; and even now you may have tarried with us too long.
I grieve to tell you that Claudia and I were so imprudent this
evening as to talk aloud of all our hopes and fears and plans, in the
garden of the house we have fled from.  We thought we were far
removed from every human ear, and we spoke freely; but alas!  I fear
we were overheard, for we saw some one glide cautiously away as we
prepared to leave the spot where we were seated.  I have learnt to be
suspicious lately, and I would that you were all safe beyond the
reach of those who wish you evil."

"I trust it will be so ere long," replied Judith.  "I will apprise
Amaziah of your apprehensions; and by proper precautions I hope we
may yet escape all danger.  Tell me what you had been saying, which
you fear may have been overheard."

Naomi repeated the chief points of the conversation, only omitting
that part which related to Marcellus; and Judith was greatly alarmed
at finding that so much had been said, which, if repeated, would
place them all in the power of their enemies.  She did not, however,
express all that she felt; and Salome's voice was heard calling Naomi
to return to the cedar hall, as her father had just entered and
inquired for her.  She ran to meet him, and rejoiced to find that he
and his friends had escaped unhurt from the combat.  He informed them
that the Zealots had been at length defeated, and driven back to
their strongholds; but not until they had killed or wounded several
of those who opposed their violence, and carried off a great quantity
of plunder.  The house of the lady of Bethezob was dismantled, and in
such a state of confusion and havoc that it would be impossible for
her to return that night; and he therefore invited her to remain
under his roof until the wreck of her valuable household property
could be arranged, and her own home prepared to receive her again.
This was readily agreed to, and the rest of the fugitives having
departed to their respective abodes, all was again restored to
quietness.  But what peace, what security could be felt in a city
which was exposed to such scenes of outrage as that which had just
been witnessed?  Who could feel that their property or their lives
were secure for an hour, while robbers and murderers could openly
traverse the streets, and forcibly enter any house that offered
temptation to plunder, unchecked by any legal power, and unchastised
by any arm of justice?

It was an unprecedented state of society, and never may the world
again behold its equal!  It was civil war in its most dreadful form.
The city held within its walls many conflicting parties, and each was
animated by the most deadly feelings of hatred towards the others.
Murder and rapine prevailed in every quarter, while religious zeal
yet distinguished many individuals of each party.  The blood of bulls
and goats flowed in sacrifice from the altars that still remained
uncleansed from the human gore that had been shed in the frequent
combats within the temple.  None moved through the streets unarmed or
unattended; and a strong guard generally accompanied any female of
distinction who was induced to venture far from home.  And yet in the
midst of all this crime and misery the wildest dissipation was
carried on.  It was not only in the house of Mary of Bethezob that
feasts and revels were celebrated; the dwellings of numbers of the
rich and gay sent forth the sounds of music and of mirth as loudly
and as frequently as when Zion dwelt in peace, and none could harm
them.  Such thoughtless levity appears incomprehensible; but danger
had become familiar to the inhabitants of Jerusalem, and they seemed
heedless of the scenes of bloodshed that daily met their eyes.  Is it
not the same infatuation that now blinds the eyes of our
fellow-sinners around us, who walk on in a course of sin and folly,
and mark not the warnings that are vouchsafed to them by the Lord,
and dread not the destruction into which they see their companions
falling day by day?--a destruction more appalling and more lasting
than the death and the miseries inflicted by the Zealot robbers of
Jerusalem.

It was midnight before Javan returned to his father's house.  When
the lawless band had been expelled from Mary's house, and driven to
their own abode in the temple courts, he was slowly proceeding
homewards, and meditating on the period when he could safely summon
the son of Gioras to enter the city, and take the lead among so many
contending parties.  He hoped that the presence of Simon would put an
end to the lesser factions, and he determined to use every exertion
to prepare the way for his reception.  He was engaged with these
reflections when his friend Isaac approached him, accompanied by a
stranger in the garb of a domestic.  The streets were dark, but the
man carried a lamp, which threw its light on a countenance well
suited to take a part in the bloody and vindictive scenes that
characterized the time, and had already hardened the hearts of the
greatest part of the inhabitants of Jerusalem.

"Javan," said the counsellor, in a low voice, when they met, "this
man has somewhat to relate which concerns you nearly.  The leaven of
apostasy has spread farther and deeper than you imagined; and
vigorous measures must be adopted to extirpate it at once.  From the
lips of your own sister this faithful and zealous man has heard
enough to prove that she herself, as well as Amaziah and his wife and
son, and the Roman maid to whom he is betrothed, are enthusiastic
disciples of the Nazarene."

"Ha!" cried Javan fiercely, "is it really so?  But I had strongly
suspected it.  Naomi is altogether changed since my absence from the
city; and doubtless it is this foul heresy with which she is infected
that has damped her spirit, and made her what she is.  But tell me,
who is your informer, and how came he to hear my sister speak on such
a subject?"

"His name is Reuben, and he is a domestic in the house of Mary of
Bethezob.  This very evening he was passing through the garden when
he saw two maidens sitting in a retired spot, and evidently deeply
engrossed with the subject of their discourse.  Curiosity led him to
approach, and unobserved by them he listened to their conversation.
Reuben, repeat to the noble Javan all that you have already related
to me."

The treacherous servant did as he was commanded; and Javan listened
with deep interest to the detail of all that had passed between the
unsuspicious friends.  To hear that his uncle and Judith had adopted
the Nazarene faith did not at all astonish him, for he had already
ascertained their opinions, and those of Claudia.  But Naomi's
conversion had hitherto been only a matter of suspicion and fear; and
every feeling of his breast was excited with painful intensity, as
the dreadful fact became incontestably evident.  His indignation was
wound to its highest pitch when Reuben proceeded to repeat that part
of the conversation which so plainly revealed his sister's attachment
to Marcellus, and the hope that was cherished in her heart of one day
being united to him.  It was with difficulty that the fiery young Jew
restrained the expression of his passion; but he chose not that
Reuben should see how deeply he was moved: and when he had finished
his recital, he merely threw to him his purse as a reward for his
treason; and laying his hand on the dagger that was placed in his
girdle, sternly commanded him, as he valued his life, to preserve all
he had heard a secret from every other ear.

Reuben departed, well pleased with the prize that had been so easily
earned, and resolved not to run the risk of incurring the vengeance
of the dreaded Javan by revealing the service for which he had
obtained it.  Isaac and his friend did not separate so soon; they
retired to the house of the counsellor, to consider how they should
act upon the information they had just received, and how they should
frustrate all the plans of their intended victims.  The helpless Mary
of Bethany was marked as the first to be secured; and the very
evening on which Amaziah and his friend intended to place her in
security was fixed on for the execution of the cruel design.  Javan
saw that there would be danger of exciting a tumult if she was taken
prisoner on the following day, when Amaziah would have time to make
inquiries after her, and interest his friends in her behalf.  But the
plan which he proposed to Isaac was, that they should obtain a strong
body of men from the chief priests, and repair to Bethany before the
hour at which his uncle intended to be there with his family; and
when they had ascertained that the whole party were assembled
together in Mary's house, that they should enter the dwelling, and
seize on all the Nazarenes at one blow.  When this was effected, he
felt assured that no influence would be exerted in their favour
sufficient to procure their liberty.  Javan knew not that his father
was already aware of his brother's heretical opinions; and he did not
doubt that the discovery would at once sever all ties between them,
and make Zadok as violent an enemy of Amaziah as he was himself.

All the arrangements were agreed upon by Javan and his companion, who
fully approved of the iniquitous scheme, and promised to lend his aid
for its execution; and they parted with an understanding that the
council should meet on the following night, instead of the evening
which had been appointed, and which was now to be otherwise occupied.
Javan retired to rest that night with a feeling of great satisfaction
at the prospect of so soon having the persons of his uncle and
Theophilus in his power.  It was against the latter that he proposed
to direct his chief efforts, for if he succeeded in securing him, his
chief object would be attained.  He would then be enabled to gratify
his own evil feelings of personal malice and fanatical cruelty, and
also prevent the alliance of his cousin with a Gentile maid.  The
knowledge of his engagement to Claudia had greatly increased his
hatred towards Theophilus; and in order to frustrate the intended
connection, and save his family from the contamination of Roman
blood, he felt that any act, however cruel, would be not only
justifiable but meritorious.


[Illustration: Tomb of Rachel]




CHAPTER XIV.

The lady of Bethezob dwelt in Zadok's house, and her domestics were
busily employed the following day in removing the traces of the
incursion of the Zealots.  It was hopeless to seek any restitution of
the valuable effects which had been carried off, or any punishment of
the offenders; for who could enter their strongholds, and bear away
any of their members before a tribunal of justice?  Javan took
advantage of the late occurrence to plead with great eloquence in the
council that evening the necessity of inviting Simon and his powerful
band to enter the city, and protect the inhabitants from the violence
of John of Gischala and his ruffian crew.  His arguments had great
weight with his hearers; and some who had hitherto opposed his
object, now began to fear that it was the only step which remained to
them, by which they could hope to check the oppressions of their
present masters.  Isaac was a warm supporter of all Javan's
proposals: he had always inclined to the admission of the son of
Gioras; and he now ardently desired the adoption of any measure by
which the insolence of the Zealots might be chastised, and vengeance
obtained for the injury done to the lovely daughter of Eleazar.

The wealth of this lady, as well as her beauty, had engaged the
attention of the counsellor.  He was a constant visitor at her house;
and finding that his society was welcome to Mary, he had determined
to make proposals of marriage to her.  The destruction and loss of so
much of her valuable furniture and household effects, as he had
witnessed the preceding evening, had exasperated him greatly, and
excited a strong desire for revenge against the aggressors; but he
knew that her possessions in land and money were so great as to
render the injury easily reparable, and he made up his mind no longer
to delay his proposals.

The council being almost unanimous on the subject of Simon, Javan
next informed them of the discovery he had made of the adoption of
the Nazarene religion by the members of his own hitherto unsullied
family.  The recital was listened to with great interest by the
assembly, who were all exceedingly zealous for the honour of the law
of Moses and the traditions of the elders,--but most lamentably
negligent of God's eternal law of mercy and justice.  They triumphed
in the proof they had now obtained that Javan's suspicions had been
correct; and more maliciously still did they exult in the near
prospect of seizing on the objects of their hatred, and wreaking on
them all that cruelty and bigotry could suggest.  Javan did not wish
that his uncle and his family should be put to death.  He desired
that by rigorous imprisonment and other sufferings they should be
induced to retract their opinions; and he obtained a promise from his
colleagues, that every effort should be used to bring them back to
the true faith before any extreme measures should be resorted to.  He
also stipulated that his sister should not be captured.  He had not
yet stifled every feeling of affection for her; nor could he
contemplate the idea of his mother's anguish, if Naomi was to be torn
from her, without some sympathy.  He trusted that when she saw the
evils to which her relatives were exposed by their religion, she
would be affrighted for her new opinions, and gladly return to the
faith for which she had once been so zealous.  He knew not the soul
of his heroic sister, or the power of true Christian faith to make a
weaker spirit than hers meet shame, and death, and agony unmoved!

The assembly broke up, after having appointed a body of guards to
attend Javan to Bethany the following evening, and to obey his
commands in all things; and the young Pharisee then turned his steps
homewards, accompanied by Isaac.  All in Zadok's house appeared
cheerful and at peace, for Naomi had not communicated her own uneasy
feelings and apprehensions even to her mother; and she exerted
herself to appear in more than her usual spirits.  Never did she sing
more sweetly, or converse with more animation; and so gaily did she
play with little David, and follow his sportive steps from place to
place, that Javan began to imagine that he had been deceived by
Reuben, or that the man himself had mistaken some other persons for
his sister and Claudia.  But yet the minuteness of the particulars
which the informer had related, and the names of the individuals
which he had repeated, forced him to believe his testimony,
corroborated as it was by his own previous suspicions; and he
concluded that Naomi was rejoicing in the prospect of her beloved
relatives being so quickly removed beyond his reach, and in the hope
that her own share in their guilt would remain unknown.  She looked
so lovely and so innocent, that he thought she could not yet have
imbibed very deeply those opinions which he believed to be so impious
and so productive of evil; and he longed to see her again restored to
her duty, and taking a cheerful part in all those Jewish rites and
ceremonies in which he had so often beheld her the admiration of all.
Isaac too was much struck with her beauty, her accomplishments, and
her amiable manners; and he privately encouraged Javan to adopt
gentle measures with her, and if possible to conceal her errors from
her parents, until he had himself endeavoured to correct them by
argument and persuasion and even by threats.

Before the counsellor departed that evening, he took an opportunity
of declaring his hopes and wishes to Mary; and she returned a
favourable answer.  She wished for rank and distinction; and though
she had no particular attachment or esteem for Isaac, yet she
considered that by uniting herself to him she should obtain the
object of her ambition; and as the wife of so noble and powerful a
man, she should meet with more consideration, and possess more
influence than in her widowed and solitary state.  She therefore
consented that when her affairs could be settled, and her estates in
Peræa disposed of, for the benefit of her son after her death, she
would bestow her hand on Isaac; and the arrangement was made known to
Zadok and his family as her nearest relatives.  They had nothing to
oppose to her choice, though her suitor was by no means a favourite
with any of them, except Javan.  He rejoiced greatly in the proposed
connexion, as he thought that Isaac would thus be more firmly united
to his own party, and by his increased wealth, be better enabled to
assist his projects, and obtain fresh adherents.

The morning of the next day was passed in completing the various
preparations for the final departure of Amaziah and his family, and
the short absence of Zadok and Naomi.  The priest had agreed to his
brother's wish of hastening the journey, though he did not
acknowledge the necessity for it, or believe that there was any cause
for apprehension.  He did not partake in his son's fanatical views,
or consider that the cause of religion would be advanced by cruelty
and persecution.  It was well known that he was devoted to the Jewish
faith, and that he firmly believed there was no salvation for any who
departed from it: but it was also well known that his soul was full
of mercy and compassion, and that he would not injure those whom he
considered to be in a state of perdition already, and therefore Javan
and his colleagues never confided their schemes against the Nazarenes
to him.  His violent anger at the discovery of his daughter's
conversion to Christianity had subsided into a milder feeling of
disappointed love and sorrow.  He could not continue to treat with
harshness the affectionate and dutiful child, who had always been the
object of his pride and hopes, and who now sought by every means in
her power to win back his love and merit his approbation.  The one
only subject on which she refused to listen to his authority, was her
new religion; and on that subject she always replied to him with such
gentleness and humility, and yet with such a holy zeal and firmness,
that he was constrained to admire even while he sharply rebuked her.
She had been restored to her accustomed place in the family on the
return of Javan, and had gradually resumed much of her influence over
her parents.  In all customs and ceremonies that were indifferent she
conformed to the practice of her family, but in the retirement of her
own chamber she followed the manner of worship which she had learned
so highly to prize, and perused with untiring attention some portions
of the Gospels, which she had copied while at Pella from the precious
manuscripts possessed by some of her Christian brethren residing
there.  No alteration was perceptible to those who frequented the
house, except that Naomi was more amiable, more obliging, and more
gentle in her temper and disposition than formerly.  The
contemplation of her lovely character, which so beautifully reflected
the graces of the Christian model, tended greatly to soften the
severity of Zadok's prejudices against the Nazarenes; and for her
sake he would have been unwilling to join in any act of oppression
towards those whom she loved as her kindred, and more especially
those who were united to her by the ties both of near relationship
and a common faith.  He rejoiced that his brother was about to remove
from Jerusalem, for he hoped that when Naomi was left alone, and
entirely deprived of the society of Christians, she would probably be
induced to relinquish her newly adopted opinions; and therefore he
the more readily lent his aid to the hasty completion of the
arrangements.

Mules and horse-litters were prepared, and a strong body of the
domestic servants of both Zadok and Amaziah were furnished with arms,
and appointed to act as guards to the party.  A messenger was also
dispatched to Joppa in search of Rufus, to request, if he were
already there, that he would send the promised band of soldiers to
meet them at Lydda on the day now fixed for their journey, instead of
that more distant day which had been at first appointed.  The baggage
was all packed, and everything was ready; nothing remained but to bid
farewell to Mary of Bethany, and consign her to the care of Benjamin.

Judith informed Zadok of their intention to visit their old and
beloved friend on that evening, and earnestly requested that Naomi
might be permitted to accompany them.  She urged that it would be the
last time that she should have it in her power to lead her niece to
receive the blessing of that holy woman, which, whether she were a
Jew or a Nazarene, could surely bring no evil on her head; and it
would be a grief to Naomi if a friend whom she respected and loved so
much were to die without her having seen her once more.  The priest
almost shuddered at the idea of his child receiving the benediction
of one whom he knew to have been so devoted an attendant and disciple
of Jesus of Nazareth; but he remembered that Naomi had already chosen
her lot with his followers, and that one more interview with her
former instructor could have no particular influence over her
opinions.  He therefore gave his consent, though unwillingly, and
only on condition that Naomi should solemnly promise never again to
make any attempt at seeing Mary after her return from Joppa.

Javan had absented himself from home nearly the whole day, to Naomi's
great relief; and towards sunset she joined her uncle and his family,
and all together proceeded by the well-known path up the Mount of
Olives towards Bethany.  As a proper precaution in case of Javan's
having actually discovered their intention, Amaziah took with him
several well-armed servants, and he and Theophilus were furnished
with swords and daggers.  They arrived at the dwelling of their
friend, and entered as they were accustomed to do, without knocking,
leaving the armed domestics to watch at the entrance.  The first
objects that met their view filled them with apprehensions that the
venerable saint had already departed, and that their farewell visit
was too late.  Hannah was kneeling by the couch on which Mary was
laid; and as the door opened, she turned, and held up her finger in
token of silence.  The tears were rolling down her cheeks, and sorrow
was strongly depicted in her countenance.  Judith and Naomi stepped
lightly and quickly to the bedside, and Hannah drew aside the curtain
that shaded the dying Christian from the light of a lamp that was
suspended from the ceiling.  Then they saw that life was not yet
extinct, but was ebbing gently and swiftly away.  Judith beckoned to
her husband, and he with his son and Claudia advanced, with noiseless
steps, and they all stood silently to gaze on that form which they
perceived would ere long be seen no more on earth Mary's eyes were
closed, and the pallid hue of death was on her cheek.  So motionless,
so calm she lay, that but for the deep and heavy breathing and a
slight movement of her parted lips, it might have seemed that she was
already dead.  But her spirit was conscious still, and she was
praying at that moment that she might yet be spared to see her
expected and well-beloved friends, and bless them before her death;
yet her bodily senses were deadened, and she did not perceive that
her prayer was already granted.

Presently she opened her eyes, and was casting anxious look towards
the door, when she beheld all those she so ardently desired to see,
standing around her, and in a weak and faltering voice she exclaimed,
"Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace!  My children, my
beloved children in the Lord, this is a blessing that I had scarcely
hoped for.  The day has seemed long to me, for I knew that it must
close ere my dying eyes could look on you; and I feared this heart
would cease to beat before the time appointed for your coming.  But
the Lord who has supported and blessed me all my days, has heard my
last request.  Come near, that I may bless you all."  They gathered
closely round her, and knelt in reverential silence, while she moved
her trembling hands, and laid them in succession on their heads.

"Oh, my Redeemer," she said, "thou who didst suffer death in all its
agonies, that thou mightest take away its sting from those who
believe in thee, in the hearing of these thy servants I would testify
thy power to vanquish the last enemy, and make the dark valley of the
shadow of death light and glorious by thy presence.  Leave me not,
neither forsake me, O God of my salvation, and may the last words I
utter bear witness to thy love.  Bless with thy choicest blessings
these thy children, whom thou hast called to the knowledge of thy
name; and of thy great mercy keep them in the way of everlasting
life.  May their course in this world be happy, if it be for their
eternal good.  But if thou seest that trials and sorrows are needful
for them, oh strengthen and support them, and make them more than
conquerors over every temptation and every spiritual foe.  And when,
their mortal race is run, and the crown of immortality is on their
brow, may we meet and rejoice together around thy throne, and sing
thy praise for evermore, for thou hast redeemed us to God by thy
blood, and to thy name be all the glory!"

"Amen," replied the kneeling disciples with one heart and one voice,
while they bent their heads in deep devotion, and tears, which were
not of sorrow, flowed from every eye.

At this moment a loud noise was heard near the entrance, as of armed
men struggling to force open the door, and horrid imprecations were
uttered against those who opposed them.  Mary shuddered, and turned
her dying eyes with intense anxiety to inquire the cause of this
untimely violence, while Amaziah and Theophilus sprang on their feet,
and drawing their swords prepared to resist the intrusion.  It was a
moment of awful suspense; but soon the door was burst open, and
several men rushed in with swords and poniards, followed by the
servants of Amaziah, who had vainly endeavoured to prevent their
entrance.  The spectacle that met their view was able to check the
progress even of these ruffians--and they stood transfixed to the
spot, looking with awe and admiration on the expiring saint, and the
lovely girls who, with Judith and Hannah, still knelt by her side,
and strove to overcome their own fears and support their sinking
friend.

"Behold," said Amaziah, "the victim you come to seek: she is beyond
the reach of human cruelty.  Her spotless soul is winging its way to
the presence of its God and Father, to bear testimony against those
whose violence disturbed the last moments of its abode on earth."

"Say not so," murmured Mary faintly; "my dying voice shall plead for
their pardon, in the words of Him who died for them, 'Father, forgive
them, for they know not what they do!'"

A smile of pure benevolence and holy joy lighted up her countenance,
and then faded away like the last rays of the setting sun on the cold
surface of a wreath of snow.  All was still--and friends and foes
forgot for a moment all other feelings, in the contemplation of the
awful change.  Death looked beautiful on her placid features, which
were as calm as those of a sleeping infant.

"She is not dead, but sleepeth," said Amaziah, in tone of deep
solemnity.  "May we die the death of the righteous, and may our last
end be like hers!"

The evil intentions of the ruffian band had been checked, but not
destroyed.  The wonder and awe which had held them motionless had
passed away; and again they grasped their weapons, and looked for
orders towards their leaders.  These were two powerful-looking men,
in complete disguise, their faces being entirely concealed, and
themselves clothed in an uncouth and foreign garb.  They had not
entered the apartment at the same time with their attendants, but
remained at the entrance in conflict with some of Amaziah's servants,
whom they succeeded in disarming, and then joined the rest of their
band, as their intended victim uttered her last words of pious
intercession.

One of these strangers turned away, and his manly form trembled for a
moment with emotions that he sought to suppress; but the other called
to his men in a stern voice to do their errand, and not be affrighted
from their duty to God and man by the corpse of an accursed Nazarene.
The impious appellation seemed to recall his comrade from his
momentary weakness, and he rushed forward towards Theophilus with his
sword uplifted, and already stained with blood from the conflict
which had preceded his entrance.  Claudia saw the fierce advance, and
knew that it could be no other than Javan, who thus singled out her
beloved Theophilus as the object of his rage.  She forgot all other
feelings in terror for the safety of him she loved, and springing
forward, she placed herself before him, and cried:

"Javan, if blood be your object, shed mine: I am a Roman maid, allied
to your bitterest enemies.  But seek not to take the life of your
countryman, your relative, and the ornament of your house."

The stranger was startled, but he spoke not.  He wished not to
confirm the suspicions of Claudia, by letting her hear his voice, but
seizing her arm, he flung her aside; and as Theophilus caught her and
prevented her from falling to the ground, he aimed a blow at his
shoulder, and inflicted a wound that entirely disabled him.  The
blood flowed over the dress of Claudia, and all her sudden courage
forsook her.  She fainted away, and Theophilus was forced to
relinquish her to the care of Naomi, and endeavour feebly to defend
himself from the assaults of Javan.  Meanwhile the chamber of death
had become the scene of a furious conflict.  The servants of Amaziah
fought valiantly against a superior force, to defend their master and
his family; while their foes endeavoured to secure them captives, and
not to take their lives.  Amaziah and Theophilus loudly called on the
women to escape from the house by the back entrance, while they kept
the assailants at bay; but Claudia's helpless condition, and anxiety
for the fate of their defenders, kept them in the room.  They stood
by the bed of the lifeless Mary, on which they had laid Claudia also,
now apparently as inanimate as their departed friend, and utterly
unconscious of all that was going-on around her.  Perhaps it was well
for her that she was so, though she only awaked to a sense of utter
misery.

The attacks of Javan and his comrade were evidently directed
principally towards Theophilus; and at length while his father and
the servants were occupied with the rest of the band, they succeeded
in securing him, exhausted as he was with exertion and loss of blood.
They hastily bound him with a strong rope, and endeavoured to drag
him from the house by the back entrance, near which they had seized
and overpowered him; but Naomi saw their intent, and loudly calling
to her uncle for aid she flew to her cousin, and rendered desperate
by excitement and alarm, she employed her strength so well as to
impede the design of Javan, and enable Amaziah to come to the rescue
Judith and Hannah stood in the way, and sought to close and bolt the
door; but what could the efforts of weak and terrified women avail
against the power and resolution of a band of armed and cruel men?
Several of Amaziah's servants were bounded, and those who were not
disabled could no longer maintain the unequal contest.  They saw that
their master was in danger of being made a prisoner as well as
Theophilus, and they exerted all their courage and strength for his
preservation and that of his son.  The struggle was violent and well
maintained; but alas! the faithful domestics only succeeded in
disengaging Amaziah from the grasp of the ruffians, and Theophilus
was borne away.  His father would have followed the retreating steps
of the ruffians, but his servants forcibly detained him, as they were
convinced that such an attempt would only lead to his own capture;
and in grief and horror the afflicted family stood by the corpse of
Mary and the senseless form of Claudia, to consider what steps should
be taken for the safety of the unhappy Theophilus.

To hasten back to the city, and employ all their influence with Zadok
and his powerful friends, was the first impulse; but what could they
do with Claudia, in her present helpless state, or how should they
inform her of the calamity which had befallen them all?  While they
prepared some rude contrivance to carry her with them, she revived,
and her first words were to inquire for Theophilus.

"He is gone to the city, my daughter," replied Judith; "and there I
hope we shall soon see him safe and free."

"But he was wounded," said Claudia, confusedly: "I felt the warm
blood flow on my cheek.  Why is he gone away? he would not have left
me senseless.  But I remember now--oh, the dreadful truth comes over
my brain!  Javan has forced him away, and Javan will destroy him.  I
always knew that he would bring desolation into my heart; and it is
done!"

A flood of tears somewhat relieved her bursting grief, and then she
wildly sprang up, and cried,

"But why do we tarry here?  Come, Naomi, we will fly to the city, and
with my dear adopted parents, we will kneel and weep at Javan's feet
until we melt even his heart of stone.  Farewell, dear sainted Mary!
It is well that your eyes were closed in death before this blow fell
on those you loved so much--and oh! if my eyes are not again to
behold Theophilus, I would that they had never opened from the trance
that spared me the sight of his defeat!"

Thus passionately did the unhappy girl give vent to her feelings; and
to her disposition it was a relief to do so.  Meanwhile Amaziah gave
some hasty directions to Hannah concerning the burial of the
deceased, and promised to send some of his domestics, who were of the
same holy religion, to assist her in performing it as secretly as
possible at break of day, and if possible to attend himself.  He
feared that the priests might hear of her death, and send to seize on
her corpse, that they might bury it according to their own
ceremonies; and therefore he desired two of the servants who had
attended him that evening to remain with Hannah, and prepare a humble
grave for her beloved mistress, in the large and well-planted garden
belonging to the house.  He further desired Hannah to linger no
longer in that dwelling, after the last duties had been paid to Mary,
but to accompany his servants to Jerusalem, and take up her abode
with him and his family, until his son could be liberated, when she
should travel with them to Ephesus, and find a refuge and a home
wherever they should dwell.

The afflicted family then left the house, and by the light of the
torches with which they were provided, they bent their way towards
the city.  They were startled on entering the public road to perceive
a band of men, also carrying lighted torches, approaching towards
them, and for a moment they supposed that it was Javan returning to
make a fresh attack; but the voice of their friend Benjamin speedily
reassured them, and they hastened to communicate to him the death of
Mary, and the subsequent calamitous event.  It was now no longer
necessary for the kind-hearted Benjamin to proceed to Mary's house,
and he therefore insisted on joining his body of attendants to that
of Amaziah, and conducting him and his family safe to their home; and
in the litter which had been destined to carry the departed
Christian, he placed Claudia, whose weakness made her almost
incapable of proceeding on foot.  Naomi and Judith walked beside her,
and sought by every argument they could find to calm her agitation,
and persuade her that there was every reason to hope for the speedy
relief of Theophilus.  Perhaps they appeared more sanguine than they
really felt; but they could hardly believe that if it had actually
been Javan who had thus deprived his cousin of liberty, he would
refuse to listen to the entreaties of his family, or to be moved by
the sorrow which he had brought upon them.  It seemed too cruel even
for Javan, to deliver his kinsman into the hands of those who would
count his murder a meritorious act; and therefore they tried to
believe that he only intended to detain them all in Jerusalem, until
he had further ascertained their conversion to Christianity, and
endeavoured to shake their faith by his arguments, and perhaps his
threats.

They entered the city without difficulty, by means of the private
gate, and were passing up the dark and narrow lane which led to the
offices of Zadok's house, when they saw a wild and haggard form
approaching at a rapid pace under the shadow of the wall.  It was the
son of Ananus--that mysterious being who had not ceased to traverse
the devoted city day and night ever since its peace and prosperity
began to fail.  His ghastly countenance and sad and hollow voice
could not be mistaken.  He advanced close to the litter on which the
terrified Claudia was carried, and uttered loudly his oft-repeated
burden of woe.

"A voice from the east! a voice from the west! a voice from the four
winds! a voice against Jerusalem and against the temple!"--Then
pointing his skeleton finger towards Claudia, he uttered in a still
more dismal tone, "A voice against the bridegrooms and the brides--a
voice against the whole people!"

Swiftly he passed on, and was out of sight; while the same boding cry
was heard repeated in the distance.  But not so swiftly did the
feelings of terror which he had excited in the breast of Claudia
subside.  Her mind had always been inclined to superstition; and
though she strove to banish the impression that was made by the
denunciation of the wild prophet, yet it sounded continually in her
ears as the knell of all her earthly hopes.

The sad party reached their home, and immediately proceeded to the
apartment generally occupied by Zadok and his family; and there, to
their utter astonishment, they found Javan, in the usual loose robe
in which he pursued his studies, deeply occupied in transcribing some
portions of the sacred Talmud.  Zadok and Salome, and their guest,
the beautiful Mary of Bethezob, were also engaged in their ordinary
employments; and all appeared equally startled and surprised at the
entrance of their relatives in a manner so unexpected, and with
countenances expressive of so much grief and anxiety.

Javan was the first to inquire, in a tone of perfect unconsciousness,
into the cause of their distress; and so well did he feign ignorance
and sympathy, that they began to doubt whether it was indeed he whom
they had so lately seen under such different circumstances, and
wearing so different an aspect.  Naomi and Claudia fixed their eyes
searchingly upon his countenance, while Amaziah related to his
brother the particulars of all that had occurred to them, but they
could read nothing in Javan's features to confirm their suspicions of
his guilt.  He betrayed no emotion, but affected sorrow and surprise;
and so readily offered his assistance in discovering the authors of
the deed, that his parents never thought of ascribing it to him,
though the rest of his relatives were still doubtful and suspicious.

Having acted his hypocritical part with perfect coolness, Javan left
the house on the pretence of making instant inquiries concerning the
fate of Theophilus; and with a promise to return as soon as he had
obtained any intelligence.  He was no sooner gone than Claudia--who
had hitherto with difficulty restrained herself from charging him
with his duplicity and cruelty--declared to Zadok and Salome her firm
conviction that their son was the cause of the sorrow which had come
upon them; and not only that the barbarous scheme had originated with
him, but that he had been present in disguise to put it in execution.

"He had a companion who also concealed his face, and wore the garb of
a stranger," she added, "but his voice seemed to be one that I had
often heard."

The daughter of Eleazar was present, and for her sake Claudia forbore
to say that she believed Isaac to be the accomplice of Javan; but she
had no doubt on the subject, and she was right in her conjecture.

Both Zadok and Salome strongly opposed the idea that Javan could be
guilty of an act of such cruelty towards a near kinsman; but when
they heard the various reasons which existed for suspecting him, and
were informed of the listener who had been observed in Mary's garden,
they began to entertain the same opinion, and promised to exert all
their influence and authority to induce him to repair the injury he
had done, and restore his family to happiness again.  The lady of
Bethezob listened with interest and astonishment to the conversation
of her friends, for until that moment she had not known that she had
been associating with Nazarenes.  It is true she had seen very little
of Amaziah and his family: but with Naomi she had lived on terms of
intimacy, and for her she entertained a great affection.  The idea of
any longer concealing from Javan that his sister had embraced
Christianity was laid aside, for all were equally convinced that he
already knew it; and therefore Mary's presence was no check to the
freedom of the discourse, and her inquiries were satisfied by a plain
statement of the fact, and an injunction that she would observe a
perfect secrecy on the subject towards all but the inmates of the
house.  She was a kind-hearted woman when her natural feelings were
not biassed by passion or prejudice, and her sympathy was warmly
excited both towards Naomi and Claudia.  She wondered at their
religious infatuation, for in her mind that all-important subject was
a matter of taste and feeling, and not of deep principle and
absorbing interest; yet she grieved for their afflictions, and those
of the bereaved parents, and would gladly have lent her aid to remove
them.  All that wealth could do she cheerfully offered; but Claudia
hoped more from her influence with Isaac, when it should appear that
he was concerned in the unhappy business, than from the power of her
riches.  Indeed from this hope she derived her greatest and almost
her only comfort; for when she saw how kindly Mary espoused her
cause, and how eagerly she proffered her assistance, she began to
feel that all was not yet lost, and that through her means the
liberty of Theophilus might possibly be obtained.

It was late when Javan re-entered the house, and he attributed his
long absence to the difficulty he had found in tracing the lost
Theophilus.

"At length," he added, "I have been successful; but I regret to say
that he has not fallen into the hands of the Zealots or the Idumeans,
who might be induced to restore him on the payment of a large ransom;
but he has been seized by the arm of justice.  His criminal apostasy
has been discovered to some of our most holy and zealous priests; and
their righteous indignation has led them to take this step as a
salutary warning to others who may be inclined to the same heresy,
and as a wise precaution to prevent his disseminating the errors
which have perverted his mind.  I grieve for his fate, but it was
only what I dreaded would be the result of his folly."

"Javan," cried Claudia, "it is you who have betrayed him!  None but
you and Rabbi Joazer were acquainted with his opinions; and the Rabbi
had sworn to Zadok that he would never reveal them.  You have brought
all this evil on your house, and now you seek to hide your cruelty
under the mask of sorrow."

"Silence, Claudia!" replied Javan indignantly; "and remember that
though I cast back your passionate accusations with contempt, yet I
have power and influence which it would be your wiser course to
conciliate by submission, and not thus by your unfounded taunts to
provoke me to use them against the object of your affection.  But I
act from higher motives than personal love or hatred; and I shall
pursue the course which I see to be for the real good of my cousin,
and the honour of my family, without any regard to the ravings of a
heathen girl."

Claudia shrunk away from the look of fierce determination with which
Javan accompanied this rebuke.  She feared that by her unguarded
exclamations she had only exasperated him still more against both
Theophilus and herself; and she resolved in future to restrain her
feelings, and if possible to conceal from him her horror and dread of
his character, and the personal dislike which she had always felt for
him.  She could not reply to him, for her heart was too full; but
Naomi approached him, and in a gentle voice endeavoured to move him
to better feelings.

"My brother," she said, "do not speak thus harshly to Claudia.  She
is overwhelmed with grief, and knows not what she utters; and you
should pity rather than blame her.  You say that you have power and
influence over those who have carried off our unfortunate cousin.
Will you not exert them in his favour?  He is your near kinsman--he
never injured you.  He formed the happiness of his parents, and of my
poor Claudia too; and his character was never sullied by an act that
could reflect shame on his family.  What though he now differs from
you in his religious opinions?  That is a matter between him and his
God, whom he serves in sincerity; and before whom he must stand or
fall.  O Javan, join not with those who seek his life; but restore
him--for I know you can--to those whose life is bound up in his life,
and let not the grey hairs of your father's brother be brought down
to the grave in sorrow."

As Naomi finished speaking, she laid her hand on her brother's arm,
and looked into his countenance with a look of moving entreaty; her
mother, with Judith, Claudia, and Mary, had gathered round her, and
with eloquent gestures joined their supplications to hers.  But Javan
turned on her a look of scorn, and shaking off her gentle hand, he
exclaimed,

"Well may you plead for the life and liberty of an apostate!--for the
same blasphemous creed that has marked him for eternal shame has
branded you also!  I know it all, Naomi.  Your guilt, your hypocrisy,
are all revealed.  And here, in the presence of your parents, I
denounce you as a Nazarene.  Nay, cling not to me, and look not so
imploringly,"--and Javan turned away his face that he might not meet
his sister's sweet and tearful eyes,--"I am not going to give you up
to the arm of justice.  Cruel as I know you think me, I will not give
your body to be mangled by the executioner.  For our parents' sake I
spare you this; and because I believe the power of the Lord God will
yet be sent to cast forth the evil spirit that now possesses you, and
make you again what once you were.  But till that time arrives I
renounce you as a sister; and I leave it to your father, to the just,
the righteous Zadok, to take such steps as may speedily wipe away
this stain, and remove the pollution from our house!"

Javan looked with astonishment at Zadok and Salome.  He expected to
have seen surprise and horror depicted in their countenances at the
disclosure which he had just made; but sorrow mingled with pity was
the only emotion they betrayed.

Naomi was about to reply to her brother, but Zadok interrupted her.

"Javan," he said, in a tone of calm authority, "the error into which
your sister has unhappily fallen, has long been known both to your
mother and me.  It has been the source of profound grief to us; and
many have been the prayers which we have offered up before the throne
of the Almighty that he would vouchsafe to restore her to the true
faith.  Hitherto, alas! no answer has been given, and her soul is
still in darkness.  Why should we have told our sorrow and our shame
to you, my son!  We knew your zeal for the Lord, and we knew the
anguish it would give you to find that Naomi, your only sister, had
been beguiled from the way of holiness and truth to follow this new
and most accursed heresy.  Therefore we have concealed it from you
and from the world; and, Javan, as your father, I now command you to
follow the same course.  Use all your efforts, all your prayers to
bring her back; but breathe not her disgrace in any human ear.  I
would not have her despised; and, oh! for worlds I would not have her
fall into the power of my zealous, but hard-hearted brethren.  She is
my child, my most beloved daughter; and though my heart condemns her,
yet there she shall find a refuge, even though all the powers of
earth and hell were combined together to tear her from me!"

Zadok adored his daughter; and this burst of parental feeling was
excited by the sudden fear and horror to which Javan's words had
given rise.  The thought of his lovely Naomi being consigned to death
and ignominy, as an apostate and blasphemer, had roused up all the
tenderness which he had partially concealed, but could not banish,
ever since the discovery of her lamented change of religion.  She
turned in grateful astonishment at this unexpected expression of his
love, and falling at his feet, she would have kissed the hem of his
garment; but he raised her up and embraced her with all his former
affection, while he uttered a benediction which had not gladdened her
heart since the time when first she had offended him, and rebelled
against his authority.

Even Javan was moved, and Amaziah seized the moment to appeal to him.

"Behold, Javan," he said, "what is the love that a father has for his
child!  Our son is as dear to us as your sweet sister is to her
parents.  Judge then what must be our feelings while we know that
Theophilus is in the power of his enemies--of those who would rejoice
to shed his blood, and think that by so doing they should offer up a
sacrifice acceptable to the God of mercy.  Your power is great--your
talents are respected by those on whom I believe his fate depends.
Listen then to the entreaties of your family, and show that you are
indeed zealous for the honour of God, by imitating Him who is
gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and of great kindness."

"Amaziah," replied Javan, "I am not insensible to the feelings of
nature and humanity.  I delight not in seeing the affliction of
others; and if I could terminate your anxiety, and procure the
liberation of Theophilus without compromising my well-known and
declared opinions, and countenancing a heresy which my soul abhors, I
would gladly do so.  But the pure faith which has descended to me
unsullied from our father Abraham is dearer to me than any
considerations of a personal nature.  Your son is an apostate.  He
has cast off the God of his fathers, and gives to a creature, a mere
man, the honour which belongs to Jehovah alone.  Therefore is he cut
off from his family and his nation--nay more, he is wiped away from
the book of life, and consigned to perdition.  And shall I--a son of
Aaron--lend my aid to rescue him from the punishment which he so well
has earned?  Shall I be the means of setting him at liberty, to
disseminate his accursed doctrines, and carry the same spiritual
pestilence into other families that he has brought into his own?  No!
by the altar of God I swear that so long as he cleaves to his
idolatry, so long may he pine in a dungeon; or, if his judges see
fit, he may be torn limb from limb, and given to be meat for the
fowls of the air and the beasts of the field.  But let him renounce
his errors, and seek the pardon of his offended God by confession and
sacrifice, and I will procure his release.  Amaziah, look to your own
safety.  You have narrowly escaped sharing the same fate as your son;
and I warn you to abjure your heresy, or to flee at once from the
city.  Judith and Claudia are known and marked as Nazarenes; and
Naomi too is suspected.  I have power to shelter her at present; but
even that may fail, and my sister may be seized on and offered as a
sacrifice to appease the wrath of insulted Heaven!  O God of Jacob!
what woes have been brought on thy peculiar people by the impostures
of the crucified carpenter's son."

Javan left the room, and retired with hasty steps to the terrace,
where he remained a great part of the night, pacing to and fro, and
revolving many anxious thoughts.  All his better feelings had been
excited by the scene which he had just witnessed, and it was only by
recalling to his mind the sentiments of severe fanaticism that
generally reigned there, that he had been enabled to banish the
rising emotions of tenderness and compassion.  But now he had checked
what he considered a weakness.  Bigotry and mistaken zeal resumed
possession of his soul, and all his thoughts were directed to the
paramount object of bringing back his cousin to Judaism, or making
him a fearful example of vengeance, as a warning to Naomi, to
Amaziah, and to all who were in like manner perverted.

He left his family in sorrow and dismay.  Those who adored Jesus of
Nazareth as their Saviour, and worshipped him as God, were filled
with horror and indignation at hearing his holy name blasphemed; and
all were overpowered with the conviction that no hope remained of the
liberation of Theophilus.  Zadok endeavoured to speak comfort to his
afflicted relatives, by urging them to use their influence in
persuading his nephew to renounce Christianity; but Amaziah bade him
cease such dreadful suggestions, and declared, while tears of deep
emotion flowed down his manly cheeks; that he would rather behold his
son--his only and beloved son--given up to the worst tortures that
the spirit of persecution had ever yet devised, than hear him by one
word deny the Lord who bought him with his own blood.

No one ventured to raise their voice in opposition to this
declaration of the afflicted but undaunted father, and with heavy
hearts the family dispersed to seek such repose as their sorrows
would permit.




CHAPTER XV.

The sun rose bright and cheerful on the morrow--that day so ardently
desired by Claudia, as the day of her departure from Jerusalem, and
the termination of all her fears and anxieties.  But it proved a day
of trouble and sorrow, and brought with it no comfort, no hope.

Soon after the morning broke, poor Hannah arrived from Bethany, with
the servants who had assisted her in depositing the remains of the
departed Mary in the hasty grave which they had prepared for her.
Amaziah had also performed his promise of being present, if possible,
on the occasion; and notwithstanding the grief which oppressed him,
and the danger to which he exposed himself by attending the burial of
a Christian, he had in the darkness of night returned to Bethany, and
pronounced a funeral benediction over his revered and beloved friend.
Then he hastened back to the city, and was followed shortly
afterwards by the weeping Hannah and his own domestics, who carried
with them all the little property which had been bequeathed to her by
her mistress.  One treasure the faithful servant bore herself, and
that was the roll of parchment that contained the writings of St.
Matthew.  Mary had desired her to give it to Naomi, with her dying
love and blessing, when she believed that she was sinking, and should
not live to see her face on that sad night which had left such traces
of sorrow on the hearts of all those who came to bid her farewell.
Naomi received the gift with grateful joy, and carefully concealed it
from every eye.  It was a possession which she had long and earnestly
coveted, and she thanked her Heavenly Father for thus mercifully
providing her with the rich consolation of the inspired Gospel
history, at the very time when she expected so soon to be deprived of
all human support and human instruction.  For the present all the
plans for the departure of Amaziah and his family were laid aside.
No fears for their own safety could induce them to leave the city
while Theophilus remained a captive; but everything was held in
readiness for the journey, at any moment when they could obtain his
freedom.

The day was passed in various and ineffectual efforts to interest the
chief priests and other leading men in his behalf.  Even Zadok, the
zealous and devoted priest, so distinguished for his own strict
observance of the law, was seen a suppliant for the pardon of the
Nazarene youth; but no concession was obtained, further than a
promise that he should be examined concerning his faith; and that no
steps should be taken against him until he was proved to be guilty.
And even then, if he would acknowledge his error, and publicly
renounce it, he should, in consideration of his uncle's virtues, and
the respect which was entertained for him, be liberated, and suffered
to leave the country.  Mary was not unmindful of her promise to exert
her influence with Isaac, and had his heart been less hard and his
prejudices less violent, her tears and entreaties must have
prevailed.  He was president of the self-elected council, on whose
decree hung the life or death of all who were seized on suspicion of
heresy, and consequently his judgment would greatly affect the result
of the trial.  But he was a bloodthirsty and impenetrable man, with
whom power and riches and political ascendancy were the only objects
of life.  It was to forward these views, and obtain these objects,
that he had stooped to seek the favour of the rich and beautiful
Mary; and it was the fear of losing them that alone made him listen
to her arguments with patience, and affect to reply to them with
candour and gentleness.  He deceived her into the belief that he
would be Theophilus's friend, and with sincere joy she reported her
imagined success to Claudia, whose spirits rose with greater
elasticity than those of Naomi.  Her judgment was less correct than
that of her friend, and her spirit more volatile; and while Naomi
rejoiced to see her cherishing these hopes, she herself did not dare
to entertain them.

The day of trial arrived; and Zadok, in virtue of his priestly
office, obtained admission to the council-chamber.  It would not have
been prudent, even had it been possible, for Amaziah to be present;
and he remained with his anxious and almost despairing wife, and the
kind and sympathising Salome.  Claudia's agitation during these hours
of agonizing suspense amounted almost to distraction.  She wandered
about the house and garden in restless impatience, followed always by
her gentle and strong-minded friend, who soothed her irritation,
checked her unfounded and sudden hopes, and again supported and
cheered her when sinking to despair.

At length the voice of Zadok was heard in the vestibule; and all
hastened to meet him, and read in his countenance the destruction or
the confirmation of all their hopes.  Claudia sprang towards him, and
sank at his knees, in such an imploring attitude as if she were
pleading to him for the life of her beloved Theophilus.

"Speak, Zadok!" she cried, "tell me if----"

She could not finish the sentence.  She could not ask whether he who
was so dear to her was condemned to death.  Zadok looked on her with
pity, and replied:--

"Do not abandon yourself to despair, dear Claudia.  Theophilus,
indeed, is not acquitted; we could not anticipate that.  But no
sentence of condemnation is yet pronounced, and time is given him.
His sentiments may change, or we may yet work on his judges to
release him, and banish him from the country.  Believe me, all that I
can do in his favour shall be done."

The latter part of the sentence was lost on Claudia.  She saw that
the fate of Theophilus was sealed, for it depended on his adherence
to his religion, which she knew that nothing would ever shake.  The
dreadful conviction rushed upon her mind that she should never again
behold him, and her senses forsook her.  Sympathy for her misery
diverted the attention of her sorrowing friends; but they all felt a
sickening dread of what must follow, and envied the unconsciousness
of Claudia.  But she soon returned to a sense of the blow which had
stunned her, and none could speak comfort to her breaking heart.  The
parents of Theophilus supported their affliction with more calmness;
but it was not less deeply felt.  They had learned to look on sorrow
as a necessary ingredient in the cup of life, and they could meekly
bow to the dispensation of their Heavenly Father, knowing that every
event was in his hand, and that their enemies could do nothing but
what was overruled and ordained by Him.  But sorrow was not forbidden
them, and deeply they grieved for the apprehended loss of their
amiable and well-beloved son.  Javan was present at the council, but
he had not on this occasion taken his seat as one of the members.  He
wished to appear impartial, and forbore to take any part in the trial
of his relative; but Isaac knew his sentiments, and there was no fear
that either he or any of the counsellors would be too lenient.  The
prisoner was brought forth to answer to the charge made against him,
and accused of heresy and idolatry.  He replied with firmness and
eloquence, and admirably did he set forth and maintain the blessed
doctrines of Christianity.  He completely denied all the evil
tendency with which those doctrines were charged, and indignantly
repelled the foul accusation of idolatry; but openly professed
himself a disciple of the despised Jesus, and exulted in the name of
Nazarene.  His judges were astonished at his boldness, but it only
made them more resolved to destroy one who could so powerfully plead
the cause of the religion which they hated.

All were unanimous in their opinion that Theophilus was worthy of
death, and had it not been for the urgent and powerful entreaties of
Zadok, the fatal sentence would have been pronounced upon him
immediately.  But his uncle's intercessions obtained for him a
reprieve of one week, during which time he promised to use all his
efforts to induce him to renounce Christianity.  Should he be
successful, the full acquittal of the prisoner was pledged; but if
Theophilus proved obdurate, even Zadok's influence must fail to
procure any mercy for him.  Isaac affected to plead for him, that a
longer delay might be granted, but it was with so little warmth, that
it was evident his words were contrary to his wishes, and the
undaunted prisoner saw that his fate was sealed.  He was remanded to
the dungeon from whence he had been brought; but ere he retired Zadok
approached him, and embraced him with the greatest affection.  He
whispered to him words of hope, which sank unheeded on the ear of
Theophilus, for he knew that hope was gone in this world, and all he
sought was heavenly strength to support him to the last.

"The Lord be merciful to you, my son," said Zadok, "and give you
understanding and power to employ the short period of trial which is
granted you, in repenting of your errors and returning to the truth.
I will visit you daily, and I will supply you with all the holy
writings which are calculated to remove the unhappy errors into
which, through the wiles of Satan, you have fallen.  Now I must
hasten home, and tell your anxious friends that yet there is hope,
and that it rests with yourself to pronounce the word that shall
restore you to them and to liberty."

"Nay, dear uncle," replied Theophilus, "do not seek to deceive my
parents.  Tell them not to fear that their son will act the part of a
hypocrite----"

"Cease, Theophilus," interrupted Zadok, "you will be overheard by
those who will misinterpret your words.  Farewell.  I will say to
Claudia that she may yet be happy.  For her sake consider, and be
wise."

Theophilus shook his head mournfully.  The name of Claudia had
pierced his heart, but it had not shaken his resolution; and he
steadily followed his guards, who now came to conduct him to his
cell.  Javan did not accompany his father home.  He dreaded to meet
the reproaches of Claudia and his relatives, and he therefore allowed
Zadok to carry to them the tidings of what had occurred.  He knew
that the part which he had taken in his cousin's apprehension was
more than suspected by his family, though he had not acknowledged it,
and therefore he felt himself to be the object of their just
indignation.  He also wished to avoid beholding the sorrow which he
had brought on them, lest it should shake his purpose; and he thought
himself bound in conscience to show no mercy to a Nazarene, unless he
would abjure his creed.  He would have rejoiced if Theophilus could
thus have been brought to a public recantation; but he did not hope
it, for there was something in his cousin's character, and in his
demeanour during the trial, that told him he would defy death rather
than renounce his opinions.  Zadok was far more sanguine.  He hoped
everything from his own efforts to convince his nephew of his folly,
especially when every feeling of the prisoner's heart would plead so
powerfully in support of his arguments; and therefore he persisted in
speaking cheerfully to his afflicted family, and vainly trying to
inspire them with hopes which none but himself entertained.

Mary had eagerly inquired what part Isaac had taken during the trial,
and whether he had performed his promise of befriending Theophilus.
She was ill satisfied with the replies of Zadok; and when the
president visited her on the following day, she reproached him
sharply for not having acted more decidedly.  Isaac was irritated,
but he dared not show his anger, for he knew the quick and
ungovernable feelings of Mary, and while so much which was important
to him hung on her favour, he thought it wiser to conciliate her by
fresh assurances and unmeaning professions.

The lady of Bethezob had taken up the cause of Theophilus, and she
was resolved not to abandon it.  She told Isaac that she knew it
would be in his power to procure his liberation, and that if he did
not give her that proof of his affection, she would break off her
engagement altogether, and never see him more.  Her will had always
been a law to those around her, and she would never unite herself to
a man who refused to comply with so reasonable, so humane a request.
The counsellor was greatly alarmed at this declaration, which
threatened the demolition of all his covetous projects, and the
disappointment of all his schemes, which were founded on the hope of
possessing Mary's wealth.  He therefore began seriously to consider
whether it would not be his more prudent plan to sacrifice the desire
of adding another victim to those who were so soon to seal their
faith with their blood; and by obtaining the pardon of Theophilus, to
secure to himself the hand and the rich heritage of the widow of
Bethezob.  His selfish cupidity came in the stead of more generous
feelings to make him act the part of a friend towards Theophilus, and
he left Mary with a solemn oath that he would not rest until he had
accomplished all that she desired.

Isaac hastened from the presence of his betrothed to seek Javan, and
immediately informed him of the warm interest which Mary took in the
fate of the prisoner, and her positive assertion that the union which
he so greatly desired, should depend on the result of his efforts to
release him.  The counsellor had not doubted that his friend would
sympathise in his feelings, and gladly join in any measures that
would bring the wealth of Eleazar's daughter into the power of one of
his own partisans, and thus forward his grand object of bringing
Simon to take the command of the city.  But Isaac judged of Javan by
himself, and therefore he was mistaken.  Javan was a zealous Pharisee
and a furious bigot; but in all his conduct, however blamable, he was
actuated by what he called religious principle.  Self-interest had
little weight with him; and though he would have shed the blood of
thousands to promote the imaginary honour of God or the glory of his
beloved country, he would have scorned to act contrary to the
dictates of his conscience to further the personal views either of
himself or his friends, and therefore he would not for a moment
listen to the suggestions of Isaac.  If his own feelings of dislike
towards Theophilus had incited him to greater eagerness in seeking
his apprehension, he was hardly aware of it himself; and he believed
that he was guided by holy zeal for the cause of religion, and the
preservation of his family from shame and dishonour.  And now that
his cousin was a captive, and shut up from the power of disseminating
his creed, and also from the possibility of contracting an alliance
with a heathen, was it to be expected that he would seek to liberate
him, merely to promote the aggrandizement of an individual friend?
He spurned the idea, and assured Isaac that nothing but Theophilus's
recantation of all his errors would induce him to plead for his
pardon; and therefore if such merciful projects now filled his
breast, the only way to accomplish them would be to persuade the
heretic to return to the true faith, which he feared would never be
effected.

This was almost a deathblow to Isaac's hopes, but all his reiterated
arguments were unable to shake the stern resolve of Javan; and he
proceeded to try whether he could exert more influence over others of
the council, and thus bring a majority to adopt his views.  With a
very few he prevailed, by promised bribes, so far as to obtain a
promise that they would not consent to the death of Theophilus; but
the rest were too much in Javan's interest, and also too much
exasperated against the Nazarenes, to feel any inclination to forego
their cruel purpose out of regard to Isaac.

The days passed rapidly away, and the period appointed for the
decision of the fate of Theophilus was almost expired.  The morrow
would be the eventful day; and all the inmates of Zadok's house were
absorbed in anxiety and grief.  Zadok had visited his nephew
constantly, and spent hours in long and patient argument with him,
but all in vain.  Each evening he returned harassed and distressed;
and again each day he set forth with renewed hopes of success in his
work of mercy.  Amaziah would have persuaded him to forbear his
visits, for he knew that his faithful and beloved son would regret
that his remaining days should thus be interrupted, and his own pious
meditations thus broken in upon.  He did not fear that Theophilus
would be influenced in the least degree by all that Zadok might urge
upon him, for he knew that his faith was strong, and was founded on
the Rock of Ages; and therefore all his hopes for the life of his son
had expired from the moment that he heard the conditions which had
been proposed to him.  Yet he still wept and prayed before the Lord,
with his afflicted wife and family; for he said, "Who can tell
whether the Lord will be gracious to me, that my son may live?"  It
was from God, and not from man, that he ventured to look for aid; and
it was only in accordance with his will that he wished to obtain it.
Better far, he knew it would be, that his only son should "depart and
be with the Lord," than that by sinfully denying him, he should
obtain a prolongation of his earthly life, and lose the life eternal.
Judith had grace and strength vouchsafed her to join in all her pious
and high-minded husband's feelings; but Claudia, the poor
heart-broken Claudia, was tossed to and fro by contending and most
afflicting emotions.  Sorely was she tempted and tried; and her faith
almost gave way.  Could it be true religion, she thought, which thus
brought its professors into such straits and sorrows?  Could it be
true religion that demanded the sacrifice of one so good, so valuable
as Theophilus, and led him to choose shame and death, and to leave
those whose happiness was bound up in him to hopeless misery and
desolation?  Why should he not speak the word, and return to bless
her with his presence?  The Father Almighty had been the author of
Judaism, and why should Theophilus die an ignominious death, rather
than return to the religion in which he had been brought up?  Weak
and inefficient as these reasonings were, they had power to agitate
the mind of Claudia, enfeebled by sorrow and anxiety.  Her better
feelings told her that such thoughts were both sinful and irrational;
and yet she could not entirely conquer them, or still the repinings
of her bursting heart.  To Naomi she dared not breathe such doubts,
for she felt how they would be condemned by her stronger-minded and
more devoted friend; but to Salome she expressed her feelings, and
even ventured to propose that she should herself address a letter to
Theophilus, and send it by the hand of Zadok when he paid him his
last visit that evening.  She knew the power which she possessed over
his affections, and she deceived herself into believing that she was
right in employing it for the preservation of his life.

Salome gladly heard her express this wish, and hastened to
communicate it to her husband, who warmly approved the plan, and
urged Claudia to omit no persuasions which might possibly work on the
feelings of Theophilus, and induce him to abandon his present
determination to brave the worst that the council could threaten,
rather than deny his belief in the Nazarene.  With renewed hopes but
with a trembling hand, the mistaken girl sat down to address her
unhappy Theophilus.  Carried away by her own feelings, she suffered
herself to become an instrument in the hand of Satan, to tempt the
being whom she loved so devotedly to sacrifice his immortal soul for
the sake of dwelling a few short years with her on earth!  How does
the father of lies ofttimes transform himself into an angel of light,
and beguile the hearts and understandings of those who do not resist
his first whispers, to believe that they are doing God's work, when
all the while they are seconding the efforts of his arch-enemy!

Claudia was long in composing her letter.  What words could she find
sufficiently eloquent to plead with Theophilus for his own life?  At
length it was finished; and many were the tears which fell on the
parchment, and blotted out the words as soon as they were inscribed;
but these tears would speak to the heart of him whom she addressed
more powerfully than anything she could write: and the epistle was
rolled up and carefully secured with a silken cord and a seal.  She
breathed a prayer for its success as she delivered it into the hand
of Zadok: but at that moment the voice of conscience spoke loudly to
her heart, and she felt a pang of doubt and fear whether she had
acted the part of a servant of God, and whether the object of all her
affections would not despise her for her weakness.  She trembled with
nervous indecision, and whilst she paused and hesitated whether to
recall the important letter, Zadok passed quickly from the house, and
it was too late.  Did she not experience a momentary joy that it was
no longer in her power to prevent the manuscript from reaching the
hand and eye of Theophilus?  She did; but her satisfaction was
succeeded quickly by such agonising feelings of remorse and dread
that she could hardly support them.  Salome could now be no comfort
to her, for she could not sympathise in the self-reproach which so
suddenly overpowered her, as the conviction pressed upon her mind
that she had been a traitor to the "Lord who bought her," and had
endeavoured to draw Theophilus into the same dreadful crime.  Mary of
Bethezob ridiculed her fears, and would have repeated all the
arguments by which poor Claudia had persuaded herself to commit the
deed which she now so deeply repented: but she would not listen to
her--her eyes were opened to a sense of her sin and weakness, and she
saw the fallacy of all her reasonings, and the selfishness which had
led her to prefer her own happiness to the salvation of her beloved
Theophilus.  She would listen no longer to the voice of the tempter,
but hurried away to search for Naomi, and unburden her oppressed
heart to that judicious and most faithful friend.  She found her with
Judith engaged in humble and fervent prayer for the object of their
anxiety; and oh! how was her spirit pierced, and what shame and
sorrow did she feel, as she entered the chamber, and heard the
concluding words of supplication uttered by Naomi, in a tone of the
deepest feeling and most perfect resignation!--".....And oh! most
gracious Lord, while, in submission to thy will, we humbly implore
thee to look upon our sorrow and turn it into joy, we would yet more
earnestly desire that thou wouldst be with the soul of our beloved
and afflicted brother, to strengthen him against the temptations that
may sorely beset him in this hour of trial.  May no fear of death, no
thoughts of early affections intrude to weaken his holy resolution,
or shake his faith in thee, Lord Jesus.  Thou hast called him to
thyself.  Oh! uphold him with thy right hand, that his footsteps
slide not; and whether in life or in death, may he glorify thee, and
confess thy name; that so, if thou seest fit to take him from us
here, it may be our blessed privilege to meet him again before thy
throne, as one who has confessed thee before men, and whom thou wilt
confess before thy Father in heaven."

"Amen, amen," responded Judith fervently, while tears coursed down
her wan and woe-worn cheeks, and sobs burst from her troubled breast.
"Let my son be safe in thy everlasting arms for eternity--and teach
this rebellious heart to resign him cheerfully to thee, from whom the
blessing came!"

Pale and motionless Claudia remained, until Naomi and Judith rose
from their knees.  She could not bow down with them, and join in a
prayer that breathed a spirit so contrary to the action into which
she had just been betrayed.  She would have given worlds to recall
the fatal letter.  She now felt convinced that its only result would
be to lower her in the opinion of Theophilus, and perhaps to destroy
his affection for her.  She ceased to imagine that her arguments and
persuasions would shake the resolution that was founded on so pure a
faith, and strengthened by the prayers of those who were ready to
sacrifice so much from love to the Saviour, and regard to the honour
of his name.

"Come hither, my daughter," said Judith, in a voice of tender
commiseration, as she looked on her agitated countenance; "come
hither, and learn to take comfort from the Source where I have sought
and found it.  Your trial is heavy indeed: perhaps it is even harder
for you to bear this affliction than for me; for I shall yet, by
God's mercy, have an affectionate and beloved husband to share my
sorrows; and you, my poor Claudia, you will, alas! be very desolate.
Nevertheless, there is one Comforter who will never leave you.  That
'Friend who sticketh closer than a brother' is ever near to support
and strengthen you; and leaning on his Almighty arm, you may bear
even the coming hour without repining."

Claudia threw herself into the arms of Judith, and exclaimed, "I have
cast off that friend!  Oh! my mother, I have been a traitor to Him,
and he will sustain me no longer."

"My child," replied Judith, "grief has caused your reason to forsake
you.  Why do you utter such dreadful words?  How can you have cast
off the Lord, whose service is a delight to you?"

"I have done worse, Judith," said Claudia, shuddering, and fixing on
her a look of such wild grief as terrified both her and Naomi.  "Do
not interrupt me; I will tell you all, and then you will curse me,
and cast me from you, and earth and heaven will abhor me!"

"Cease, dearest Claudia," cried Naomi, approaching the unhappy girl,
who shrunk from her as if she felt unworthy of the sympathy of one so
pure and good as her friend appeared in her eyes; "compose yourself,
for you are labouring under some painful delusion.  Why did I let you
leave us this morning, and not follow you and bring you back to
Judith?  I thought you were with my mother, and that her kind
sympathy would soothe your mind."

"Why did I leave you, indeed, Naomi!" replied Claudia; "you would
have saved me from this crime.  Let me speak it all, for my heart
will break if I do not confess my sin.  I have written a letter to
Theophilus, and ere this he has received and read it.  I have
implored him for my sake to deny his Redeemer,--for my sake to make a
profession of returning to Judaism!  I told him that he would be my
murderer if he spoke the word that would seal his condemnation
to-morrow.  Oh!  I said more than all that--I sought to make myself
his idol, and to cause his love for one so despicable to stand
between him and his God!  He will not heed my guilty ravings, for he
is too holy to be infected with such base weakness.  But he will
loathe me, and despise me as I deserve; and when he is a pure and
blessed saint in heaven, I shall have lost the only consolation that
could have remained to me--that of knowing that his heart was mine
until it ceased to beat; and hoping that when mine was cold in death
my spirit might soar above, and join him in those realms of peace
which Jesus Christ has promised to those who are _faithful to the
end_."

Judith and Naomi were filled with horror and alarm at this passionate
declaration of Claudia's.  They grieved deeply that she should have
fallen into such a snare of the evil one, and thus have added another
and a most bitter trial to those which now surrounded Theophilus.
They did not apprehend that his faith would be shaken in the
slightest degree; but they knew that nothing could make death so
dreadful to him as the belief that Claudia was wavering and unsteady
in the religion which he had delighted to teach her, and that when he
was no longer at her side, she might sink back into comparative
darkness and unbelief.  The depth and sincerity of her repentance
were most evident to them; and all they now desired was to soothe and
tranquillize her mind, and to find some means of conveying to
Theophilus the assurance that she was not so unworthy of his
affections as her recent conduct might lead him to suppose.

When by their affectionate efforts they had succeeded in calming the
violent emotion of their self-condemned and humbled young friend, and
convincing her that she had not sinned beyond hope of pardon either
from God or man, they proceeded to consider how it would be possible
for them to have any further communication with Theophilus.  Many
difficulties presented themselves; for his place of confinement was
strictly guarded, and none could enter the building which contained
his cell but the members of the council, or those who were furnished
with an order from them.  Zadok had received such an order, that he
might have the opportunity of holding a controversy with his nephew,
and persuading him to save his life: but no other person was
permitted to visit him, and Zadok had already gone forth to seek the
final and decisive interview.  Javan had full power to enter the
prison at all times, and to converse with the captives; but how would
he ever be induced to convey such intelligence as they wished to
communicate?  He had absented himself from home almost entirely since
the fatal night when his cousin was taken prisoner; and when he did
join his family, his manner was so abstracted and reserved, that his
presence only tended to increase their unhappiness, and add to their
conviction that he was the author of all their sorrow.  In spite of
all this, Naomi resolved to make an appeal to him, and endeavour to
obtain his consent to her having an interview with Theophilus
previous to his appearance before the council on the following day.

While the three friends were engaged in this conversation, Amaziah
entered the room.  He had been absent for many hours, employed in
seeking aid from his personal friends in an enterprise which he had
determined to attempt, but had not yet confided to his wife.  He
feared to excite her hopes by telling her of a scheme which might
probably end in disappointment; and though she knew that he was
labouring to interest his friends in behalf of Theophilus, she
believed it was merely with a hope that by their means a majority of
the counsellors might be brought to give a favourable judgment.  This
was a very slender hope, and Judith put no confidence in such an
improbable result.  She almost regretted that her husband should
expose himself so much to observation, and the chance of being
apprehended, when no reasonable expectation of any advantage could
attend his exertions.  Each night when he returned home she greeted
him with joy and gratitude that another day of peril had passed away
and yet he was unharmed: and every morning when he left the house
another burden of grief and anxiety was laid upon her heart; for she
felt that he might also be betrayed into the hands of his enemies,
and share the fate of her son, notwithstanding the precaution which
he always took of being himself well armed, and attended by two or
three faithful servants, also provided with weapons.

Amaziah looked thoroughly harassed and worn out with fatigue of mind
and body when on this evening ha came home from his wanderings.  But
his countenance was more cheerful, and his voice more encouraging, as
he met the greeting of his wife with affectionate cordiality, and
replied to her anxious inquiries concerning his success, and also
whether he had met with anything to excite alarm for his own personal
safety.

"I have been somewhat cheered by the deep sympathy which is felt for
us and our dear boy by all who knew him well; and many have promised
to spare no efforts that can in any way assist our cause.  But,
Judith, do not hope much from this.  The council is composed of men
who are little disposed to listen to any voice but that of bigotry or
selfishness, and the only member of that self-elected tribunal who is
favourable to our cause is Isaac.  He sees that Mary is resolved to
abide by her declaration that the death of Theophilus shall be the
rupture of her engagement with him, and therefore he will give his
vote for mercy.  But Javan will not listen either to him or me, and
almost all the other counsellors are devoted to him.  Let us not
despair, neither let us cherish vain hopes, but say from our hearts,
'the will of the Lord be done!'"

"Yes, my dearest Amaziah, I have, by the help of the Lord, taught my
troubled spirit to rest more peacefully on His decrees, and to feel
that all is wisdom and all is love.  I believe that I can resign my
son to the Lord, and refrain from murmuring; and now my most anxious
fears are for your safety.  Tell me whether it is threatened, or
whether the best and greatest earthly blessing that God has given to
me is yet permitted to remain and comfort me in the loss of every
other?"

"I hope and believe that it is the will of God, my beloved, that we
may yet travel on through this wilderness together, to be a solace
and delight to each other, as we have hitherto been.  But I clearly
perceive that this city is no longer a place of safety for us; and
whatever it may cost us we must abandon it, and seek a distant
refuge, as soon as nothing remains to be hoped or feared for our
Theophilus.  I have been warned by several friends on whom I can
depend, and chiefly by the excellent Benjamin, that many of the
Pharisees and counsellors have resolved to effect our ruin and
destruction; and that when they have accomplished their cruel
purposes against our son, and the rest of the victims whom they now
design to glorify with the crown of martyrdom, their next step will
be to draw us into the same fate, while they believe we are
overwhelmed with sorrow, and may fall an easy prey to their malice.
They know not the power of our blessed faith to enable us to triumph
over every calamity; and to possess our souls in peace, even when the
hand of the enemy is permitted to press heavily upon us."

"O my husband, how your piety and strength of mind support and
comfort me, and put all my evil doubts and fears to shame!"

"And how they yet more abase and humble me!" added Claudia, in a
trembling voice.  "Judith, you will tell Amaziah of my sin and my
repentance, and plead with him to pardon me, as you have already
done."

Claudia's unhappy story was soon made known to Amaziah; and every
extenuation of her fault that kindness could suggest was added by her
friend, and received with equal consideration by him whose
displeasure she expected and feared, though his regret at the
misguided step she had taken was very great.  He encouraged Naomi in
her intention of seeking permission to see Theophilus, as the only
means of removing the unhappy impression which Claudia's letter must
undoubtedly produce on his upright and resolute mind; and also as the
only opportunity which might be afforded them all of conveying to him
their last assurance of undying love, and warm approbation of his
faithful and courageous conduct.  Naomi went to seek Javan, and found
him just entering the vestibule, in company with Zadok.  He listened
to her request with a stern and somewhat suspicious countenance, and
demanded for what purpose it was that she sought an interview with
the prisoner.

"It is to carry a last message from my unhappy friend Claudia, and to
give him his parents' blessing.  They know that he will not purchase
life at the expense of his conscience, and before he appears to hear
his condemnation to-morrow they would wish to let him know their
sentiments."

"They are already well known to others, as well as to Theophilus,"
muttered Javan; "and they may yet have further cause to rue their
folly and imprudence.  Why should they encourage their son in his
obstinacy?" he added in a louder voice.  "Why should they wish to
urge him on to self-destruction, and compel me to be accessory to the
death of my cousin?  I would spare him if I could, but he will listen
to no terms, and make no concessions."

"I never witnessed such firmness," said Zadok, and a tear glistened
in his eye as he spoke.  "That unhappy boy has made me love and
respect him more than I ever did; even while he has grieved and
angered me by his bold declaration of unshaken belief in the divinity
of the Nazarene, and his determined opposition to all my arguments.
Truly I believed that the sensible and feeling letter which poor
Claudia addressed to him would have brought him to his senses, and
shown him the folly of consigning his family to misery for the sake
of his wild, unfounded notions.  But no; he read it with tears, but
they were tears of grief and disappointment, and not of natural
sympathy.  He showed me the letter; and as he put it in my hand he
exclaimed, 'Here is the bitterness of death, when those who love me
best prove false to the holy faith which supports me!'  From that
moment sorrow took possession of his countenance, and he would listen
to nothing which I was prepared to urge.  I was forced to leave him
far more depressed than I have ever seen him; and if you, Naomi, can
say ought to lighten the load on his spirit, I will join with you in
requesting your brother to give you an order to visit him.  He is
resolved to die, but I cannot bear that his last moments should thus
be clouded with fresh sorrow."

"Oh yes!" cried Naomi, "I can chase away those clouds, and make him
calm again.  Dear Javan, do not refuse my prayer, but grant to
Theophilus the only comfort that can now avail to cheer him.  If I
could hope to move you to yet greater mercy, I would kneel to you,
and weep till the fountain of my eyes was dried up; but I know it
will be in vain."

"Speak not to me of pleading for an apostate," said Javan, "or you
may lose the boon you have already asked.  Were I weak enough to give
way to my own feelings of compassion, my companions in the council
would better know their duty to God and man than to join me.  The
life of Theophilus is justly forfeited; but whatever may make his
doom more tolerable I will gladly consent to.  Swear to me that you
have no design for aiding his escape, and I will let you see him."

"I have no object, Javan, but to act as a messenger from his friends.
Would to God that they also might visit him!"

"No, Naomi, I am acting contrary to the express orders of the council
in permitting any of his relatives, except our revered father, to
hold any intercourse with him.  It would only add to their own danger
to attempt it.  If you wish to go to the prison this evening, you
must not delay, for night is closing in, and in another hour the
prison will be shut, and the gates will not be opened on any pretext
until after sunrise."

Javan went to prepare the necessary order for Naomi; and she was
hastening to communicate to her anxious friends the result of her
errand, when Zadok recalled her.

"Here, my child," he said, "take this letter to Claudia, and tell her
that Theophilus bade me say he would have written to her, but he did
not possess the means.  He told me to give her his most faithful love
and dying benediction, and to say that he would try to forget she had
written the letter which had caused him more sorrow than anything he
had suffered since last he saw her.  He said much more, but my own
opinions forbid me to repeat the language which in his mistaken zeal
he uttered.  You will see him yourself; and I only pray that his
present situation may act as a warning to you, Naomi, and deter you
from persisting in a course which may lead to a repetition of such
misery, and cause inexpressible sorrow to your dear mother and to me."

Naomi received the letter, and in silence withdrew, and hurried to
the apartment where Claudia was waiting her return, with Amaziah and
Judith.  The agitated girl listened to the message which was sent by
Theophilus, and took the ill-advised manuscript in her hand; but
instantly threw it from her with abhorrence, and burst into an agony
of tears.

"O Naomi!" she sobbed forth, "he does forgive me, then; but I know he
despises me.  Tell him my heart is breaking, and that the loss of his
esteem was the last blow that was wanting to crush me to the earth."

"Dear Claudia," replied Naomi, "he will love you as sincerely and as
fervently as ever when he knows how true your repentance is, and
remembers that it was excess of love to him that led you to seek his
preservation in a way that your own conscience condemned.  I will go
to him, and say all that you could wish.  I strove to obtain
permission for you and his parents to see him, but Javan would not
hear of it.  Farewell for one hour, and fear not but that Theophilus
will be restored to peace by what I shall tell him."


[Illustration: Christian Ladies]




CHAPTER XVI.

Theophilus sat lonely and sad in his gloomy cell.  Death had not had
power to shake his steadfast soul, but the fear that his beloved
Claudia was not rooted and grounded in the faith had filled him with
sorrow.  He now doubly deplored his unhappy fate, which would so soon
remove him from her, and leave her perhaps a prey to doubts and
repinings.  Had he been permitted to remain with her, he felt sure he
could have brought her to a better and a more enduring state of mind.
But, alas! what is the value of a faith that will not stand the test
of trials and afflictions?  If Claudia professed to be a follower of
the Lord Jesus, because the story of his life and death interested
her feelings and touched her heart; and believed she was his disciple
because those she loved and esteemed were his devoted servants, would
such a faith save her?  Theophilus was now sorrowful indeed, and his
resource was in prayer.  He prayed for Claudia, that the Lord would
bring her to himself in sincerity and truth, though it might be with
many afflictions.  And while he was thus engaged, and deeply absorbed
in his own melancholy yet pious and confiding thoughts, a light shone
into his dark cell through the iron grating in the door, and a noise
was heard of footsteps approaching.  The bolts and locks of the heavy
door were unfastened, and to his inexpressible surprise and delight
he beheld Naomi enter.  The door was immediately closed, and she
approached him.  The greeting of the cousins was silent and very
sorrowful; for all those feelings, which they had each hitherto to
repress, were called forth at the sight of each other, and the
remembrance of all that had occurred since the sad night when they
stood together at the deathbed of Mary at Bethany.  When they had
recovered their composure Theophilus eagerly inquired about his
parents and Claudia, and listened with deep interest to the recital
of all their grief and all their faith and resignation.  Still
greater was the interest and the satisfaction which he felt at
hearing of poor Claudia's penitence, and the sorrow which her error
had occasioned her; and most grateful was he that his worst
apprehensions were thus removed, and that he could leave the world in
joyful confidence that she would follow him in the path of true
religion, and join him in a better world, as one of those who have
"washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb."

"Oh that I could once more have seen her!" he exclaimed, "that I
might have told her how truly I pardon her for the pain which her
well-meant but most mistaken effort to preserve my life has cost me.
But as that cannot be, tell her, dear Naomi, that all is forgotten;
and that the deep remorse she has felt for her temporary
unfaithfulness to her Saviour, proves to me that she will never again
forsake his fold or deny his name.  She has experienced the bitter
consequences of allowing any earthly object to interfere with her
entire devotion to Him; and I pray that His grace may never again be
taken from her, but keep her steadfast unto the end, even if she
should be called to follow me by the same dark and dreadful road
which I must so soon traverse."

"I do not fear for her resolution and her perseverance for the
future, Theophilus.  It is not personal suffering that would have
driven her to forget her Lord and Master, and act as she has done
this day.  It was her fear for you that clouded her reason, and
silenced the voice of conscience.  To save your life seemed to her
the first object; and, alas! she forgot that if she succeeded in
tempting you to comply with the blasphemous conditions of your cruel
judges, the life thus purchased would be embittered for ever, both to
herself and you.  Her eyes are opened now; and she sees and feels
that it is better to lose you here, and meet you again in that
blessed world where you will soon be united to the company of
apostles and saints and martyrs.  But, poor girl, it is a severe
trial for one so young, and whose feelings are so strong as hers.
May the Lord be her strength and her consolation!"

"Naomi," said Theophilus, "I love to hear you talk of her; but you
must forbear, lest you make life too precious to me.  Pray with me,
dear cousin, and help me thus to regain the calmness and the courage
which I felt until poor Claudia's letter came to disturb my soul, and
revive the struggle between the flesh and the spirit.  Your ardent
piety and perfect trust in God have often been my example and my
comfort in other days, less sorrowful than this, and now you are come
as an angel to bring peace to my troubled heart.  Let us kneel
together."

Naomi with great difficulty commanded her emotion, and complied with
the request of Theophilus.  They prayed to that Father who is never
slow to hear and answer the supplications of his children; and when
they rose from their knees it was with feelings of entire
resignation, and almost of joy.  Their discourse was soon interrupted
by the entrance of the keeper of the prison, who desired Naomi to
accompany him immediately, as the gates were about to be closed.  A
few parting words were all that could be uttered; and Naomi followed
her guide through the long and gloomy passages that led to the
entrance of the prison, while the tears which she had struggled to
repress while in the presence of her cousin, now flowed unchecked.
Her admiration of his faith and his humility, his tender regard for
the feelings of his friends, and his heroic resolution to bear the
cross which was laid upon him, only made her regret still more deeply
that he should be thus cut off in the flower of his days, and taken
away from those who loved him so dearly, and to whom his life was in
every way so valuable.  It was one of those mysterious dispensations
of an All-wise Providence which our understandings cannot fathom, and
in which it becomes us in humble faith to say with the Psalmist, "I
was dumb, I opened not my mouth, for it was thy doing."

Zadok had accompanied his daughter to the prison, and with several of
his attendants he now waited for her in the porch.  The state of the
city was not such as to admit of any person traversing the streets
alone and unprotected, after the shades of night had spread a veil
over the sin and violence that continually defiled that once holy
place; and Zadok also felt a vague apprehension that the same persons
who had so successfully conspired against Theophilus, might also seek
to rob him of his beloved child.  He therefore had watched and
guarded her with redoubled care ever since her conversion to
Christianity had become more generally known; and both he and Salome
lived in constant dread of a calamity which they felt would be the
death-blow to all their earthly happiness.

Naomi leaned on her father's arm, and they slowly descended the steep
and narrow street that led from the eminence on which the prison
stood.  From that situation they had an extended view of the lower
city, now clearly visible in the moonlight, and looking so calm and
so beautiful, that it was difficult to believe how much of vice and
misery and crime was lurking amid the silent streets beneath them.
The sight of a vast assemblage of human habitations without the
sounds of human life has always something in it that is melancholy,
and Naomi especially felt it so on this occasion, when her own
spirits depressed and exhausted by the effort which she had made to
sustain them during her trying interview with Theophilus.  The city
of Zion seemed sunk in sleep; and she thought with sadness how
profoundly her inhabitants were also buried in the sleep of sin and
false security, and how, by their impiety and hardness of heart, and
by the oppression and murder of the innocent they were daily filling
up the measure of their guilt, and provoking their long-suffering God
to bring upon them the fierceness of his threatened wrath.  Her
father did not interrupt her reflections, for he sympathised in her
feelings at parting with Theophilus; and his own mind was occupied
with sad thoughts also, though they differed greatly from those of
his daughter, and were unmixed with the holy consolations and
triumphant hopes that cheered her while she contemplated her cousin's
approaching fate.

The silence was broken suddenly and fearfully.  The wild deep voice
of the son of Ananus made Naomi start, and a sensation of terror ran
through her frame as she saw his unearthly form approaching with his
usual rapid strides, and heard his yet more unearthly cry, "Woe, woe
to the city! woe to Jerusalem!"

She shrunk back, and would have drawn her father into the shade of a
deep archway by which they were passing; but the mysterious prophet
had fixed his glaring eye upon them, and came directly towards the
spot where they stood.

"Woe to thee, Zadok, thou son of Aaron!" he cried.  "Woe to all thine
house! and woe to thee also gentle maid of Zion.  Thy star shall
set--but it shall rise again."  He turned away, and would have passed
on, but Zadok caught him by his loose and tattered garment, and
addressed him in a voice of kindness:

"Come home with me, thou son of Ananus; and let me give thee clothes
and food.  You utter unceasing woes against our city and our
families; but I will return thy curses with blessings, for it pains
my heart to behold a fellow creature so desolate and so miserable.
Hunger and fatigue have made you mad.  Come home with me, and cease
to terrify the women and children, and scare away their sleep by
night with such doleful sounds."

The prophet looked at Zadok, and his haggard countenance relaxed from
its usual severity and abstraction; but it was pity for him who
offered him kindness and shelter that made him pause, and not a
thought of relaxing his almost miraculous exertions, or giving repose
to his worn-out frame.

"Seek not to detain me," he exclaimed; "I have yet more woes to
proclaim.  I must tell it in the ears of every inhabitant of Zion
that woe is coming!  I see the gathering clouds--I hear the distant
thunders of Jehovah's wrath--and I must forewarn my countrymen of the
coming storm.  Save yourselves, oh ye that be wise!  But it is too
late--the decree is gone forth!  I hear it now--A voice from the
east!  A voice from the west!  A voice from the four winds--crying,
Woe, woe, to Jerusalem!"

He broke from Zadok's grasp with the unnatural strength of a maniac,
and wildly fled up the street till he reached the prison walls, when
again he took up his fearful note, and woke the inmates of the gloomy
pile from their temporary forgetfulness of care and sorrow.  This
encounter did not cheer the spirits of Naomi: she remembered the
denunciations which the son of Ananus had addressed so pointedly to
Claudia, and felt how the woes which he had prophesied had been
fulfilled; and she could not banish from her mind the impression that
further sorrows were hanging over her father and her family.  Claudia
was anxiously waiting to receive her on her return, and with Amaziah
and Judith she was cheered, though deeply affected, at the account of
Theophilus's peace and resignation.  His message of forgiveness and
love to poor Claudia awoke all her sorrow, though it relieved her
heart of a heavy burden, and animated her to resolutions of future
devotion to the cause for which Theophilus was about to resign his
life.

The morning dawned, and found the anxious party still assembled
together and still conversing on the same deeply interesting subject.
The final appearance of the prisoner before his hard-hearted judges
was to take place at noon; and long before that hour Amaziah left the
house, telling Judith that he was going to make the last effort for
the preservation of their son, but warning her to cherish no hopes of
his success.  Zadok also went forth with Javan and Isaac, to be
present at the meeting of the council, which was to be held in a
large hall adjoining the prison; and Mary once more declared to her
affianced husband, privately and solemnly, that if he did not return
to announce the acquittal of Theophilus, she would never see him
more.  She had lately begun to doubt the sincerity of his affection,
and she resolved that he should give her this proof of his devotion
to her wishes, or lose the prize he so eagerly coveted.

The council assembled, and having gone through the preliminary forms
which they had themselves instituted, the president commanded the
Nazarene prisoner to be brought forth.  Zadok almost regretted that
he had entered the hall when he saw his noble and undaunted kinsman
appear, for his feelings of pity and admiration were painfully
excited; and he knew that it was all in vain to raise his single
voice in his favour.  Isaac demanded of the prisoner whether the
mercy of the court in allowing him time for repentance had been
effectual: and whether he was now prepared to abjure his errors, and
publicly to acknowledge that Jesus of Nazareth was an impostor, who
had suffered the due reward of his crimes and seditions.

A holy indignation sparkled in the eyes of Theophilus at this
blasphemous question.  He paused a moment to subdue his rising
spirit; and then, with a calmness and dignity that impressed even his
enemies who thirsted for his blood, he replied:--

"Isaac, may God forgive you and your accomplices in this day's guilt,
for the insult you have dared to utter.  By his grace I declare that
Jesus of Nazareth is the Son of the Most High God, the expected
Messiah, and the Saviour of the world.  His death was the sacrifice
appointed by his Father before the foundation of the world, to
expiate the sins of all mankind: and it was brought about by the
pride, cruelty, and unbelief of the Jews, who with wicked hands did
crucify and slay him.  I have given myself to Him who died for me, to
be saved and pardoned and glorified by his grace; and shall death
affright me from him?  Oh no; his love is present with me now, and
dearer is that love to me than all this world can offer!"

"Is this your final declaration, Theophilus?" asked Javan, with a
look of great anxiety: "are you so resolved to perish both in body
and soul, and to be cut off eternally from the portion of Israel?"

"O Javan!" replied the prisoner, "I will say to you, are you still
thus hardened against the truth, and determined to despise the
salvation of the Lord?  The drowning man, who has grasped a powerful
arm to save him from destruction, does not wantonly abandon his hope;
and I have found an Almighty arm, to which I cling for salvation from
my sins, and from their eternal punishment.  Shall I idly loose my
hold, and fall back into the billows and deep waters out of which I
have been rescued?  No, Javan, no! heaven is before me and I will not
look back.  The final step is fearful to flesh and blood; but His rod
and His staff shall comfort me.  All the favour that I now crave at
your hands is, that I may be disturbed no more by questions or
arguments, but left alone with my God and Saviour, until ye come to
liberate my soul, and send it forth to meet Him in a purer state.
From my heart I forgive you all; and my farewell to you is a prayer,
that when you come to face death as nearly as I now do, you may have
found the same all-powerful and all-merciful Guide who now leads me
on, and gives me strength and victory."

A murmur ran round the court, and some voices were heard expressing
pity and admiration for the young and ardent prisoner.  Zadok boldly
pleaded for his release, and Isaac leaned strongly to the side of
mercy; but they could urge nothing to change the stern decree of the
council, that every convicted follower of Jesus should be put to
death.  The very eloquence and bold confession of Theophilus only
spoke his own condemnation, and proved how dangerous and zealous a
disciple of the Nazarene they had it in their power to destroy.

A division took place, and loud and angry words were heard, while
Theophilus looked calmly on, for he saw that his fate was decided.
Suddenly the doors of the hall were thrown open with violence, and
Amaziah appeared at the head of a numerous and well-armed band: he
looked eagerly round the apartment, and instantly broke through every
obstacle, and springing to the spot where his beloved son was
standing, caught him in his arms, crying, "I will save you or die, my
son!"

The tumult became general, for Isaac, without openly joining the
party of Amaziah, used every effort to increase the confusion, and
give him a better chance of success.  Zadok forgot his priestly
character, and all his former prejudices against the Nazarenes, in
the hope of rescuing his nephew; and he with his arm and his voice
encouraged those who surrounded and defended him.  It was a moment of
intense feeling for Theophilus; all the ties of nature and affection
resumed their hold on his heart, and hope once more revived that life
and liberty might be granted.

Before Javan left his home that morning, one of Mary's servants had
requested to speak with him in private.  It was Reuben, the same who
had revealed to Isaac the conversation which he had overheard in the
garden between Naomi and Claudia, and which had led to much sin and
sorrow, he had now come on a similar errand of treachery, to betray
to Javan the plans that were in agitation for the rescue of his
cousin: he told him that Isaac had conferred with Amaziah several
days ago, and had promised to befriend his son in every way that was
consistent with his own character, though he found it hopeless to
persuade his coadjutors to pronounce hie pardon.  Trusting to his
promises, which were secured by self-interest, Amaziah eagerly
concerted with him a scheme, which appeared to give the only chance
of saving Theophilus, though at the same time it involved
considerable danger to his father.  Several of his friends were
induced to lend their aid; and though fear for their own safety
prevented their joining in the enterprise, yet they placed their
domestics and armed retainers at the disposal of Amaziah, and he
entered the hall with a force quite sufficient to effect his purpose.

But treason had counteracted all his plans.  Javan had taken
advantage of the information which Reuben had deceitfully obtained,
and had placed a strong body of troops in ambush among the walls of
the prison, ready to rush in and attack Amaziah and his followers in
the rear.  Reuben was at hand to summon them, and when Javan saw that
all his uncle's men had entered the hall, he made a sign to him, and
in a few moments the troops were at the door.  Their numbers were
greatly superior to those of Amaziah's party, and the contest was
soon ended.  The prisoner was secured, and borne away again by a
private entrance to his dungeon, before his distracted father was
aware that all hope was gone.  His indignation and grief then broke
forth with violence, and he reproached the council with their
injustice and cruelty, in language that was not likely to pass
unnoticed or unrevenged.  Zadok feared for his brother's safety; and
as nothing further could now be hoped for the unfortunate Theophilus,
he led, or rather forced him from the hall, while the exasperated
members of the council regarded him with looks of rage, which they
were only deterred from openly demonstrating by respect for Zadok,
and fear of offending Javan.  When the brothers had left the hall,
followed by all the band who had accompanied Amaziah, Isaac desired
that the business of the day might be resumed, and that the rest of
the Nazarene prisoners (whose fate had been delayed until Theophilus
could be added to their number) might be brought up for final
condemnation.  The President had been astonished at the sudden and
unexpected appearance of the troops, whose services Javan had so
promptly obtained, and having also observed the dark countenance of
Reuben among the servants who kept the door, he began to suspect that
the enterprise of Amaziah had been betrayed, and that his own share
in it might also be known by his brethren in the council.  Such a
discovery would infallibly destroy all his political power, and
deprive him of the confidence and esteem of Javan, which was founded
on his character for religious zeal and firmness of purpose.  To
obviate all injurious impressions which might have been made by the
reports of Reuben, he now resolved to show a determined severity
towards the ill-fated prisoners who were to hear their condemnation
from his lips; and rather to risk the loss of Mary's favour than
subject himself to the suspicion of being a friend to Theophilus, or
any convicted Nazarene.

The entrances to the prison and the hall were carefully closed and
guarded before the prisoners were summoned, to prevent the
possibility of a rescue being again attempted; and the officers and
keepers of the prison soon appeared leading the unoffending victims,
bound with chains and fetters.  They were eight in number, besides
Theophilus, of different ages, both male and female,--some in the
bloom of youth and some bowed down with age and infirmity and
suffering, but all inspired with one feeling and strengthened by one
hope.  They had already declared their firm and unalterable belief in
the divinity of Jesus of Nazareth, and no further examination now
took place, except a formal offer of pardon if they would renounce
this belief, which was decidedly rejected by each in turn.  The
sentence of death was pronounced by Isaac; and the prisoners were
informed that no delay would be allowed, and that they must prepare
for execution at the dawn of day on the morrow.  They were condemned
to be beheaded in prison; and at the suggestion of Javan a clause was
added that their bodies should be exposed on the walls of the
building, and then carried to the valley of Hinnom, and burnt in the
fires which were kept constantly burning there to consume the filth
and rubbish of the city.

This appeared a wanton indignity; but Javan urged that it was
necessary, in order to prevent the friends of the criminals obtaining
possession of their carcasses and performing their idolatrous rites
at their burial.  A shudder of disgust and dread might have been
perceived to run through the line of prisoners as they heard their
hasty doom announced, and thought of the loathsome place to which
their bodies would so soon be consigned; but they spoke not to plead
for a reversal of this cruel decree.  They knew that their fate was
decided, and they did not wish their crown of martyrdom to be
delayed, or to be kept longer from the place of their rest.
Theophilus turned his calm and steadfast eye on Javan when he heard
him propose that one of his own kinsmen should be treated with an
indignity which would not have been offered to the meanest Jewish
beggar; and he met the gaze of his cousin fixed on him with an
expression of concern and interest that only surprised him the more.
Javan had attained the object for which he had been labouring and
intriguing so long; and now that Theophilus was in his power, he
almost regretted that his principles compelled him to complete his
revenge.  He hastily desired that the prisoners might be removed, and
all placed in separate cells.  No sooner was this order obeyed, than
the fierceness of his countenance returned; and rising from his seat
he began to denounce Isaac as a traitor to his religion and his
party, and proceeded to state all the particulars which he had heard
from Reuben of his double-dealing and his conspiracy with Amaziah for
the rescue of an accursed apostate.  Javan spoke with violence, as if
to work up his own feelings of anger against Theophilus and all who
wished to save his life; and he succeeded in exciting those of his
colleagues.  Isaac would have denied the charge brought against him;
but Javan compelled his informer unwillingly to appear and swear to
the truth of his statement, when he detailed so minutely the
conversation which he had overheard between Amaziah and the
President, and also the orders which he had himself received from
Isaac to procure the services of some men on whom he could depend,
and conduct them to Amaziah on the appointed morning, that no doubt
remained of his guilt.  He saw that his reputation and influence were
gone, and after a sharp altercation with Javan, he left his seat and
hurried from the hall.  A short time he was shut up in a private room
in his own house, while his servants guarded the door, and then he
delivered a letter to his most confidential attendant, and gave
orders for the removal of all his valuable goods to a place of
security which he pointed out.  This done, he armed himself
completely, and, followed by such of his domestics as had consented
to accompany him, he left the house, and pursued the most obscure and
unfrequented paths that led to the temple.  In this holy edifice the
Zealots and Idumeans were still established and fortified, and at the
outer gate he presented himself, and demanded to speak with John of
Gischala, the valiant leader of the party.

He was speedily admitted to the presence of the wily John, but his
attendants were detained in an outer court until the will of the
chief should be made known.  Isaac's story was listened to with great
satisfaction by John; and his offers of alliance were gladly
received, for he was known to be a man of power and abilities, and
his desertion of the popular party, as it was then called, was an
event of considerable importance.  The bitterness with which he spoke
of his former friends was a guarantee to John that an impassable gulf
had now separated them, and his quick discernment enabled him to
discover and profit by the irritated feelings of his new ally.  He
had brought with him all the portable wealth which he possessed, and
which was very considerable; so that in all respects he was a most
welcome ally.

His desertion to the opposing party was soon known to Javan and his
colleagues, and they immediately pronounced him a traitor, and
confiscated his house and property to the use of the state--as they
styled their own self-constituted authority--but they found little of
value remaining in the building.  The servants had removed everything
that they could carry, not to place it in security for their master,
but to appropriate to their own use; and the house was left desolate
and empty.  The letter which Isaac had entrusted to his favourite
domestic was faithfully delivered to Mary, his affianced bride, but
it failed to produce the effect which he had designed.  It contained
a vehement entreaty that she would follow him to the temple, and in
that sacred place unite herself to him for ever.  He urged that his
love for her, and desire to comply with her wishes, had been the sole
cause of his present distress; but that if she would keep her
plighted faith and join him with all her riches, he doubted not they
could find means to escape together from Jerusalem, and enjoy wealth
and happiness in some more favoured clime.

Mary of Bethezob had agreed to unite herself to Isaac when he was in
power and a high station, but she had no regard for him that was
strong enough to tempt her to take such a step as he proposed.  She
replied to his letter with a decided rejection of all his plans, and
a declaration that she should adhere to her resolution of seeing him
no more, since he had failed to procure the liberty of Theophilus.
Her letter was delivered to his servant, who immediately followed his
master to the temple, and attached himself to the party which he had
espoused.  Javan's indignation at the conduct of Isaac was very
great: he had placed considerable confidence in him; and had revealed
to him many particulars of his secret intercourse with Simon, and his
intentions of inviting him into the city as soon as he could
sufficiently prepare the way for his reception by the popular party.
All these designs he knew would now be disclosed to his bitter enemy,
John of Gischala, who might, by his craft or his power, be enabled to
frustrate them; and he resolved to hasten their execution as much as
possible, that he might bring Simon and his forces within the walls
of the city before the wily and intriguing John could have time to
concert any plans of opposition.  But he wished that Amaziah should
depart from Jerusalem before the son of Gioras was raised to the
sovereign command.  His bigotry and his revenge were sated by the
capture and condemnation of Theophilus; and the conduct of his cousin
had convinced him that threats and sufferings were ineffectual to
make the Nazarenes forsake their opinions.  He did not therefore wish
to apprehend his uncle, and have to witness the same exhibition of
fortitude and faith which had excited his admiration in Theophilus,
and the same grief and horror which his exertions for the honour of
Judaism had already caused to his parents and relatives.  What a
strange mixture of good and evil was Javan! and how entirely did his
narrow and prejudiced views of religion mar his own happiness, and
extinguish all the better feelings and more noble propensities of his
heart!

Zadok and his unhappy brother had returned to their home, after the
fruitless effort for the preservation of the prisoner.  A crowd of
persons were assembled round the door of the prison, and the cause of
the disturbance which was heard within the walls soon reached them,
and excited a great feeling of indignation against Amaziah.  The
Nazarenes were held in entire abhorrence by the populace; and the
rumour that an attempt had been made to rescue a convicted heretic
and others, to deprive them of the savage joy with which they always
hailed the execution of such victims, filled them with rage.  But
when they beheld Amaziah come forth from the porch leaning on the arm
of the holy and respected Zadok, the tide of feeling was divided.
Some of those who knew and esteemed the character of the afflicted
father, were touched by his profound but manly grief; while others
loudly assailed him with insulting epithets, as the father of an
apostate, and even as being suspected of sharing the guilt of his
son.  The presence and protection of Zadok, and the commanding manner
in which by his voice and gestures he forbade the approach of the
angry multitude, were hardly sufficient to prevent their rushing on
Amaziah, and inflicting summary vengeance on this unoffending and
almost broken-hearted man But those who pitied his sorrow united with
his own attendants and followers, and formed a strong guard around
the noble brothers, and in this manner conducted them safely to their
own dwelling, amidst the cries and insults and curses of the
infuriated mob.

The anxious inmates of Zadok's house, who sat trembling and weeping
while expecting the return of their relatives from the trial, were
startled by the shouts of the approaching multitude; and for a moment
their hopes were excited that these might be cries of joy and
triumph, to announce the acquittal of the prisoner.  But as the crowd
came nearer, they heard the curses and blasphemies that were uttered
in a loud and threatening tone; and while they felt that no hope
remained of Theophilus being free, they also feared for the safety of
those who were equally dear to them.  They hastened to the housetop,
from whence they could look down on the street below, and they were
terrified at the tumult they beheld, and at the danger which seemed
to menace both Amaziah and Zadok; for the priest himself had become
an object of temporary wrath, from his connexion with the denounced
and hated Nazarenes, and his determined efforts to protect his
brother.

Salome and her companions watched the still increasing crowd, until
the objects of their anxiety had reached the strong gates that gave
entrance into the court of the house; and when they were assured that
they had passed through, and were safe from the assaults of their
pursuers, they descended to meet them in the vestibule, and to hear
all their apprehensions most fatally confirmed with regard to their
beloved Theophilus.  They had persuaded themselves that they were
prepared for this result; but yet the shock was so severe, that it
proved how much more of hope had lingered in every breast than had
been acknowledged to each other, or even to themselves.  Claudia was
entirely unable to command herself, and she retired with Naomi to
indulge her grief, and listen to the consolations which her pious and
highly-gifted friend was enabled to bestow.  When they had left the
apartment, Zadok endeavoured to change the sad current of his own
thoughts and those of his family, by urging on Amaziah the necessity
for his immediately quitting the city.  He represented to him the
extreme danger to which he exposed himself, and those who were
dearest to him, by remaining any longer in a place where he had
become the object of so much resentment, both among the higher and
lower classes; and as his further stay could now be of no advantage
to his unhappy son, he earnestly entreated him to commence his
journey on the following morning, and thus escape from impending
destruction, and remove himself and his family to a distance from the
cruel scene which would take place at noon on that day.  The feelings
of Amaziah were harrowed by this appeal; and yet consideration for
his family would have induced him to comply with his brother's
advice, however painful it would be to him to leave the city while
his son was yet alive, to suffer shame and death; but Judith would
not listen to the proposal.

"No," she exclaimed, "nothing shall tear me hence until I know that
my child is dead.  If danger is to be encountered, I will not flee
from it, till he is set free for ever from all pain and all peril.
Then, when his ransomed and purified spirit is in the mansions of
peace and joy, I will go forth with my husband, and seek a shelter in
some spot where virtue and piety are not the mark for insult and
murder."

"Dear Judith," replied Zadok, "I feel for your sorrow; and I would to
God that I could have power to remove it.  Your errors and those of
my brother have not destroyed my love for you, deeply as I deplore
them; and anxiety for your safety is my only motive for urging you to
leave my house.  While you remain, which must be as short a time as
possible, I will protect you even with my own life; and when you
consent to seek a safer refuge, I will go with you and guard you on
your way as far as Joppa.  Though we have now, alas! no longer the
same object in attending you there which first induced me to consent
to take the journey, yet I feel that I can be a protection to you;
and also that our poor afflicted Claudia will be soothed and
supported by Naomi's presence."

"You have never been unkind, Zadok, even when most displeased with
us," said Judith; "and this is a proof of your affection which I
gratefully accept.  Your society and that of our dear Naomi will be
the greatest consolation that we can enjoy during our melancholy
journey.  I will make the best return that is in my power for your
kindness, by remaining beneath your roof no longer than until the sun
has set to-morrow.  Oh! how that word to-morrow makes my heart sink
away and fail within me!  But I will be strong in the help of the
Lord, and try to conquer such faithless fear and dread.  I will
promise to be ready to leave this most melancholy and yet most
beloved place when to-morrow's light is fading away, and we may then
reach Joppa the following evening.  I will go now and give orders to
our servants, that everything may be prepared, for I may not be so
well able to exert myself to-morrow.  Come, dear sister Salome, and
give me your aid and your kind sympathy."

The necessity for exertion was useful to Judith and to Salome, who
called up unwonted firmness, and commanded her feelings, that she
might be able to assist those whose sorrow was so much deeper than
her own.  When Claudia was informed of the determination to leave
Jerusalem on the morrow, she seemed to be overwhelmed with fresh
grief, and earnestly besought that she might not be torn away so
soon, and even that she might remain altogether with Naomi, and enjoy
the melancholy pleasure of recalling all her past happiness, and
dwelling in the same place where she had conversed with him, and
learned from his lips the way of everlasting life.  Kindly and gently
Naomi reasoned with her, and showed her the danger and impropriety of
her wish being gratified.  She spoke of Judith's solitude when
deprived of her son, and also of her whom she already looked upon as
a daughter, and that argument made its way to Claudia's affectionate
heart, and changed her inclinations.  She resolved to follow her
adopted mother wherever she and Amaziah should go, and to devote
herself to the task of cheering them, and supplying the place of
their only child: and this resolution roused and supported her, and
gave her an object for which she felt content to live and to bear her
sorrow, so long as the Lord should appoint her days on earth.

The hours passed away, though slowly and sadly.  Even Mary of
Bethezob, whose spirits were usually unfailing, was buried in silence
and sorrow: and little David, the life and amusement of all the house
in happier days, was unnoticed and neglected.  Night brought no
cessation of the misery of that family, for sleep did not visit them,
and they met on the fatal morning with countenances that showed deep
traces of watchfulness and tears.


[Illustration: Tombs of the Kings]




CHAPTER XVII.

The sun approached his meridian height, and as he mounted higher and
higher the feelings of the sad and watching group became more
intensely excited, until at the sixth hour, when his burning rays
fell vertically on the terrace into which the apartment opened, a
distant noise of the voices of many people reached their ears.  It
was a savage shout of joy and exultation; and it sunk into the hearts
of the mourners as a death-knell.  At that moment the headless bodies
of the nine victims were thrown over the prison walls, and suspended
there to be the objects of insult and mockery to the barbarous
multitude.  Javan's order that the executions should take place in
the cells of the prison, and not publicly, had occasioned great
discontent among the populace, who had expected to indulge their
cruel and bloodthirsty inclinations by witnessing the last sufferings
of the Nazarenes; and to gratify them the bodies were thus exposed
until sunset; while wine and food were liberally distributed among
the crowd at the command of Javan and his colleagues, who feared to
excite the displeasure of the lawless rabble at such a time of
sedition and insubordination.

A servant of Zadok's had been privately sent by him to await the
exhibition of the dreadful spectacle, and to bring the intelligence
to him when all was over.  The man had known Theophilus well, and had
loved him; and when he returned to his master's house, and Zadok met
him in the vestibule, he was trembling with horror and distress.  The
heads of the unhappy victims had not been exposed, but he had
recognised the body of Theophilus by the garments which he
well-remembered, and particularly a vest which Claudia had
embroidered, and which he had worn on the evening when he left the
house to return no more.  Zadok rejoined his family, and they saw too
plainly by his agitated countenance that all was over.

"The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away, and blessed be the name
of the Lord!" said he solemnly, as he entered the room; and a burst
of uncontrollable grief was the only reply.  But Amaziah did not long
give way to this natural emotion; he knelt down in the midst of the
group, who all followed his example; and in a tone of calmness, that
astonished Zadok and Salome, he offered up fervent praises and
thanksgivings that his dear son had now fought the good fight and
finished his course, and had received the crown of glory laid up for
him in heaven.

This done, he called his brother aside, and spoke to him on the
subject that now weighed heaviest on his heart.  The suggestion of
Javan that the bodies of the prisoners should be burnt in the fires
of Hinnom had been made known to him, and had occasioned additional
misery both to him and Judith; and he requested Zadok to use all his
influence with Javan and the other members of the council to obtain
an order for the body of Theophilus to be restored to them, that they
might have the satisfaction of burying it before they left the city.
Zadok feared that his efforts to procure this indulgence would not be
successful, but he readily promised to make the attempt; and
immediately left the house in search of his son, who had not appeared
to his family since the fatal sentence had been pronounced on the
preceding day.  He found him at the house of one of his colleagues;
and the air of satisfaction that reigned on his countenance gave a
bitter pang to the heart of his father.

"Javan," he said, in a tone which showed his own emotions, "the
dreadful scene is over, and I can no longer plead for the life of our
kinsman.  He has paid the debt which perhaps was due to his offended
country and violated religion; and I would to God that he were yet
living to forsake his errors and redeem his character.  It is
passed--and henceforth never let us speak on this subject again.  My
object in now coming to you is to request, as a favour to myself,
that the body of one who is so nearly connected to me may not be
exposed to the indignity which forms part of the sentence pronounced
upon him.  You were the proposer of that additional cruelty, and
doubtless you can obtain the reversion of the sentence, if not for
all the criminals, yet at least in this single instance."

"My father," replied Javan, "I see that you also wrong me, and
attribute to me a wanton cruelty that is not in my nature.  I did not
wish my cousin's death; it was his restoration to virtue and piety
that I desired; and that being hopeless, no course remained but to
allow the laws of our holy religion to be executed.  I have but
discharged my duty in removing the unclean thing from the camp of
Israel, and sparing not my own flesh and blood when the honour of
Jehovah required the sacrifice.  I had expected that you, my revered
father, would have applauded my zeal, and joined with me in purging
out this dreadful heresy, whatever might be the cost.  But since you
blame me, I must stand alone, and my conscience bears me witness that
I stand guiltless.  As to your request for the body of my misguided
cousin, it grieves me to deny it; but I have no power to change the
sentence.  It was passed by the assembled council, as a preventive to
sacrilege and profaneness; and I cannot from personal considerations,
demand the reversion of so wise and necessary a decree."

Zadok's brow grew dark.  He had condescended to ask a favour from his
son, instead of laying on him a command, which would have been more
in accordance with Jewish manners, but which in Javan's case had long
been found ineffectual.  He had thrown off the paternal yoke whenever
the obedience which was required was in opposition to his own views
and principles; and though he respected and loved his father, he
considered himself much more competent than Zadok to judge what line
of conduct it was right to adopt.  He saw that his father was
frequently influenced by his kind and generous feelings to depart
from the severe principles of his sect, and to lay aside the narrow
views which generally governed the proud Pharisees of that period;
while he prided himself on making every feeling and every interest
give way to party spirit and religious bigotry.  He had therefore
learnt to treat his excellent and high-minded father as an equal,
instead of looking up to him as the guide and example which in his
earlier years it was his highest aim to follow and imitate.  Zadok
knew and felt all this, and he perceived that his son was now acting
from motives which he did not entirely disclose, and which probably
he thought his father would neither share nor duly estimate.  He was
convinced that Javan was not to be shaken by persuasion, and he
spared himself the pain of a second refusal; but for Claudia's sake
he made another request, which he felt sure could not be denied.  He
desired that Javan would send for the vest in which the corpse of
Theophilus was still attired, and allow him to carry it back to his
unhappy young friend, as a last relic of him whom she had loved so
fervently.  To this Javan readily consented, and requested his father
to tarry in the house of his friend until he should return with the
embroidered garment, as he imagined that he would not willingly go to
gaze on the mangled remains of his beloved nephew.  He was not long
absent, and when he returned he placed in Zadok's hand the vest,
which was stained with the blood of the noble victim.  The priest
looked at it with deep emotion, and then returned to his own now
gloomy dwelling.

Claudia had not been informed of the degradation which was designed
for the remains of the heroic band of prisoners, and therefore she
knew nothing of the object for which Zadok had gone forth.  But when
he gave her the well-remembered vest which she had worked with so
much delight, and which Theophilus had loved so much to wear, she
thanked him with her tears for his kind consideration in procuring it
for her, and pressed the sad relic to her heart, with a feeling that
all her earthly hopes had flown away with the life-blood that stained
it.

Javan did not come home that day.  He knew from Reuben of everything
that was going on in his father's house; but to the surprise of that
artful and cold-blooded villain, he took no steps to prevent the
departure of his uncle, and secure another victim to tyranny and
fanaticism.  Reuben marvelled at his employer's apathy; and had not
Javan read his countenance, and suspected designs, he would have
hurried away and betrayed Amaziah's movements to others of the
council, who would not have scrupled to take advantage of such
information, and perhaps to waylay and apprehend him.  His
destruction and that of his family had long been determined on by
these men, who were so zealous for the law; and they hoped to execute
their purpose at an early opportunity, never suspecting that Amaziah
would leave the city so immediately after the catastrophe which had
befallen him.  Javan was, of course, not ignorant of these
intentions; and he secretly rejoiced that they would be frustrated.
Indeed it was owing to his contrivances that the warnings had been
given to his uncle to lose no time; and he had said enough in his
father's hearing to make him urge the instant departure of his
relatives; and to prevent the possibility of Reuben's busy and
intriguing spirit being exerted to thwart his private wishes for his
uncle's escape, he kept him in his sight the whole of the day, and
did not suffer him to speak to any person out of his hearing.

Thus, though Amaziah and his family knew it not, the same Javan who
had caused all their anguish and woe was now engaged in securing
their safety; and it was owing to his precautions, that when the last
rays of the sun were gleaming on the summit of Mount Olivet, they
passed quietly and undisturbed through the water-gate, and entered
the valley of Jehosaphat, that ran along the eastern wall of the
city, watered by the brook of Kedron, and filled with blooming
gardens and fruitful orchards.  This was not the way by which the
travellers would naturally have quitted Jerusalem to proceed towards
Joppa, as that city lay to the north-west; but they were unwilling to
traverse the streets in order to reach the gate of the Upper
Fountain, for they feared to expose themselves to observation.
Therefore they passed along the valley until they came to the Tower
of the Corner, when they took the road to Rama and Emmaus.  They were
a sad and silent party, and all were deeply absorbed in their own
melancholy reflections.  Even the servants and armed attendants felt
so much respect and sympathy for their sorrow, that they spoke not,
save in a whisper; and no sound was heard to break the stillness of
the evening, except the measured tread of the mules that carried the
litters and the baggage, and the horses on which Zadok and Amaziah
rode.  Naomi and Claudia travelled in the same conveyance; but Judith
preferred being alone, that she might lift up her soul to God in
freedom, and pour her griefs into the compassionate bosom of her
Redeemer.  It had been a severe trial to her, as well as to her
husband and Claudia, to leave the place where all that remained of
their beloved Theophilus yet rested; and when she found herself
enclosed in the curtains of the litter, and hidden from every eye but
that of her Heavenly Father, she gave a vent to her sorrow, which
relieved her bursting heart.  Salome had offered to accompany her to
Joppa, with Zadok and Naomi, but Judith would not allow her to do so.
Her health was delicate, and the late trying scenes had so powerfully
affected her, that she was not equal to the journey, and she
therefore remained at home with Mary and her lovely little boy, who
were to abide in her house until the return of Zadok and her
daughter.  Javan too would be her protector and occasional companion,
though his presence had ceased to give his mother the pleasure that
once it did, since he had been the means of changing her happy home
into a scene of anxious care and sorrow.

While Amaziah and his company were passing forth from Zadok's house,
and descending the steep street that led to the water-gate, they
heard the distant sound of rumbling wheels on the bridge that crossed
the brook of Siloam above the pool, and led to the road that opened
into the valley of Hinnom.  Zadok and Amaziah turned a quick and
anxious gaze behind them, and saw afar off two heavy carts, attended
by armed guards, and followed by a vast concourse of persons.  The
distance and the fading light prevented their distinguishing what
burden the vehicles bore, but they knew that they contained the
relics of the good, the brave, and the dearly-loved, and they
shuddered as they thought of their destination.

The valley of Hinnom lay to the south of the city, between Solomon's
Pool and the Potter's Field.  A stream ran through it, which flowed
into the Kedron, and by the side of this rapid stream the smoke of
constant fires was ever rising, and a hot and sickly vapour filled
the air and rose to the hills on which the southern wall of Zion was
built.  In the shadow of that wall Javan was pacing to and fro,
followed by Reuben, whom he still retained near him, until he could
feel certain that his uncle was beyond the reach of his enemies.  It
would be difficult to say why Javan had chosen to resort to that spot
at such a time.  The loathsome valley was generally shunned by all
who were not compelled by necessity to pass that way; and Javan had
seldom visited the elevated terrace that overlooked it, and which but
for this circumstance would have been a favourite and frequented
walk.  The view which this site commanded was noble and extensive,
reaching over the varied and fertile plain to the Dead Sea and the
mountains of Arabia Petræa, which form its eastern boundary, and
embracing also the Hills of Judgment and Mount Olivet to the left.
But it was not the beauty of this prospect that drew Javan thither on
the present occasion.  It was rather a strange desire to see the
conclusion of a scene of horror and of woe, which had occupied his
mind and filled him with gloomy and anxious thoughts for so many days
and weeks.  He had accomplished all his schemes against his unhappy
cousin; but he was not happy--for with all his efforts he could not
stifle his natural feelings so entirely as to be insensible to the
sorrow which he had brought upon his family.  He dreaded returning
home to encounter the silent reproach of their tears; and almost
unconsciously he wandered towards the valley of Hinnom, to excite
still more his feelings of horror, by witnessing the last indignity
that could be offered to the remains of the victims of fanaticism.

The heavy carts rolled slowly along the valley, and paused as they
reached each smouldering fire.  The filth and rubbish which composed
the daily fuel of these fires were nearly exhausted: but fresh
combustibles were cast on them to make the funeral-piles of the
martyrs, and then the bodies were flung, naked and headless, to be
reduced to ashes.  Javan watched them one by one, and by the light of
the lurid flames he saw nine livid corpses thrown from the carts.
His heart sickened, but he could not leave the spot, and there he
stood, gazing down on the dreadful spectacle until all was over.  The
forms of the degraded criminals whose loathsome office it was to
attend to these fires, were seen moving about amid the smoke and
vapour, and appeared fitting inhabitants of this Gehenna, or place of
Hell-fire, as it was commonly called.  To Javan's excited imagination
the altars once erected on this spot to Chemosh, Moloch, and
Ashtaroth, were present again, reeking with their human sacrifices;
and the cries of the innocent children who were offered up by
hundreds to the gods of cruelty and murder sounded in his ears.  The
savage mob that had followed the dead-carts stood round to enjoy the
spectacle, and as the flames burst forth afresh, and the bodies
consumed away, they expressed their exultation and joy by loud
discordant shouts, that only added to the infernal character of the
scene.  Among this rabble were some who came from other motives, and
who trembled with stifled emotion, while to escape observation they
endeavoured to join in the cries of the surrounding crowd.  These
were the friends and relatives of the martyred Nazarenes, and they
came to wait until vengeance had been satiated on the bodies of those
they loved, and the valley should be abandoned to the dogs and the
vultures that lurked around to snatch their horrid meal.

One by one the fires went out, and darkness overspread the valley.
The crowd dispersed, and the criminals left their daily employment to
seek a short repose in some wretched huts at a little distance from
the place of their appointed labours.  Then, when all was silent,
Javan saw a number of men and women approach one of the fires which
yet continued smouldering, and light their torches at the embers.
Carefully they searched among the ashes for the bones of their
relatives which yet were unconsumed, and having collected them from
every fire, they enclosed the precious relics altogether in a casket,
and noiselessly moved away down the valley toward Solomon's Pool.

"Shall I follow them?" whispered Reuben; and Javan started at the
sound of his harsh voice, for he had forgotten that the menial was
still waiting near him, and watching all that occurred in the valley
with an interest equal to his own, but of a different nature.  "Shall
I follow them?" he repeated, "for they must surely be some of those
accursed Nazarenes, who thus came to seek the remains of the
malefactors.  They cannot enter the city to-night, and I can watch
where they hide.  And then if your guards are let out on them in
their lurking-place, we shall easily secure the prey, and ere long we
shall have another such day as this!"

"Silence, villain!" cried Javan, disgusted at the coarse brutality of
the menial, who believed that his employer shared his own feelings of
gratification in the actual cruelties of that day, and thought that,
like him, he would rejoice in the prospect of a repetition of them.

"Follow me to the city," he continued, "and you shall receive
to-morrow the reward of your services.  When I require them again I
shall summon you; and meanwhile I command you to exert your powers of
observation, and inform me if anything occurs which way be of
consequence to my affairs; but see that you confide in no one else at
your peril.  Especially keep watch whether Isaac or any of his
emissaries attempt to hold intercourse with your noble mistress, for
we must preserve her and her property from his hands."

Reuben obeyed, and followed Javan, wondering at his apathy in
neglecting so good an opportunity of replenishing the prison with
fresh Nazarene captives, and regretting the reward which he might
have received for his information from others of the Pharisees or
chief-priests.  But he did not dare to dispute Javan's commands, and
accompanied him to the gate, where they were readily admitted, as the
young Pharisee was well known to the officer on guard there.  They
proceeded to the house of one of Javan's friends, and passed the
night there; and in the morning returned to the dwelling of Zadok,
where they soon learnt from Deborah that the priest, with his brother
and all his family, had left the city on the preceding evening.
Hannah had also accompanied them, with several others of their
domestics who were suspected of partaking in their heretical
opinions; and none remained who could be objects of persecution on
account of their faith.

This was satisfactory news to Javan, and he immediately dismissed
Reuben with a liberal present; and having paid his mother a short
visit, which was equally painful to them both, he occupied himself in
prosecuting his political plans, and forwarding his arrangements for
the reception of Simon.

Meanwhile the travellers had proceeded without interruption through
Rama to Emmaus, where they paused to rest and refresh themselves, and
then resumed their journey.  At Lydda, where they arrived at an early
hour the following day, they made inquiries, and found that a band of
Roman soldiers had come thither from Joppa for several days
preceding, and had diligently sought for a party of travellers from
Jerusalem, but had returned each evening greatly disappointed at not
meeting them.  It was hardly safe for Amaziah's company to advance
further on their way, without a stronger guard than his own and
Zadok's armed servants.  They were about to leave the province of
Judea, and enter that of Samaria, which was almost entirely in the
hands of the Romans; and without being under the protection of some
of the conquerors, they might be exposed to insult and danger.  But
it was uncertain whether Rufus would send his men again to meet them;
and it was even possible that he might not wait any longer at Joppa,
but return to the Roman army at Cæsarea, under the impression that
his daughter's plans were changed, and that she would not now join
him there.  These considerations induced Zadok and Amaziah to decide
on proceeding to Joppa without delay.  They had traversed more than
half the distance which divided the two cities, when they saw a band
of soldiers approaching towards them, whose martial bearing and
well-appointed accoutrements declared them to belong to the
invincible army of Rome.  Whether they came as friends or foes could
not be discovered, and therefore Amaziah marshalled his men, and
prepared for resistance if necessary.

The fears of his party were however speedily removed, by seeing the
officer who commanded the troop put his horse into a gallop and
advance alone to meet them.  It was Marcellus; and though so many
years had elapsed since Zadok and Amaziah had seen him, they
immediately recognised his noble, ingenuous expression of
countenance; and the warmth of feeling that beamed in his bright eye
when he extended his hand to greet them, showed them that his long
absence had not deadened his affections or obliterated the
remembrance of early friendship.

His own eagerness prevented him at the first moment from observing
that his friends did not receive him with the same joyful feelings
that filled his own heart, and he was going to hurry past them
towards the litters that followed at some distance, exclaiming,--

"Where is my dear sister, and where is Naomi?  Theophilus, too, I do
not see him; but no doubt he is in close attendance on Claudia.  He
is a happy man!  I wish my prospects in life were as smiling as his."

Amaziah turned away in anguish at this playful observation; and Zadok
caught the hand of Marcellus, who now perceived that all was not so
full of happiness as he supposed.

"Is anything the matter?" he cried.  "Is Naomi safe and well?" his
fears making him recur first to her who was uppermost in his thoughts
and affections.

"It is not for her, my son," replied Zadok, "that your sympathy will
be excited; our poor Claudia will want all your affectionate
consolations."

"What has befallen my own dear sister?" interrupted Marcellus
hastily, yet with a feeling of relief that his fears for Naomi were
groundless.

"All her hopes and all her happiness are blighted," said Zadok.
"Theophilus is no more, and Claudia's heart is widowed."

"The Lord have pity on her!" ejaculated Marcellus fervently.  "What
disease has carried him off so quickly?  But I will go to her, poor
girl!  She has yet a brother to love and to cherish her, and to mourn
with her over what she has lost."

He dismounted, and giving his horse to a servant, he approached the
litter in which his sister and Naomi were seated.  The curtains were
partially withdrawn, and they had seen him conversing with Zadok, and
knew that the sorrowful truth was now made known to him.  Claudia
sprang from the litter, and threw herself wildly into his arms, while
tears of bitter grief prevented her utterance.  It is needless to
dwell on such a meeting.  All that was kind and affectionate
Marcellus expressed; and then he gently replaced his sister in the
litter, and in a voice faltering with emotion of various kinds,
addressed himself to Naomi.  She tried to hide her feelings of deep
interest, and to meet him with the easy freedom of an old friend; but
she was not very successful, and Marcellus saw with secret delight
the embarrassment of her manner, and the deep flush that rose on her
pale cheek.  He did not however forget the affliction of his friends
in his own happy feelings.  He hastened to Judith's litter, and
greeted her with a kindness that only reminded her more forcibly of
the son she had lost, and who had been a friend and companion to
Marcellus when she remembered him in former happy days.

During the rest of the journey Marcellus rode by the side of his
sister, and tried to cheer her with such pious suggestions as he
believed she could receive and understand; but he did not utter the
name of the Redeemer--of him who has promised rest to the weary and
the heavy-laden, and is especially the consolation and support of His
people under all their trials and all their sorrows.  Both Claudia
and Naomi felt how ineffectual must be every consolation that is not
derived from Him, and more than ever they regretted that Marcellus
should still, as they supposed, be ignorant of His mercies and His
power; while both resolved to lose no opportunity of endeavouring to
give him that knowledge which they found so precious to their own
souls.  But this was not the time for entering on such discussions;
and they reached Joppa under the mutual impression that both parties
were yet in ignorance of the only true way to peace, and to eternal
life.

Rufus received the whole party with kindness and cordiality.  His
feelings were not so acute as those of his son, but he entered into
the affliction of his daughter as much as he considered that the loss
of a Jewish lover could demand; and endeavoured to console her with
the hope of finding a more suitable husband among her own countrymen.
This was not an effectual source of comfort to poor Claudia; and as
it also implied that her father expected she should now return with
him to the camp, who entreated Judith, when she was alone with her
and Naomi, to request that she might still be permitted to remain
with her; and though she could now no longer hope to become her
daughter indeed, yet that she might act a daughter's part, and dwell
with her, at least until her father had a home to take her to.
Judith would have been deeply grieved if Claudia had been taken from
her, and she hastened to make her request known to Rufus, who kindly
consented that she should accompany her friends to Ephesus, and
remain there until he was able to return in peace to Rome.  He was
delighted with the improvement which had taken place in her since he
had last seen her, and with the sweetness and gentleness that was
apparent in her manner, in the midst of her deep affliction.  She
exerted herself to please her father, and to show the pleasure which
she felt at seeing him, by repressing her own grief as much as
possible in his presence.  But when she found herself alone with
Marcellus and Naomi, she indulged the feelings of her heart by
expatiating on the many virtues and amiable qualities of him who
occupied all her thoughts; and then it was that her brother first
learned the cause of Theophilus's death.

"O Marcellus," said his sister, "how you would have esteemed and
loved him if the Lord had spared him to meet you as a brother!  But
you could not have valued him as he deserved, for that very constancy
and faith which led him to brave death, would have appeared madness
and folly in your eyes."

"What can you mean, Claudia?" exclaimed Marcellus, eagerly.  "Did not
Theophilus die a natural death?  I have heard no particulars, for I
have been unable to speak to Zadok in private."

"Then you have not heard that he perished a martyr to the name of
Jesus of Nazareth! and you do not know that your unhappy sister had
learned the way of salvation from him, and now finds all her
consolation and all her hope in that faith, which you, alas! despise."

"My dearest sister," cried Marcellus, embracing her with the warmest
expressions of joy and affection, "this is a discovery which I had
not even hoped for.  Then we are united by a tie even stronger and
more sacred than that of our own near relationship.  I too may glory
in the name of Christian; and doubly do I now regret the untimely end
of our poor Theophilus, since a union with him would only have
strengthened you in this most holy faith, and not have tended, as I
feared, to close your heart against the admission of the truth."

Tears of surprise and delight sprang to Naomi's eyes at this
unexpected confession on the part of Marcellus; and when he turned a
look of anxious inquiry towards her, and read the expression of her
lovely and animated countenance, he could not doubt that all for
which he had hoped and prayed was already fulfilled, and that the
great obstacle which he feared might for ever have separated them,
was already removed.

"Naomi," he said, "am I right in indulging the hope that you also
share the feelings and the sentiments of my sister?  It would be
happiness indeed to hear your lips confess the name of Jesus the
Messiah."

"Blessed be that name for ever!" replied Naomi with fervour.  "I know
that there is none other name under heaven whereby we may be saved."

"How merciful has the Lord been to us," said Claudia, "in thus
leading us by various methods into the same way of salvation!  When,
my brother, did you hear of Jesus? and who opened to you the
treasures of the Gospel?"

Marcellus related to his attentive auditors all the particulars of
his conversion at Rome, and the various events which had since that
time strengthened and confirmed his faith.  And from Claudia and
Naomi he learned the interesting story of their spiritual birth and
admission into the church of Christ.  Naomi did not dwell on what she
had suffered, or the trials to which her faith had once been
subjected; but Claudia was eloquent in describing the piety and the
firmness of her friend, and the benefit which she herself had derived
from her consistent character and holy life and conversation.  All
this was music to the ears of Marcellus.  He had loved Naomi when he
was a mere boy, and as he grew to manhood he loved her more and more.
And after he had left Jerusalem, and entered into the gaieties and
business of life, he still looked back with fond remembrance to the
time when she was his constant companion; and her image was ever
present to his heart and his memory.  Never during his residence at
Rome, or his subsequent wanderings, had he seen a being who could
compare with the Jewish maiden, and all his hopes of future happiness
were connected with her.  Many were the fruitless schemes which he
had at various times devised for getting admission into Jerusalem and
seeing her again, and when he found that he was to have the happiness
of meeting her at Joppa, his anxiety and impatience knew no bounds.
But still there was one ever-recurring thought that damped his hopes
and checked his desire of seeing her.  He believed that Naomi was a
Jewess in religion as well as by birth.  She was the daughter of
Zadok, the zealous Pharisee, the sister of the fanatical Javan; and
could he ever hope that she would return the affection of a Gentile,
and still worse, of a Nazarene? and even if she should yet remember
him with the same feelings that she entertained for him in former
days, was it probable that her father would consent to bestow her on
a Roman soldier; or would his own conscience allow him to seek a
union with one who could not share his most sacred feelings, and who
would despise what he held most dear and holy?  All these reflections
rose strongly to his mind when he did again behold her, and almost
made him regret that she appeared yet more lovely and more
interesting than his memory had depicted her.  But now to find that
all his worst fears were unfounded, and that Naomi was like himself,
a Christian, was greater happiness than he had ever dared to hope.

It was not long before Marcellus had ascertained that his affection
for Naomi was returned, and that during his long absence he had been
remembered with all the constancy that he could have wished; and he
readily obtained a promise that if Zadok's concurrence could be
obtained she would consent to be united to him as soon as the war had
terminated.  Until that period they must be again separated, for
Naomi would not hear of leaving her mother under the present
circumstances; and indeed she greatly feared that a more
insurmountable obstacle would be presented in the opposition of Zadok
to their wishes.  Marcellus sought an interview with the priest
immediately after his conversation with Naomi, and frankly declared
to him his attachment to his daughter, and his happiness in knowing
that she was not insensible to his love and constancy; and then he
requested that all his long-cherished hopes might be crowned by a
promise that she should be united to him in marriage as soon as the
state of the country would permit him to enter Jerusalem and claim
her.  Zadok listened to his young and ardent friend with calmness,
though with a clouded brow.  Once he would have spurned his offers
with disdain, and have declared that he would rather consign his
child to the grave than bestow her on a Gentile and a Roman; but
since her renunciation of her early faith, all his high hopes for her
future destiny had faded away.  He knew that she would never consent
to become the wife of a Jew; and if he were to seek a partner and
protector for her out of the pale of that religion which he regarded
as the only way to heaven, where could he find one to whom he could
confide her with more satisfaction than to Marcellus?  All his
ancient prejudices rose up to oppose the plan but esteem for the
private character of the suppliant, and consideration for Naomi's own
wishes on the subject prevailed.  He consented, though unwillingly,
that if at any future time Marcellus should come to demand his
daughter, and be enabled to offer her a happy and peaceful home, he
should be rewarded for his constancy by receiving her hand, and the
rich dowry which was always intended to be her marriage portion.

Joyfully did Marcellus hasten to communicate this unhoped-for
acquiescence to Naomi; and but for the sorrow that weighed so heavily
on the heart of Claudia and her friends, and cast a gloom over all
their own happiness, the few days that they passed together at Joppa
would have been the brightest of their lives.

Judith and Amaziah rejoiced sincerely at the prospect of Naomi's
being removed from Jerusalem, and thenceforth permitted to exercise
her religion without opposition; and Claudia tried to offer her
congratulations; but tears prevented her words of joy from being
audible, for her heart recurred with a feeling of desolation to the
time so lately past, when all the happiness that now seemed to be
presented to Naomi had been so suddenly snatched from her own grasp,
and buried for ever in the grave of Theophilus.

Nearly a week had elapsed since the arrival of the travellers, and
the vessel that was to sail from Joppa to Ephesus had received her
cargo, when a notice was given to Amaziah that she would weigh anchor
the following morning, and that he and his party must go on board at
sunrise.  All his baggage was taken to the ship that same evening;
and at the dawn of day Naomi took leave of the friends she loved so
well, and stood on the shore to watch with weeping eyes the boat that
carried them out to the vessel.  It was a sorrowful parting for them
all; but Naomi had not time for a long indulgence of her grief, as
Zadok announced to her that it would be necessary for him to leave
Joppa that same day, and that she must be in readiness to start in a
few hours.  Letters had just reached him from Javan, to desire his
speedy return to the city, as important political arrangements
demanded his presence, and therefore, as their friends had departed,
there was nothing to detain them any longer from home.

Marcellus and Naomi thought differently, but they did not venture to
plead for a further delay; and in the afternoon they left Joppa with
Zadok and Rufus, who accompanied his friends as far as Lydda.  From
thence the priest and his daughter proceeded towards Jerusalem, and
Rufus and his son turned their steps in the opposite direction, to
join their comrades at Cæsarea.  Then did the rough but kind-hearted
soldier give vent to all his feelings of indignation at the conduct
of Javan, which he had hitherto restrained out of respect for Zadok.
He vowed vengeance against the treacherous Jew, who had thus escaped
from the Roman army to blast the happiness of his own family, and
reduce Claudia to sorrow and desolation.  Marcellus sought to check
his rage; but he could not wonder that an idolater should thus feel
towards one who professed to be guided by a pure religion, and yet
disgraced his profession by cruelty and treachery, such as the
heathen would have scorned to commit.


[Illustration: Tombs of the Kings]




CHAPTER XVIII.

Zadok and Naomi were shocked, on their return home, to see how
greatly the recent melancholy events had left their traces on the
appearance of Salome.  For some time past her health and strength had
declined, and it was evident that the anxiety she had suffered from
so many causes, and the shock which her feelings had undergone at the
lamentable termination, had been too much for her delicate
constitution to sustain uninjured.  Her spirits were broken, and
Naomi frequently excited all her powers in vain to animate and
interest her.  Her mind was filled with gloomy forebodings of coming
woe; and though the sweetness of her manner was undiminished, and her
affectionate kindness unabated, yet there was ever a pensive sadness
in her look and voice, that sank into Naomi's heart with a painful
emotion of dread.

Mary of Bethezob repaired to her own dwelling soon after the return
of Zadok, and her blooming and intelligent boy accompanied her; but
he had become so much attached to Salome and Naomi, that great part
of his time was passed with them, and by his innocent playfulness, he
greatly helped to chase away their sorrows, while his thoughtless and
light-hearted mother plunged again into gaiety and dissipation, and
soon forgot all that had so deeply interested her while she was under
Zadok's roof.

The priest himself was at this time much from home, for his counsel
was sought by those who were most active in the affairs of the city;
and as he had lately become a warm supporter of Javan's scheme for
bringing Simon to take the supreme command, his son gladly availed
himself of his influence and his eloquence in persuading others to
join their party.  All the necessary arrangements were soon
completed; and Javan departed on his mission to invite the son of
Gioras and his troops to enter the walls, and rid the oppressed
inhabitants of every tyranny but their own.  Not many days after he
had left the city, alarming news reached the chiefs and leaders:
Vespasian had once more set his troops in motion, and was rapidly
passing through the toparchies of Gophnitis and Acrabatane.  A few
more days passed away, during which the inhabitants of Zion looked
forth anxiously for the approach of Simon, as the only succour that
could avail them if the Roman arms should be turned against their
city; but he came not--and instead of his friendly troops, the
cavalry of Vespasian appeared at the gates of Jerusalem.  A panic
seized the populace at this unexpected sight; but their fears were of
short duration, for the dreaded horsemen only remained a few days in
the vicinity of the city, and having ascertained the distracted and
divided state of the inhabitants, withdrew again to head-quarters,
and left the devoted place to be yet further weakened by its domestic
enemies.

The terrace at the back of Zadok's house commanded a view of the
fields beyond the walls, and in that direction the noble equestrian
band, the flower of Vespasian's army, passed by, as they retired from
the city.  They had traversed its whole circumference, and taken
observations of its strength, and the capability of its walls and
towers.  Naomi knew that Marcellus belonged to this troop; and it was
not surprising that when she heard the trumpets echoing along the
side of Mount Olivet, she should look anxiously from the
terrace-wall, and strain her eyes to distinguish him among the rest
of the cavaliers.  She believed that she succeeded, and perhaps she
was right, for one of that band tarried behind his companions, and
turned his head long towards the spot where she stood; but if it were
Marcellus he did not perceive her, for he rode on without any signal
of recognition; and she returned to her mother to lament that she
should thus be divided, by all the obstacles of war, from the being
who was so well deserving of her affection.

Meanwhile one of the Roman commanders named Cerealis had passed to
the south, and entering Idumea, had taken Caphethra, Capharabis, and
Hebron.  Almost every strong place was now in the hands of the
Romans, and nothing remained for their conquering arms to subdue but
Herodium, Machærus, Masada, and Jerusalem itself.  Simon had secured
himself and his forces in his stronghold at Masada while the enemy
were reducing Idumea; but when Cerealis withdrew from that district,
he again came forth and ravaged the already wasted country.  He drove
a vast number of the wretched population before his pursuing army
towards Jerusalem, where they sought a refuge from his cruelty, and
once more he encamped before the walls, to wait for the opening of
the gates to admit him.

Javan had joined him at Masada, and now accompanied him to Jerusalem,
expecting that he would be joyfully received by the inhabitants.  But
the Roman cavalry had left the vicinity; and the party who opposed
Simon's entrance had gained a temporary ascendancy, so that the gates
remained rigorously closed, and the chieftain revenged himself for
his disappointment by putting to the sword all the unfortunate
stragglers who ventured beyond the protection of the walls.  Thus he
warred on the unhappy city without, while John of Gischala oppressed
it within.  The hardy Galileans whom he had brought into Jerusalem
with him were entirely corrupted by the pillage and license which he
permitted to them.  Robbery had become their constant occupation, and
murders were daily committed by them in wanton pastime.  Disguised in
rich and splendid garments which they had acquired by rapine, they
paraded the streets in parties; and suddenly drawing their swords,
that were always concealed beneath their assumed garb of festivity,
they rushed on the thoughtless populace who gazed on them, and
fiercely stabbed all who came within their reach.  No wonder that the
helpless people looked abroad for help and succour, and that even
many of the more enlightened believed that the presence of Simon
would put a stop to these atrocities.  But John was too powerful to
permit the execution of the scheme at that moment, and had his
rapidly-increasing party remained united together, he would probably
have prevented the entrance of his rival.

At length, however, a division arose among his followers.  His power
excited the jealousy of the Idumeans, and they suddenly attacked the
Zealots, and drove them to seek refuge in a palace near the temple,
which was used by John as a treasure-house.  Into this edifice they
followed them, and forced them to fly to the temple itself, while
they pillaged the palace of all the rich treasures that John had
accumulated and stored up within its walls.  But the Zealots
assembled in overwhelming force in the temple, and in their turn
threatened to attack the Idumeans, who did not so much dread their
strength in open fight, as their desperation at being thus cooped up.
They feared that they might sally out and set fire to the city, and
so accomplish the utter destruction both of themselves and their
enemies.  Therefore they called together a council of the chief
priests to consider what measures should be taken, and by their
advice they adopted that plan which gave the final blow to every hope
of a return to peace and tranquillity.

The historian Josephus, in relating this circumstance, remarks that
"God overruled their wills to that most fatal measure."  And most
true is it that He does thus overrule every event, and cause all
things to work together for the accomplishment of his own most wise
purposes.  The priests unanimously advised that Simon should be
invited to enter.  All were now of one mind, and believed that no
tyranny could be worse than the violence and license that now
distracted the city and filled its peaceable inmates with alarm and
horror.  Matthias the high-priest, who from his situation rather than
his talents exercised great influence over his brethren, supported
the proposition, and even offered to go in person and bring in the
expected preserver.  He went forth, attended by a body of the
principal men; and amid the joyful shouts of the misguided populace
the son of Gioras marched through the streets, and established
himself, without opposition, in the higher parts of the city.

Thus he became lord of Jerusalem in the third year of the war; and
having once got an entrance into the city, he lost no time in
securing everything that could tend to his own advantage and raise
his authority higher over every rival faction.  John and his Zealots
finding themselves imprisoned in the temple, and totally unable to
make their way out, began to fear that their lives would be
sacrificed as well as their property, the whole of the effects which
they possessed in the city having already been seized and
appropriated by Simon and his followers.  The new tyrant hastened to
make an attack on the temple, assisted by numbers of the populace and
had he succeeded in gaining an entrance, doubtless he would have
realized the worst fears of the besieged, and put them all to the
sword.  But the Zealots had posted themselves in the porticoes and
among the battlements, and they vigorously repulsed their enemies,
killing and wounding many of Simon's men with the spears and darts
which they hurled down from these elevated situations with unerring
hand.  To increase still more this advantage which they enjoyed over
their assailants, they erected four lofty towers; and from these they
plied their arrows and other missiles with little danger to
themselves, and great annoyance to the foe.  They brought powerful
engines for casting stones into each of these towers, besides the
archers and slingers; and so great was the dread with which these
machines inspired Simon's adherents, that considerable numbers of
them declined the attack.  One of these formidable towers was placed
on the north-east corner of the temple, the second above the Xystus,
the third looked down upon the lower city, and the fourth was built
above the Pastophoria, where the priests were accustomed to sound the
silver trumpets at the commencement and termination of each sabbath.

Affairs were in this state at Jerusalem, and Vespasian having subdued
almost every contiguous place, returned to Cæsarea to await the
result of the civil commotions in the capital, when news was brought
him that Vitellius had assumed the imperial purple at Rome.  This
intelligence excited great indignation among Vespasian's officers and
soldiers, who assembled in large companies, and declared that they
would never submit to be governed by the cruel and licentious
Vitellius, and that they had as much right to elect an Emperor as the
troops who were dwelling idly at Rome.  They therefore resolved to
proclaim their general as Emperor, and to support his authority with
their swords.  For some time Vespasian declined taking on himself the
heavy responsibilities of such an exalted station, but the tribunes
only insisted the more strenuously on his complying.  The soldiers
even drew their swords and threatened to put him to death if he
refused: when, finding all his repeated remonstrances to be vain, he
yielded to their wishes; and after his proclamation, Josephus, who
had foretold his exaltation, was set free from his bonds, and
rewarded with great honours as a distinguished prophet, and became
the friend and adviser of Vespasian.  The Emperor's time and
attention were for some months necessarily occupied in establishing
his dominion, and gaining over the adherence of the governors of the
most important provinces of the empire, and Jerusalem was left to her
own miseries and distractions.  But at the commencement of the
ensuing year (A.D. 70) he found himself firmly settled on the
imperial throne.  Vitellius had been defeated, and his death left the
new Emperor at leisure to think of the reduction of the rebellious
and obstinate city, which had so long bade defiance to his power.  He
did not again go in person to attempt its subjugation, but his son
Titus was placed at the head of the army, and sent to complete the
conquest of Palestine by the reduction of the metropolis.

During this time Marcellus had been obliged to remain at Cæsarea with
his regiment, and had vainly sought permission to venture to
Jerusalem, and try to gain an entrance, and visit his betrothed
Naomi.  The strict discipline of the Roman army forbade his running
so great a personal risk when it was not called for in the service of
the Emperor; and he passed these long months in anxiety and hope,
waiting for the renewal of the war as the only event which could lead
to the accomplishment of his wishes.  He did not doubt that the
capital would speedily yield to the efforts of the army, when its
combined force should be collected beneath its walls; and then he
trusted that no obstacle would remain to his marriage with Naomi.  It
was therefore with great joy that he hailed the arrival of his friend
and commander, Titus, as generalissimo of the Roman forces, and heard
the orders for an immediate march towards the capital, as soon as the
army could be organized and prepared for the siege.

The news of Titus having assumed the command soon reached the
miserable city, and filled the greater part of the inhabitant with
dismay.  They knew his prompt and warlike character, and the devotion
which the whole army entertained for him; and they feared that, at
the head of such a force, he would never be repulsed from their walls
by the divided and seditious troops who now wasted their strength in
useless conflicts with each other.  No events could have occurred
more favourable to the success of the Romans than those which were
taking place at this time in Jerusalem.  The city was now divided
into three distinct factions, and the streets ran with the blood
which was shed in their fierce and continual encounters.  Instead of
endeavouring to organize a regular and efficient defence against the
common enemy, each party was engaged in strengthening its own
position, or attacking that of its antagonists.

Eleazar, who had been the first to set himself at the head of the
Zealots, and seize on the temple as a garrison, beheld the
superiority which was assumed by John of Gischala, with rage and
jealousy.  He affected a holy indignation at the sanguinary outrages
daily committed by his rival; and at length he succeeded in drawing
off from his party several of the most powerful and influential of
his adherents.  With these men and their followers he openly
abandoned his former associates who remained faithful to John, and
retired into the inner court of the temple, where, on the sacred
gates facing the Holy of Holies, these savage men suspended their
arms, yet reeking with the blood of their fellow-citizens.

In this most sacred spot, where the sounds of the holy instruments of
music were wont to be heard, the jests and songs of the profane
soldiery now echoed from the walls, and on the steps of the altar lay
the expiring forms of men mortally wounded by their own countrymen.
A great number of animals intended for sacrifices, and a quantity of
other provisions, were found in the stores of the temple, and seized
on by Eleazar and his band, who were therefore well supplied with
provisions; but they could not venture to sally out on the main body
of the Zealots, who so greatly exceeded them in numbers.  The height
of their position gave them a superiority over John's party, so long
as they remained in their stronghold; but though he suffered greatly
in every attack which he made on them, yet his rage and resentment
would not suffer him to cease from his attempts.

Meanwhile Simon the son of Gioras kept possession of the whole of the
upper city and great part of the lower, and he harassed John
continually from without, increasing his efforts when he found that
his party was weakened by division.  But John had here the advantage
over Simon that Eleazar had over John, and he succeeded in repelling
his assaults with little loss.  The ascent to the temple was very
steep, and Simon's troops found it both difficult and perilous, for
the Zealots had a large number of scorpions, catapultas, and other
engines, and with these they repulsed their assailants from below,
and checked the party who looked down on them from above.  Frequently
it happened that the missiles which they discharged against Eleazar
and his band, either slew or wounded those unoffending and pious
persons who still continued to repair to the spot so hallowed to
their memories, in order to offer their prayers and their sacrifices.
Not all the horrors and dangers that surrounded them could deter many
of the inhabitants of Jerusalem, and even strangers from other
provinces, from making their way to the temple where their fathers
had worshipped; and passing over the marble pavement, now slippery
with gore and strewed with the carcasses of the slain, to lay their
offerings on the altar of the God of Jacob.

These persons were freely permitted to pass to and fro, unmolested by
the garrison, who merely took the precaution of searching them, to
discover whether they carried concealed arms; but often, while they
were engaged in fervent prayer, they sank expiring on the pavement,
either pierced by an arrow or crushed by a heavy stone that came
whizzing from the courts below.  The noble and pious Zadok was seen
to take his place undauntedly by the side of the altar, and to
perform his sacred duties with a composure and dignity that commanded
the respect even of the lawless and blaspheming ruffians who looked
on in scoffing derision at the superstition (as they regarded it) of
the worshippers.  Many of his sacred brethren were wounded or slain,
but he remained unharmed, and daily returned in safety to his anxious
wife and daughter, to tell of greater horrors and fiercer conflicts
than had disgraced the preceding day.

[Illustration: ZADOK AT THE ALTAR.]

More and more deadly did the contest become.  Eleazar's band, excited
by drunkenness, ventured to sally forth against John, and when,
wearied with bloodshed, they retired again to their garrison, he in
his turn assaulted Simon.  The whole space around the temple became a
fearful spectacle of ruin and carnage; and in these wild conflicts
the public granaries, that might have sustained the inhabitants for
years, were either set on fire or wantonly destroyed by Simon, to
prevent their falling into the hands of John.

Thus was the wretched city afflicted.  The very power which the
short-sighted people had invoked to free them from the tyranny of
John, was turned against them and multiplied their miseries.  The old
men, the women, the helpless and the timid prayed in secret for the
arrival of the Romans.  They had dreaded this event as the worst of
evils when first they heard it threatened; but now they were driven
to desperation by their accumulated sufferings, and earnestly desired
a foreign foe, as the only hope of deliverance from their domestic
enemies.  These wishes were, however, carefully repressed, for all
the three factions were united on one point--the persecution and
destruction, of every individual whom they even suspected of wishing
success to the Roman arms.  It was sad indeed to behold the deep but
silent misery of the people; and still more dreadful was it to
witness the inhuman desperation and hardheartedness to which constant
danger and constant suffering had driven all ranks of men.  The ties
of natural affection were extinguished, the nearest relatives were
abandoned, and when death had put an end to their woes, their bodies
were left unheeded in the streets, to be trampled on by the troops or
torn by the dogs.

Javan had entered the city with the son of Gioras, and was constantly
engaged in his service.  Simon confided all his schemes to him, and
found him a most useful and efficient counsellor, as he was
thoroughly acquainted with all the politics that divided the opinions
of the inhabitants: and his local knowledge of the many private
streets and lanes of the city was also an advantage to his chieftain,
and enabled him to waylay and surprise the parties which were sent
out by John.  Javan devoted all his time and all his energies to the
promotion of the cause which he had espoused, for he still believed
that Simon was the destined instrument in the hand of Jehovah for the
preservation of his people, and the destruction of all their enemies
within and without the city.  His pious and enthusiastic feelings
were highly excited to indignation at the profaneness of the Zealots
and Idumeans, and the sight of the Holy Temple desecrated by crime
and bloodshed and intemperance, filled him with a restless and
inextinguishable desire for vengeance.

Isaac, his former friend, but now most bitter enemy, knew his strong
religious feelings, and the almost superstitious veneration with
which he regarded the sacred pile, and mourned over its degradation.
The counsellor had once affected to share and encourage these devout
sentiments, when such a line of conduct seemed to promote his own
interests; but now that he had severed himself from the popular
party, and joined that of the infidel John, he laid aside the cloak
of hypocrisy, and rivalled the worst of his ruffian associates in
acts of sacrilege and words of blasphemy.  One day, when a party of
Simon's troops were led by Javan to the temple wall, in order to
assault the Zealots with darts and arrows, he seized on some of the
sacred implements used in the service of the temple, and hastened to
insult the feelings of the zealous young Pharisee, by profaning them
to the most disgusting purposes.  On the knives and pronged forks
usually employed in preparing and dressing the sacred victims offered
in sacrifice, he stuck the mangled limbs of the human bodies that
were strewed around him in the court, and the brazen vessels he
filled with human blood, and then cast them over the wall, where they
fell at Javan's feet, crying out scoffingly that he presented him
with suitable sacrifices, and holy instruments for preparing them.
The blood of the fiery Jew burned at this sacrilegious affront, and
deeply he vowed to be avenged on his insulting foe; but Isaac was now
safe from his wrath, and laughed at his futile rage.  Perchance it
might be Javan's turn to triumph ere long!

That evening he returned to his father's house, gloomy and sad.
Since his entry into the city in Simon's train, he had seldom visited
his home, even at night.  He felt such an irksome restraint in the
presence of his family, particularly of Naomi, that any spot was more
agreeable to him than the home of his childhood, and he generally
dwelt at the palace, of which Simon had taken possession, as his
head-quarters.  On the night after his religious feelings had been
outraged by Isaac, he repaired to Zadok's dwelling, that he might
consult with his father on the future plans to be adopted by their
party; and having held a private conference with him, he joined the
rest of his family, who were walking on the terrace at the back of
the house.  This terrace, and the small flower-garden which it
overlooked, were now the only spots where Salome and Naomi could
safely enjoy the open air, except occasionally when they ventured by
the retired lane that ran below the garden, to visit Mary of
Bethezob, and spend some time with her, in the more extensive
pleasure-ground that adjoined her house.  Even this short distance
they never dared to go unattended by their domestics, who were well
armed; and Mary used the same precaution whenever she repaired to the
priest's house.  She and her little boy were on the terrace when
Javan and his father passed through the richly-carved marble portico
that opened upon it from the house, and joined the party.

All the cheerfulness of social and domestic intercourse had died away
beneath the chilling influence of danger and dread, and when friends
and relatives met together it was only to relate fresh horrors and
anticipate coming woes.  The spirit of Zadok was yet unsubdued, and
his confident hopes unchecked, by the misery and distress around him;
but his wife did not share his sanguine feelings, and Naomi
remembered the doom which had been pronounced on Jerusalem by Him
whose every word must be fulfilled.  Therefore she could not cheer
her desponding mother with the prospect of peace and tranquillity,
when she knew that these blessings would no more be bestowed on her
nation until the measure of their chastisement should be fulfilled,
and the Messiah once more return in glory to rule over his ransomed
and repenting people.  She looked forward to the approaching crisis
with a steady expectation, trusting to the infinite wisdom and love
of her Redeemer, to guard his own believing children from the ruin
that should overtake his enemies.  But she could not think of the
probable fate of her beloved father and her mistaken brother without
a profound dread.  They as yet despised the only way of
salvation--and how should they be saved in the day of calamity?  She
daily wept and prayed before her God that he would mercifully incline
their hearts to receive the truth, and in these prayers she found her
best consolation.  She had now no Christian friend to whom she could
confide her anxious cares, or who could share her spiritual feelings
and spiritual hopes; but her precious manuscript, the legacy of her
beloved Mary, was an unfailing source of comfort and delight, when
she could retire to her own chamber and peruse the sacred record.

Much of her time also was passed in private conversation with her
mother; for Zadok was seldom able to remain with her for many hours
of the day, and Salome's spirits were so depressed that her daughter
never left her alone, but exerted her utmost powers to cheer and
support her.  She entered kindly into all the hopes and fears of
Naomi which related to Marcellus, and rejoiced in the prospect of
confiding her to the care and protection of one whom she had always
loved and esteemed.  She was not so much prejudiced against his Roman
birth as her husband was; and since Naomi had embraced the Nazarene
doctrines, her mother rejoiced for her sake that she was betrothed to
one who would respect her sentiments.

It was not however on the subject of her own prospects and her own
interests that Naomi chiefly delighted to dwell when conversing with
her mother.  There was another and a higher theme, towards which she
drew Salome's thoughts whenever they were alone; and it was a source
of joy and gratitude to her when she found that the subject was no
longer shunned.  Salome had formerly avoided all discussions and
arguments relating to the Christian faith, in compliance with the
wishes of her husband, and because she did not desire to be convinced
of the truth of what he so entirely despised and disbelieved.
Nevertheless, the impression which had once been made on her mind in
favour of the doctrines of the Nazarenes, by the conversation of
Amaziah, and her daughter, had never been entirely obliterated.  The
heroic constancy and faith that had been displayed in the conduct of
the lamented Theophilus, had also most deeply interested her; and she
could not help thinking that there must be some miraculous power in
that faith which could thus disarm death and shame of their terrors,
and make its disciples more than conquerors over all that naturally
binds the heart of man to life.

When, therefore, her daughter resumed the subject after her return
from Joppa, she was very willing to listen to her animated discourse.
The more she heard of Jesus of Nazareth, the more was her gentle
spirit inclined to believe the story of his love to fallen mankind,
and to rest upon it for the peace and safety of her soul.  During the
dreary months of fear and horror that succeeded the entrance of Simon
into the city, the necessary seclusion and retirement in which she
and Naomi lived, gave her ample time to hear and to reflect on all
the wonders that it was her daughter's happiness to relate, and she
did not hear in vain.  The earnest, the constant prayers of Naomi
were heard in her behalf, and the spark of faith at length was
kindled in her heart.  Faint and flickering it burned, and it seemed
that a single blast of opposition would have extinguished it; but he
who doth not "break the bruised reed, nor quench the flame of smoking
flax," was merciful to this feeble disciple, and spared her those
trials which she was not yet able to bear.

Zadok was fully engrossed by his political and his priestly
occupations; and during the short intervals which he passed with
Salome, he exerted himself to cheer and encourage her spirits, and
chase away the fears that oppressed her; and he never questioned her
as to the topic of her conversation with Naomi during his absence,
nor did she ever mention it to him.  She began to feel that the
salvation of her soul was concerned in the question of the truth or
falsity of Naomi's statements, and she would not run the risk of
having a termination put to those discussions that now so deeply
interested her.

Some hours had been passed by the mother and daughter in considering
and discoursing on the unhappy fate of Theophilus, and the believing
hope which had supported him to the end, on the evening when Javan
came from the conflict beneath the temple walls, and sought the
society of his family.  Their conversation had already been
interrupted by the arrival of Mary and their little favourite David,
who was now bounding along the terrace, and trying to engage Naomi to
pursue him and join in his gambols.  He ran laughing over the marble
pavement, looking back at his young friend, who exerted herself to
banish more serious thoughts that she might amuse the lovely child,
when his course was arrested by the entrance of Javan and his father.
They abruptly crossed his path, and the stern expression of Javan's
countenance put a sudden stop to his mirth and Naomi's efforts at
gaiety.  There was something in the childish look of fear with which
David regarded the young Pharisee that touched his heart and grieved
him.  "Am I," thought he, "an object of terror to all around me? and
do even children dread my presence?"

He stooped down, and raised the little boy gently in his arms, while
he whispered to him, "Why are you afraid of me, David?"

"Because my nurse tells me that you killed poor Theophilus," replied
the child, in a trembling voice.

Javan set him down again on the pavement, and a dark cloud came over
his brow.  "Then I am looked on as a murderer!" he muttered: "this
shall not be."

He approached his mother and Naomi; and though they tried to meet him
with affectionate cordiality, yet there was a restraint in their
manner, and a quiver on their lip, that told him plainly how his
presence recalled the memory of the departed Theophilus, and how
entirely the innocent child had spoken their feelings in attributing
to him the death of his cousin.  He was growing weary of the scenes
of strife and bloodshed in which he had lived since his return to the
metropolis with Simon.  His zeal in the cause of the son of Gioras
had not abated, nor his resolution to dedicate his life, if
necessary, to the restoration of the peace and prosperity of his
beloved city; but when the daily conflict was over, he had often
wished that he could retire to his home in the confidence of being
received as a welcome visitor.  He longed to find in the society of
his family, whom with all his faults he sincerely loved, a respite
from the cares and anxieties that weighed on his mind, and to forget
for a time the spectacles of horror and vice that met his eyes while
he was actively engaged in carrying on the siege of the temple, or
traversing the streets to prosecute some scheme of his crafty
chieftain's.  The conviction that he had lost all the esteem which he
had enjoyed among his immediate relatives from his cruel persecution
of his amiable cousin, had made his home disagreeable to him, and he
would have made great sacrifices to regain his former place in his
family.  Perhaps even now it was in his power to remove a part of the
stain that rested on his character, and to make his sister at least
look on him more kindly.

While he was absorbed in reflections that seemed in some degree to
chase away the gloom that had so long rested on his countenance,
Naomi had passed to the other end of the terrace, in compliance with
the earnest entreaty of little David; and having descended the marble
steps that led into the flower-garden, was occupied in weaving a
chaplet of bright and fragrant flowers to adorn his curling hair.
Javan followed her, and as he approached the graceful vase from which
she was gathering clusters of rich blossoms, and contemplated her
sweet countenance, and the animated, joyful face of the little David,
a smile of unwonted cheerfulness played on his features.  He stood
silently by her side until her task was done, and then sent the
delighted child back to his mother and Salome to claim their
admiration of his flowery crown.  How lovely he looked!  His bright
beaming countenance and joyous spirit seemed to promise years of
innocence and happiness.  Alas! his beauty was like that of the
flowers he wore--so sweet, so delicate, and so short-lived!

Javan and Naomi walked together in the garden below until the
daylight had faded away, and the stars of night were glittering in
all their splendour in the dark blue vault of heaven.  The other
members of their family had retired to the house, as they feared the
effects of the night-air on the delicate frame of Salome.  Their
curiosity was greatly excited by the earnest and protracted
conference between the brother and sister; and when at length they
joined them in the cedar-hall, they were struck with surprise and
pleasure at the unusual degree of cheerfulness that reigned on the
countenances of both; nor did the concluding words of the
conversation which reached their ears, as Naomi and her brother
crossed the adjoining vestibule, give them any clue to the cause of
the change.

"For six months, Naomi--remember, you have given me your solemn
promise."

"I will not break it, Javan," she replied, "though you have put me to
a severe trial."

The evening meal passed off with unwonted gaiety, for Naomi, the life
and joy of her family, had resumed much of her former spirits, and
her parents were happy in seeing her so, though they were ignorant of
the cause.




CHAPTER XIX.

Jerusalem had been left in a state of awful suspense during the
interval between the arrival of Titus at Cæsarea and the march of the
Roman army.  But that suspense soon terminated, when the news was
brought by some fugitives that the countless host were moving through
Samaria, and ere many days could elapse would be before the walls of
the capital.

They advanced slowly towards the city, and encamped in the valley of
Thorns, near a village called Gaboth-Saul, on the hill of Saul, about
three miles from Jerusalem.  One evening, while yet the anxious
inhabitants watched from the walls and towers, in expectation of
seeing their invincible foes approaching, they perceived a single
horseman coming swiftly along the valley of Jehosaphat, bearing in
his hand a white flag in token of his pacific intentions.  He crossed
the brook Kedron, and rode up to the water-gate, where he called to
the officer on guard in the Jewish language, and requested a moment's
parley with him.  The officer complied, and the gate was cautiously
opened, when he saw a young man of noble and ingenuous aspect, who
courteously saluted him, and begged that he would take charge of a
small packet, which he put into his hand, and permit one of his men
to deliver it safely according to the superscription.  He also
presented him with a gold coin of great value, with a request that it
might be given to the bearer of the packet, as an inducement to him
to be faithful and swift.  Then he bowed gracefully to the officer,
and retired at full speed from the gate, for he probably knew that he
was in a situation of considerable danger, and that he might be
assailed by the shafts and spears of the fierce soldiers who thickly
covered the wall above him.

The officer retained the gold for himself, for avarice had spread
widely among the corrupted troops; and he gave the packet to one of
his guard, with an order to carry it as directed.  The man thrust it
carelessly into his vest, and it was not until the following night
that it reached its destination.  Naomi was retiring to rest, when
Deborah entered her chamber and presented to her the sealed parcel,
on which was written, in characters well known to her, "To Naomi, the
daughter of Zadok the priest;--with speed."  The curiosity of the old
domestic kept her in the room while her young mistress tore open the
envelope, and hastily perused one of the two letters which it
contained.  Deborah watched the changing colour of Naomi's cheek, and
the tear that started to her eye, but she did not interrogate her,
for she knew that the manuscript came from Marcellus; and she
retired, leaving the agitated girl to read the letter again and
again, and tremble equally for the safety of her betrothed, and that
of her parents and herself.

The letter of Marcellus contained repeated assurances of his
affection, and his anxiety to rescue his affianced bride from the
danger that was so rapidly coming on her countrymen.  He detailed the
force and numbers of the Roman army, and declared the firm resolution
of Titus, to persist in the siege until Jerusalem should be in his
power.  And then, with all the eloquence of love, he besought her to
obtain the permission of her parents to leave the wretched city, and
take refuge under his father's protection.  He added that if she and
her faithful Deborah could escape into the valley of Jehosaphat, he
and Rufus would meet her and escort her to the camp, where Titus
himself had promised to provide her with a strong guard, and send her
in safety to the dwelling of an honourable friend of his own at
Cæsarea.  Marcellus further expressed an ardent wish that Salome
could be persuaded to accompany her daughter; but he knew that no
consideration would induce her to leave her husband, and that Zadok
would die a hundred deaths rather than desert his post in the city at
a time of such peril.  He minutely pointed out the spot where he
hoped she would meet him, in her father's garden by the brook Kedron,
at which place he said that he and his father would wait each night
for her appearance, with a litter and swift horses, to bear her and
her nurse away in safety; and he besought her to lose no time in
making up her mind to the step which he proposed, as the operations
of the Roman army would be prompt and decisive, and in a few days all
possibility of his rescuing her might be gone.  Much more was added,
and many arguments used to induce the Jewish maid to leave the home
of her fathers, and escape the inevitable doom of her rebellious
countrymen: but it was all to no purpose.  Naomi shed tears over the
expressions of Marcellus's devoted attachment, and she felt he had
but too much cause to fear that if she remained in Jerusalem she
might share in its destruction; and yet her purpose was unshaken.
Her mother was in declining health, and could she leave her?  The
light of heaven was breaking upon her mother's soul through her
means, and could she abandon her?  No; she resolved that she would
not even mention the proposal of Marcellus to her parents, lest
anxiety for her removal from the city should induce them to urge her
acceptance of it.  She therefore concealed the letter, and opened the
other which accompanied it, and which she found to be from her poor
friend Claudia, who had sent it to her brother, in the hope that he
would find some means of conveying it to Naomi.  She did not
anticipate that he would run so great a risk as to approach the walls
of Jerusalem himself in order to convey the letter, of she would
never have given him such a commission.  But Marcellus had been too
eager to make known to Naomi his plans for her preservation, and to
obtain her immediate concurrence, for any thoughts of peril to deter
him from the enterprise; and unknown to his commanding officer, he
had ventured to the gate, and escaped unharmed.

The letter of Claudia was nearly to the following effect:--

"My beloved Naomi will believe with what satisfaction I avail myself
of an occasion to write to her: and she will I know be equally
pleased to receive tidings of those who love her dearly.  A friend of
Amaziah's is about to return to Judea, and will take charge of my
letters, and convey them to the Roman camp, from whence doubtless
Marcellus will be able to forward this scroll to you.  Oh that I
could myself be the bearer of the intelligence which it will contain!
Dear Naomi, my heart is buried at Jerusalem, and I feel myself a sad
exile while I dwell so far from all those scenes that are consecrated
to my memory.  There have I passed all the happy days of my eventful
life.  There was I blessed with the affection of my martyred
Theophilus; and there did I hear from him of all the things
pertaining to salvation.  There too I enjoyed your society and
friendship, and could strive to imitate, however humbly, the piety
and virtue and courage that made me love the religion that you
professed.  Can I avoid looking back with sorrow and regret to the
days that are gone, and wishing that I had been permitted to tarry
with you, and share your dangers?  My life is now of little value,
for all that made life precious is taken away from me; and it would
have been a joy to me, if the Lord had suffered me to end my days
within the gates of Zion, where he who would have been the happiness
of my life was so cruelly torn from me and murdered: but it is wrong,
and very ungrateful in me, to speak thus.  Bear with my sorrow,
dearest Naomi, while for the first time I am enabled to give
utterance to all I feel; and do not think that I repine against the
dispensations of my God and Father, though I am bowed down beneath
the weight of his chastening hand.  No; I am enabled to bless that
very hand which has wounded me, and to bear testimony to the love and
kindness that have inflicted the blow; and I can even pray for mercy
and pardon on him who was the cause of all my sorrow.  I see now that
I had made an idol of my Theophilus.  Even the readiness with which I
received the faith of Jesus was greatly owing to the interest I felt
in all that he taught me, and the conviction that what he believed
must needs be true and right.  My soul was devoted to him more than
to God, and now God has taken him away in mercy as well as justice,
and has shown me how I leaned on a broken reed, and neglected the
power of His own Almighty arm.  I believe I can truly say, that my
affliction has been blessed to me; and that I am now, through the
unmerited grace of God, a more sincere Christian than when you and
Theophilus used to commend my docility and faith.  Oh, may the same
grace still support me, and carry me forward to the end; that I may
enter into the presence of God, clothed in the robe of my Saviour's
righteousness, and be admitted to those realms of joy, where now my
beloved Theophilus has joined the company of saints and angels, who
sing around the throne.  Pray for me, Naomi, that my faith may never
fail again, and that my light affliction, which is but for a moment,
may work for me a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory.  I
will weary you no more with the detail of my feelings; but it has
been a relief to me to express to my earliest and dearest friend both
my weakness and my strength.  In Judith's presence I always endeavour
to restrain my grief, and to cheer her who is more than a mother to
me.  Both she and Amaziah are unremitting in their kindness; and I
must not say that my life is of no value, when I think of their
tenderness and affection for me.  All the love they bore to their
dear son seems now to be bestowed on me; and if I can in any measure
console them for what they have lost, I will try to wish that my life
may be prolonged.  I have other blessings and other privileges here,
for which I am grateful.  I enjoy the society of many holy disciples
of Christ, and am permitted to share their worship and partake of
their sacraments; nay more, I have already frequently seen the most
blessed apostle John.  I have looked on that countenance so full of
love and purity and zeal; I have listened to his words, while
admiring crowds stood round in breathless silence, to catch the now
feeble sound; and I have received his holy benediction, and felt his
venerable hands laid kindly on my head.  How I have wished for you,
Naomi, to share the sacred delight I feel whenever his almost sacred
form is before me!  I cannot describe him to you, except by saying,
that when I look on him I no longer wonder why he was the chosen, the
beloved disciple above all the rest who followed their Lord.  It is
beautiful to see him leaning on his staff, his long white hair and
beard flowing down upon his breast, and his eyes sparkling with all
the animation of youth, while he pours forth a torrent of eloquence
that must pierce the heart of all who hear him.  The numbers that are
added to the church here through his preaching is very great; and the
famous image of Diana is robbed of many of its worshippers.  I blush
to remember that I was once among the ignorant multitude who believe
that this image came down from heaven, and is endued with divine
power.  It stands in a temple, whose splendour is only surpassed by
your own glorious edifice at Jerusalem.  Oh, that it was dedicated to
the worship of the same only true God!--and that both were likewise
consecrated to the service of his Son!

"This is a very beautiful city, and I was greatly struck with the
splendour of the buildings on our first arrival.  We had a very
prosperous voyage from Joppa, and the weather was more favourable
than we could have expected at that season.  The sun shone
brilliantly on the animated scene which was presented to us as we
approached the city; and the steady motion of the ship, as we sailed
up the river on which Ephesus is built, enabled me to stand on the
deck and admire the beauty of the scenery on either side.  We
ascended the river for a short distance from the place where it falls
into the bay, and the banks were covered with villages and noble
houses, interspersed with trees of every description.  The broad
stream was filled with ships and boats; and nothing struck us with
such feelings of surprise and delight as the shouts which we heard
from some of the boatmen.  'Hallelujah!' was the cry which these
Christian mariners used to call their companions to join in their
labours; and 'Hallelujah!' was answered by the ploughmen in the
adjoining fields, as the boat passed swiftly on.  This glorious
invitation to sing the praises of Christ is generally uttered by his
disciples, in the course of their daily employments, as a signal to
their brethren; and we are thankful to be in a land where the
invitation is so frequently responded to in the same spirit that
dictates it, and not followed by insult and persecution as it would
be in Judea.

"Our faithful Hannah is well and happy.  She is a great comfort to
us, and tries by her activity and zeal to make a return to your uncle
and aunt for all their kindness to her: she sends you her most
respectful greeting.  Judith and Amaziah salute you and your father
and mother with sincere affection, and join with me in fervent
prayers for your preservation and happiness both here and hereafter.
Pray, dearest Naomi, remember and love your attached friend--CLAUDIA."

This letter gave Naomi both pain and pleasure.  She regretted to find
how severely poor Claudia had been tried, and how much her spirit
yearned for the society of the chosen friend of her childhood, as a
consolation in her present afflictions; but she rejoiced also to
perceive how much of true resignation and submission was evinced in
the heartfelt expressions of piety that were mingled with the natural
complainings of a wounded spirit.  Oh, how would she have rejoiced to
have had it in her power to minister comfort to her dear and
afflicted friend!  But that task she must leave to the God of all
comfort; and she could only pray that in His own good time, when
sorrow had worked its perfect work, He would pour balm into the
wounded heart, and bind up the broken spirit.

Her next concern was to devise some method by which she could reply
to Marcellus's letter, and put an end to his anxious expectation of
meeting her by the waters of Kedron.  The fear that he would nightly
repair to the spot, and thus be exposed to great personal danger,
determined her to lose no time in endeavouring to convey to him her
firm determination to share the fate of her parents, while peril
surrounded them on every side.  Many were the plans which she
devised, but all seemed equally impracticable; and after some hours
of useless reflection, she retired to rest, with a resolution to
apply to Deborah for counsel and assistance.

In the morning she summoned the good old nurse, and told her all her
anxious wishes, and her reasons for concealing Marcellus's letter
from her father and Salome.  Deborah applauded her disinterested
conduct and affectionate devotion to her parents, and entered warmly
into all her schemes for conveying a despatch to the Roman camp; but
none were suggested that promised any hope of success, until the
nurse remembered that while Mary of Bethezob dwelt in Zadok's house,
her favourite attendant, Reuben, had made many offers of service to
herself and all the family, and had boasted of having held
communication with a certain person in the Roman army who had been
his friend in former years, by means which were both safe and sure.
This deceitful man had endeavoured to ingratiate himself with
Deborah, as the best method of discovering any circumstances relative
to her young mistress which he could communicate to Javan.  So well
had he acted the part of a sincere friend to the family, so artfully
had he feigned sorrow and indignation at the death of Theophilus, and
so judiciously had he mingled the praises of Naomi with all his
discourse, that the unsuspicious old woman put perfect confidence in
his professions, and now assured her young mistress that she might
safely confide her packet to him, with every hope of its speedily
reaching its destination.

Naomi knew nothing of Reuben, except that he was a confidential
servant of Mary's.  She had often remarked him, and thought his
countenance singularly unprepossessing; but she was entirely ignorant
how much of the affliction and sorrow which had of late visited her
family had arisen from the treachery and cunning of this very man.
She believed that she must have mistaken his character, and desired
Deborah to see him as soon as possible, and ascertain whether he
still possessed the power of holding intercourse with his Roman
friend, and would undertake to convey her packet to Marcellus, for
which service he should receive a handsome reward.

Deborah soon performed her errand, and returned to Naomi with the
welcome intelligence that Reuben had promised to go himself to the
appointed spot by the brook, and meet Marcellus that very evening,
when he would deliver to him the letter.  The despatch was soon
prepared and given to the artful Reuben by Deborah, with many charges
for its safe conveyance.  She desired him to come the following
morning to claim his reward, and to give an account of his meeting
with Marcellus.  The traitor swore to be faithful, and departed.  But
whither did he bend his steps?  To the dwelling of Simon the
Assassin, a name which he had justly earned from those he came to
protect and save.

The son of Gioras was engaged in consultation with Javan and several
others of his partisans, when he was informed that a man at the gate
desired to speak with him quickly and privately.  An expression of
doubt and suspicion crossed his dark brow, and he hesitated for a
moment whether to comply with the stranger's request or not.  He knew
that he was hated by many, and feared by all; and he had reason to
believe that there were many in Jerusalem who would sacrifice their
lives to rid their city of the scourge that their own folly had
brought upon them.  Yet the man might have tidings for his ear alone,
and his crafty policy had often recourse to the employment of spies
and informers.  He took up a dagger that lay on the table before him,
and placed it in his girdle, with a look that told how readily it
would find its way to the heart of any one who should attempt to
injure him, and left the hall.

Reuben was brought before the tyrant, who waited to receive him in a
small private apartment; and guards with naked swords stood ready in
the anteroom to do the bidding of their chief.  Simon motioned to the
informer to remain at a distance, and sternly demanded his errand.
Reuben quailed beneath the fierce scowl that met his gaze, as he
lifted up his own usually downcast eyes, and showed a countenance as
dark and as artful, but not so bold as that of the assassin.

"My Lord," he said, "I come to do you service.  Here is a letter that
will tell you how to rid Jerusalem of one at least of her bravest
enemies."

He laid the sealed packet on a marble slab near him, and retired to
the furthest corner of the room, for he had even less desire than
Simon to come into close contact with his companion.  He had intended
to stipulate for a reward of his treachery before he gave up the
document: but there was something in the eye of the son of Gioras
that made him forget his avarice, and think only of escaping from his
presence as quickly as possible.

Simon took up the letter, and with his dagger divided the silken cord
that fastened it round, and to which the seals were attached.  He
retained the weapon in his hand; and while he read the letter he
seemed also to keep a watch on the movements of Reuben, who eagerly
waited for the moment of his dismissal.  The artless epistle of Naomi
proved to the chieftain that his informer had not deceived him, for
the expressions it contained could not have been the production of
cunning or design; but he did not choose to set the stranger free
until he had both arranged and executed the scheme which his
information had suggested, for he who had betrayed one trust could
not be depended on, even in his treachery.  He called for his guards,
and commanded them to take charge of Reuben, and keep him in security
until he should give further orders concerning him in the evening.
He desired that he should be well treated, but not allowed to hold
communication with any person whatever until that period.  The
trembling menial now repented of his treachery, and sincerely wished
that he had never engaged in the business which had brought him into
so perilous a situation; but his faltering entreaties were of no
avail: he was led away and carefully secured in a chamber by himself,
where he was left to his very disagreeable reflections for many hours.

Meanwhile Simon considered whether he should make known to Javan the
information he had received, and consult with him as to the best
means of seizing on the unsuspecting young Roman and his brave and
distinguished father.  Javan had on some recent occasions shown a
less sanguinary spirit than he had given him credit for, and had even
pleaded for mercy, where fanaticism and prejudice were not excited
against the intended victims.  But Simon could hardly doubt of his
willingness to assist in an enterprise that promised the capture of a
Roman officer, who had dared to propose to a Jewish maid that she
should forsake her home and her parents, and fly to the camp of her
country's foes.  Naomi's letter did not enable Simon to discover that
the writer of it was the sister of his zealous adherent Javan, for no
name was subscribed to it; but it gave him cause to suspect, from
some pious expressions of hope and confidence which it contained,
that the damsel who thus held a correspondence with the enemy was a
Nazarene, and that he whom she addressed was also a member of that
detested religion.  This circumstance made him decide on entrusting
Javan with the secret, and he sent to desire his immediate presence.
The letter was put into his hand as soon as he entered the room, with
a brief explanation of the manner in which it had been received; and
Javan recognised hie sister's peculiarly beautiful handwriting.  His
colour came and went, and the compression of his lip, and strong
contraction of his brow bespoke the painful emotions which were
excited by the perusal.  Simon watched his countenance, and wondered
at the powerful excitement depicted there.

"Ha! my friend," he said, "this effusion of a Jewish maiden's love
for a Gentile foe moves you to wrath.  It is well; you will the more
readily give me your counsel and your assistance in punishing the
audacious Roman, and discovering which of the daughters of Zion has
been found so weak and criminal as to bestow her affections on an
infidel.  It is evident that they have long been acquainted, and have
carried on their iniquitous attachment for a considerable time; but
as yet the girl has resisted the solicitations of the Roman to fly
with him from her parents.  We must secure him, Javan.  We must
secure him this very night, and force him by tortures to confess what
unhappy maiden he has thus beguiled from her duty as a child of
Israel.  And mark these concluding passages, Javan--do they not
betoken the writer to be a believer in the crucified impostor, and
that the man she thus so sinfully loves is of the same obnoxious
creed?"

"Yes, Simon, I see and comprehend it all.  And this maiden is my
sister--my beautiful and once holy sister Naomi, who was then the
object of my pride, and the hope and joy of our family.  I knew that
her soul had been polluted with the vile doctrines of the
Nazarenes,--I knew also that the childish attachment that once
subsisted between her and the son of Rufus the centurion was not
effaced from her memory by his long absence from Jerusalem.  But I
never dreamed of this shame.  She met Marcellus lately when she went
to Joppa with my father.  I knew it, but I was so much engaged with
public affairs that it passed from my thoughts again, and I never
inquired whether he had sought to gain her affections.  Indeed the
very fact that she had embraced the Nazarene heresy made me feel
secure, for I knew that she would never bestow her hand or her heart
on any one who differed from her in religion.  I did not suspect that
this Roman infidel would basely pretend to share her creed in order
to obtain her love.  He shall, however, meet the just punishment of
his audacity and his hypocrisy.  He has affected to be a Christian,
and he shall die the death of a Christian.  Thus shall we escape all
possibility of the disgrace which he would bring upon us.  My father
must be informed of this; and doubtless he will take decisive
measures to prevent all further correspondence between his daughter
and the Gentile youth, even if we should fail to secure him this
evening.  But, Simon, no injury must be attempted against Naomi.  She
is my sister, and though I love but few of my fellow-creatures, I do
love her.  She must be spared, and given time to repent, and to save
her immortal soul."

"I care not for the foolish maiden," replied the fierce son of
Gioras, "so that we get possession of this bold young soldier and his
father.  I have heard of Rufus, and I doubt not that his son is as
worthy of an enemy's death as the old centurion."

"He always was courageous even to foolhardiness," replied Javan; "but
he has no deep subtlety or profound cunning to devise and carry on a
plot.  I marvel how he has deceived my sister, who has so much
quickness and penetration, and made her believe that he has abandoned
his heathen idols, and adopted the no less impious worship of the
Nazarenes.  It is for this that he must die.  As an enemy to
Jerusalem I scorn him, and the vaunted troop to which he belongs.
Let us go forth and organize a chosen band on whom we can depend for
our enterprise this evening.  They will meet with a gallant
resistance unless they can fall on these Romans by surprise."

Javan and the chief captain left the house and repaired to the scene
of contest that was almost incessantly maintained beneath the temple
walls.  There, amidst the noise and carnage that surrounded them,
they selected from among the followers of Simon a strong body of
resolute and powerful men, whom they commanded to be in readiness at
sunset, and to repair at that hour to the water-gate, where they
should receive further directions, and be led to the spot where their
best services would be required.

The intervening hours were passed as usual in fierce and murderous
conflict between the rival factions, in which nothing was gained by
either party, and much blood and strength were wasted that should
have been reserved for the defence of the city against the common
enemy.

Before the blazing sun had sunk behind the western hills the chosen
company were assembled at the appointed gate; and ere long they were
joined by their commander and Javan.  Simon gave the order for the
heavy gate to be thrown open, and they all passed through and
descended to the thick and fertile gardens that still lay uninjured
along the lovely banks of Kedron.  There the men were disposed among
the dark trees and shrubs in such positions as would enable them to
intercept the retreat of any persons who should enter the garden of
Zadok.  The signal was arranged by which Javan should give them
notice to make the attack, and with the last rays of departing
daylight the wily son of Gioras returned to the city, leaving the
execution of the plot in the hands of his friend.

He passed along the dusky streets, now silent and deserted, for the
peaceable inhabitants feared to venture beyond their own doors after
sunset; and those of the combatants on either side who were not
engaged in keeping a watch on the motions of their opponents, had
retired to seek a short repose after the fatigues of the day.  The
silence was only interrupted by the occasional shouts of those bands
of robbers who nightly issued forth to commit fresh acts of violence,
and strike fresh terror into the hearts of the wearied and miserable
inhabitants.  Simon looked around him as he ascended the narrow
street that led from the water-gate towards the centre of the town,
and when he entered the spacious court in which his own dwelling was
situated, he paused to contemplate the desolate scene around him.
Not a human being was moving in that magnificent area which was wont
to be thronged with a gay and busy populace; but on the pavement lay
many a mangled and unburied corpse, slain by the swords and the
daggers of their own countrymen, and left a prey to the hungry and
ferocious dogs that prowled day and night through the city, and
contended fiercely for the unnatural meal.  Scarcely a light
glimmered forth from the windows of the magnificent dwellings that
composed the square.  Every gate and every door was closed and
strongly barred, to guard against the intrusion of robbers and
assassins; while the inhabitants sought, in the most retired of their
apartments, a temporary cessation of suffering and alarm.

"When," exclaimed Simon, as he contrasted the present and the past
conditions of the glorious city, "when shall Zion again resume her
throne, and sit as the queen of nations!  Her crown is in the
dust--her children are in sadness and in shame--her enemies roar
against her as a young lion.  But they shall not prevail.  The lion
of the tribe of Judah shall yet appear in time to succour her, and
her foes shall be driven away as the chaff before the wind.  Why, O
great Messiah! is thy coming so long delayed?"

The son of Gioras was interrupted in the loud expression of his wild
and visionary hopes by the sudden apparition of the mysterious
prophet.  He emerged from the dark shadow of a neighbouring portico,
and attracted perhaps by the voice of Simon, he crossed the square
and approached him, chanting, in his usual sad, unearthly tone:

  "Woe to the bloody and rebellious city;
  And woe to those who dwell therein!
  Woe to thee, Simon!  Woe to the great assassin!
  A voice against Jerusalem and against the temple;
  A voice against the whole people!
                               Woe, woe, woe!"


Simon's feelings were excited by his own lofty expectations to which
he had just given utterance; and the boding note of the prophet
sounded discordantly on his ear.  Many times had he heard his voice
before, and once he had cruelly commanded him to be scourged, in
order to silence his melancholy cry, though without the least effect;
but never had his burden of woe sunk into his own spirit, with a
feeling of awe and dread until night, and he resolved that it should
move him thus no more.

"Thy woes be to thyself, thou false prophet," he cried, "and thy
curses light on thine own head!  There, I send thee to the prince of
darkness, whose messenger thou art; and tell him that Zion defies
him, and all the powers he can send against her.  The Lord of Hosts
is with us."

As he uttered this daring and ill-founded boast, he cast a spear at
the son of Ananus, who stood calmly listening to his words of wrath.
The weapon flew with violence, and Simon expected to see his victim
fall on the ground transfixed.  But it passed harmless by, as though
the prophet were gifted with a charmed life.  Simon drew his sword,
and rushed on the wasted form before him; but with a speed that
mocked his utmost efforts at pursuit, the son of Ananus fled away,
and even in his flight continued to exclaim:

  "Woe to the great assassin!
  Woe, woe, woe!"


Breathless and exasperated, Simon returned and entered his house,
with vows of vengeance on the man who had thus denounced him and then
eluded his arm.  He issued strict orders that very night that the
wild prophet should be diligently searched for the next day, and
brought in fetters to his presence.

"I will silence his ominous croaking," he continued, "nor suffer him
any longer to go about our city adding to the terrors of the people,
and shaking their faith in the coming deliverance that is so surely
revealed."




CHAPTER XX.

The Roman army was encamped in all its strength and glory in the
Valley of Thorns.  From the neighbouring heights the towers and walls
of Jerusalem were distinctly visible, and many times did Marcellus
ascend to the highest summit and gaze with intense anxiety towards
that part of the city where the dwelling of Zadok was situated.  Oh!
what dangers would he not have encountered to find himself under that
well-known roof, and thus be permitted to protect and save his
beloved Naomi, or perish with her in the destruction which he well
foresaw was rapidly approaching!  It was impossible for him, under
any pretext, to enter the city, and therefore he had ventured--though
with fears and doubts as to the reception of his proposition--to
address to Naomi the letter which has already been mentioned, and
which did not reach her hand until the day after it was delivered by
him to the officer on guard at the gate.

It has been seen what was the nature of her reply, and how, by the
treachery of Reuben, it came into the possession of the cruel Simon,
instead of reaching him for whom it was intended.  Marcellus hardly
hoped that Naomi would be able to send him any answer, but he failed
not to repair to the appointed spot, accompanied by his kind-hearted
father and a chosen band of soldiers on the evening of the same day
on which he had carried the packet of letters to the city gate.  Of
course he waited in vain for any communication from Naomi that night,
for his letter was then lying unheeded in the folds of the careless
soldier's garment, and the same disappointment met him the following
evening also.  Nevertheless he was not discouraged, but he resolved
to go again and again to the garden of Zadok, so long as it was
possible for the object of his anxious care to come forth from the
dangers that surrounded her, and claim his protection.  Rufus also
attended his son each night, that if the maiden should venture to
meet them, she might have the comfort and the sanction of his
presence.

The third evening arrived; and again Marcellus and his companions
left the camp, and proceeded by a secluded path over the hills to the
valley of Jehosaphat.  The short twilight had almost faded away when
they crossed the brook and entered the garden, and the overhanging
trees, now thick with luxuriant foliage, effectually concealed them
from the observation of the guard who patrolled along the wall of the
city.  They remained silently watching for some time, when at length
they heard the sound of footsteps softly approaching, and the name of
Marcellus uttered in a low whisper.  The young soldier paused not to
ascertain from whose lips the welcome sound proceeded; he did not
doubt that it was either Naomi or her attendant who called him, and
he sprang forth to meet her.  The night was cloudy and dark, and for
a moment Marcellus did not discover the deceit that had been
practised upon him.  He saw indistinctly a group of persons among the
shrubs and flowers, and he believed that his beloved was in the midst
of them, awaiting his approach.  He hurried forward, exclaiming,

"Where are you, my Naomi?  Haste, haste, and let us bear you away to
safety."

"Audacious Roman!" replied Javan, fiercely; "Naomi is safer than with
heathens and idolaters.  You shall soon be within the same proud
walls that guard her from danger, but you shall no more have power to
tempt her by your arts to forget her father's house and her father's
God!"

So saying, Javan rushed upon the astonished young Roman, while his
attendants commenced a furious conflict with Rufus and his followers.
The Jewish party were the most numerous; but the Romans were superior
in their weapons, and they fought with a desperate resolution to
defend their officers, to whom they were devotedly attached.  Several
were wounded on both sides, and the noise of the combat attracted the
attention of the guard who were stationed at the nearest gate.  They
quickly assembled in a strong body, and sallied forth to the
assistance of Javan, and in a few minutes the brave company of Romans
must have been surrounded and defeated, had not Clodius, who was one
of the number, perceived the glancing of the Jewish army through the
trees, and guessed that fresh enemies were approaching.  The moment
he had discovered that Javan was the leader of their antagonists, he
had rushed towards him, in the hope of revenging the breach of faith
of which the Jew had been guilty towards him, when he escaped so
treacherously from his custody while a prisoner in the Roman camp.
All his efforts were directed against him alone, and he would gladly
have sacrificed his life if he could have slain Javan also.  Probably
he would have succeeded in his desperate attempt, had he not observed
the coming reinforcement; but then his attachment to Marcellus
outweighed his private animosity, and leaving the scene of conflict,
he flew back to the spot beyond the brook where the horses and the
litter had been placed ready for the expected removal of Naomi beyond
the reach of pursuit.

He seized the horses of Rufus and Marcellus, and in an instant
returned to the spot where they were contending for liberty and life,
calling loudly to them at the same time to mount and fly before the
Jewish guard should arrive and overpower their small band.  They
disengaged themselves from their antagonists, and sprang on their
gallant steeds; but they did not then desert their devoted followers.
With desperate valour they covered their retreat, and by the strength
of their well-trained chargers drove back their assailants and kept
them at bay, until they were joined by the band who came to their
aid.  By that time all their own men were mounted, when, as the Jews
rushed forward with their combined force, Rufus gave the word of
command, and the undaunted troop of Roman cavalry were in a moment
scouring down the valley, far beyond the reach of their enemies'
swords or lances.

Javan's rage and disappointment knew no bounds.  All regard to his
sister's feelings--all the compassion that had once been excited by
the fate of Theophilus and the sorrow of his relatives--were
forgotten, and he burned to plunge his sword to the heart of the
Roman who had won the affection of Naomi, and escaped the
chastisement which such presumptuous boldness deserved at the hands
of every true son of Abraham.  He returned with his discomfited
followers to the city, and immediately repaired to the house of
Simon, to inform him of the ill-success of their enterprise.  The
chieftain was almost as much disappointed as his colleague, for he
had ardently desired to get the brave centurion and his noble son
into his power.  But his expectations, and those of Javan, had
failed; and now they could only endeavour to keep the attempt a
secret from Naomi.  Reuben was summoned from his place of
confinement, and made to swear that he would never reveal the
occurrences which had taken place; and then Javan commanded him to go
to Deborah in the morning, as had been agreed, and claim the promised
reward for his faithful performance of the commission entrusted to
him.  He directed him to assure her that he had himself seen
Marcellus in the garden, and given her young mistress's letter into
his own hand, and witnessed his grief and disappointment at reading
its contents.  The wily Reuben promised to use great discretion and
subtlety in preventing the suspicions of Deborah, and left the house,
rejoiced to find himself again at liberty and safe from the custody
of the terrible Simon.

He told his well-invented story to the credulous old Deborah, who
instantly gave him the liberal reward that was intended as a
recompense for his fidelity, and hastened to communicate to Naomi the
supposed success of her mission.  Naomi was satisfied.  She grieved
for the sorrow which she had caused to Marcellus, but she felt that
she had acted according to the dictates of her own conscience and her
strong sentiments of filial piety; and she tried to banish all
selfish regrets, by hastening to the apartment of her beloved mother,
and devoting herself as usual to her comfort.  In the effort to cheer
her spirits, which had lately become most deeply depressed, she
forgot all her own peculiar causes of anxiety, and found a reward for
every personal sacrifice in observing that while she conversed with
her, and cautiously spoke of her own hopes in her Redeemer, and her
own consolation in every trial, the countenance of Salome became more
animated, and her sadness gradually passed away.  Oh if the interest
which her mother already appeared to feel in the wondrous scheme of
redemption through Jesus Christ might be deepened and strengthened,
and at length, by the grace of God, become a steadfast and a saving
faith--what joy would be hers!  How gladly, to further that
all-important object, would she forego all hopes of earthly happiness
for herself, and patiently wait for a glorious reward in Heaven,
where all her cares and sorrows would end, and where she might be
permitted to meet him who now possessed her affections, to be
separated no more for ever!

She looked on the pale cheek and wasted form of Salome, and blessed
God that she had refused to leave her or even to let her know that an
asylum of perfect safety had been offered to her.  Salome expected
and dreaded the result of the attack of the Roman army; and often she
shuddered to think what might be the fate of her cherished and
beloved child if the Gentile conquerors became masters of the city.
She felt that her own strength was declining rapidly, and she
believed that ere that terrible event took place her eyes would be
closed in death, and behold not the destruction that ever attended a
Roman conquest.  But how much more peacefully would she have awaited
death if she could have known that Naomi was safe with those who had
power to protect her and make her happy!

All these anxious fears were not concealed from Naomi, and therefore
it was that she refrained from telling her mother of the letter she
had received from Marcellus.  But she read to her the epistle of
Claudia; and from the expressions of Christian faith and resignation
which it contained, she took occasion to speak of the blessed peace
that was to be found in the Gospel doctrines, and the support which
they afforded to every sincere and humble believer, under all the
most trying dispensations of Providence.

"Naomi, my child," said Salome, with an expression of anxious doubt
on her countenance, "it is from listening too much to your discourse
on those subjects that I have lost the peace that once possessed my
soul.  While my faith in the holy religion which we have received
from our fathers, and which was taught by God himself, was unshaken,
I was tranquil and satisfied.  I fulfilled all the requirements of
the law as far as I was able, and trusted to the merit of the
appointed sacrifices to atone for my deficiencies in the eyes of a
holy and a merciful Jehovah.  But now that trust is gone.  I have
begun to feel that the blood of lambs and goats cannot wipe away my
many and grievous sins, and my soul is tossed with fear and doubt.  I
cannot put my confidence in the crucified Jesus so fully as you would
have me do; I cannot cast myself, and all the burden of my sin, on
him, in full assurance of pardon, for my faith in him is very weak.
Oh that I could surely know that he was indeed the promised Messiah!"

"My dearest mother," replied Naomi, "I bless my Heavenly Father for
the words you have spoken.  Surely He hath begun the work of
salvation in your soul, and He will accomplish it to the end.  Your
very doubts and fears are an evidence that his Holy Spirit is
striving with you; and I shall yet see you among his believing
people, enjoying that peace which was the gift of Jesus to his
disciples, and which nothing in this world can either give or take
away."

"May God grant it, Naomi," said Salome, in a dejected tone, "but I
never expect to feel perfect peace on earth.  I have lived for many
years in contempt of the Saviour whom you would have me to worship,
and serve, and love as a God.  And if he is indeed the Christ, how
can I hope that he will pardon my past neglect, and accept a faith so
poor and weak as mine?  I shall not live to prove whether it is
sincere or not; and I dare not say that if I met with persecution or
even opposition for his sake, I should have strength to confess him
and to maintain my belief.  Oh no, Naomi; my heart is not like yours
or our poor Theophilus's--and Jesus must despise it."

"Oh say not so, dear mother," said Naomi: "you have more faith in
your Redeemer than you allow yourself to believe.  Were it not so,
you would not be so anxious to be pardoned and accepted by him.  And
were your doubts tenfold more powerful than they are, Jesus would not
turn his face from you, for he has promised to receive _all_ who come
to him in sincerity, and in no wise to cast them out."

"While I hear you tell of his condescending mercy and love to
sinners, I always feel comfort, Naomi: but when I am alone and
remember my own utter unworthiness, then I doubt whether that mercy
and love can extend to me.  I have sinfully neglected him, and even
striven to banish from my mind the impression that long ago your
conversation and that of Amaziah made on me.  I feared to displease
your father more than the God of my salvation; and preferred a blind
confidence in the superiority of that religion which he professed, to
a diligent inquiry into the truth of the Christian doctrines.  I did
not even at that time pray that I might be led into the right way,
for I wished to remain in the Jewish faith; and can I hope that such
perverseness should be forgotten, and such hardness of heart
pardoned?  O Naomi, I have suffered much in the last few months.  I
do believe that the Lord has been striving with my spirit, though I
resisted his influence; but day by day that influence has become
stronger, and my desire to know the truth more urgent.  While you and
your father were absent at Joppa, I gave much time to meditation; and
I believe I was sincere in asking my Heavenly Father to bring me to
himself, and make me his own accepted child, however trying to flesh
and blood might be the means which his love and wisdom should see
necessary to wean my soul from all its false dependencies, and its
attachment to the things of earth.  I prayed also that the true way
of acceptance with him might be made known to me; and that I might be
taught to renounce all that was erroneous in the manner in which I
had hitherto worshipped Him, and enabled to discover and embrace that
faith which would make me pure in his eyes, and meet for the kingdom
of Heaven."

"Then I no longer wonder, my dearest mother, that you have taken such
an increased interest in the truths of our holy religion since that
time.  God has heard your prayer, and graciously inclined your heart
to receive the light of the glorious Gospel of Jesus Christ.  I have
greatly rejoiced ever since my return home, to find that you not only
permitted me to speak unreservedly of my Lord and Saviour, but that
you took delight in the subject, and always seemed to be cheered and
enlivened by it; but I did not know that this was in answer to your
own supplications.  Oh, I thank our merciful God who gave you the
spirit to ask so humbly and sincerely, and then in his love and mercy
granted your request."

"Yes, Naomi, it is all his work.  If at last I am saved through Jesus
Christ, what a monument of his goodness shall I be!"

"And is it not equally a miracle of grace, that any one of us should
be saved?" replied Naomi.  "Are not all of our fallen race by nature
dead in trespasses and sins, until the Spirit of the Lord takes away
our stony heart and gives us a heart of flesh?  What pride, and
presumption, and self-righteousness once defiled my whole soul; and
yet did my Saviour call me to believe in him, and enable me to trust
wholly and unreservedly to his merits for pardon and salvation!  I
have never known a single believer in Jesus who did not look on his
own salvation as a wonder of grace and mercy, and those who have
attained to the greatest degrees of holiness, and have been enabled
in some degree to imitate the perfect example set forth by their
Divine Master, have ever been those who have also most deeply felt
their own natural depravity, and most gratefully acknowledged that
all their attainments here, and all their hopes hereafter, were the
free gift of God.  Do not then, dear mother, doubt his power and
willingness to save you: 'If the blood of bulls and goats, and the
ashes of an heifer sprinkling the unclean, sanctify to the purifying
of the flesh, how much more shall the blood of Christ, who through
the eternal Spirit offered himself without spot to God, purge your
conscience from dead works, to serve the living God!'"

"Yes, my child, I believe indeed that Jesus has the power, and I will
try also to believe that he has the will, to save and pardon even me.
It is a wonderful thing that God should give his Son to die for us:
and if that be really true, nothing is too great to expect from his
love towards his sinful creatures."

"Oh, eternal thanks be to God," exclaimed Naomi, fervently, "for this
confession of your faith in Jesus, as his Son, and your own Saviour,
my mother!  May he strengthen that faith day by day, and enable you
to triumph in his great salvation."

"Naomi," replied Salome, "it is not in my nature to feel all that
holy trust and confidence that seems to inspire your more ardent
soul.  While I remain in this world, I shall ever be subject to fears
and timorous doubts.  But pray for me, that my faith may not
altogether fail--that I may be enabled to take comfort in it when the
hour of death approaches, as it surely will ere long."

Naomi turned away to hide the rising tear that dimmed her eye at her
mother's prophetic words.  she was well assured that they were words
of truth; and she had for some time past endeavoured to prepare
herself for the bereavement that was rapidly approaching her; but she
could not contemplate it without deep emotion, or watch the silent
change that was taking place in that beloved mother's pallid
countenance and wasting form, without feeling that all her trust in
God would be required to enable her to bear the separation.

She paused a moment to regain her composure, and then replied,

"If it pleases our God and Father to take you to himself, he will
support your faith, my mother, and give you victory over every fear
and every temptation.  Trust in Him, and Him alone, and he will be
your guide ever unto death.  His rod and his staff they shall comfort
you; and while you lean on Him for support, he will not suffer your
foot to slide."

"Bless thee, my child," said Salome affectionately; "what a comfort
has God given me in you!  Nothing has so strongly shown me the power
and the holiness of the religion which you now profess, as the change
which it has worked in your character, and the spirit of joy and
consolation and meekness and gentleness that it has imparted to you.
When we meet hereafter before the throne of God, it will be my pride
to remember that you, my Naomi, pointed out to me the way thither,
and your bright example allured me into it."

"Cease, cease, dear mother!" cried Naomi: "oh, do not thus rob God of
the honour that is all his own, to give any part to a sinful creature
like me.  If he has been pleased to make me the humble instrument of
revealing to you the way of salvation by faith in Jesus Christ, to
Him be all the glory and all the praise.  Throughout eternity I will
bless Him for the privilege, and declare my own unworthiness.  Oh
that I had grace and strength to act up to the spirit of those
doctrines which I so feebly endeavour to impart to you!  But I have
need of teaching on every point; and were it not for the grace of my
Redeemer, and the power of his Holy Spirit, I should fall into sin
each hour of my life.  How many are my provocations of Him every day,
notwithstanding all his mercy to me!  It is only by constant prayer
that my sins may be blotted out afresh, and washed away in his
atoning blood, that I can in any degree preserve my confidence that I
am pardoned and accepted by Him.  Let me entreat you to use the same
humble means, and you too, my mother, will find rest to your soul,
and be enabled to glory in the hope of your free forgiveness and
everlasting glory."

"I have already found some consolation in prayer, Naomi, since I have
offered it in the name of Jesus.  I can feel more confidence that God
has pardoned me, when I am enabled to believe that his only Son has
shed his blood to take away my sins, than when I trusted in the blood
of sacrifices to make a propitiation for them.  I see now that those
sacrifices could never take away sin."

"They were but the types and shadows of the good things to come,"
answered Naomi, "and served to point out the one great sacrifice
which should at length be offered.  I would to God that our deluded
nation would now see the worthlessness of all those forms and
ceremonies that belonged to the old covenant, and would heartily
embrace the new covenant which the blessed Son of God has revealed to
mankind.  It is a grief to my heart, a bitter grief, to see my dear
and honoured father and my zealous brother yet in the bondage of the
law, and despising the glorious liberty of the disciples of Christ.
Their souls are in subjection to things which cannot profit them; and
the zeal and devotion that would do honour to the cause of Him who
died to save them, are devoted to the support of vain traditions and
customs that are derived from men.  They think to glorify Almighty
God by their obedience to these customs of our fathers, but how much
more acceptably would they honour Him by casting off their prejudices
and receiving Jesus of Nazareth as his anointed Son.  O my dearest
mother, will not you exert your influence to bring both my father and
Javan out of the way of error?"

"I dare not speak to them on such a subject, Naomi.  The words would
die away unuttered.  I am too weak in body and in spirit to contend
with them, and they would but despise my feeble voice.  Perhaps also
their arguments would shake my own faith, which is so little
established.  I will pray for them, my child, as you have prayed for
me; and may God give the same success to my petitions."

Naomi forbore to urge her mother to attempt the conversion of Zadok
and her son, for she saw how unequal she was to such an effort.
Indeed the conversation which she had just held with her had
exhausted her strength and excited her feelings more than she was
well able to bear; and her daughter entreated her to seek repose on a
couch which was always placed for her upon the terrace.  This was a
favourite situation with Salome, as it enabled her to enjoy the pure
air that blew over the mountains of Olivet and the lovely view that
extended beneath them.  The terrace also was adorned with many a
marble vase, in which grew beautiful and aromatic plants; and these
were carefully tended by Naomi, and arranged near her mother's
resting-place.  It was a peaceful spot in the midst of that turbulent
city; but even there the distant shouts of violence and conflict were
heard, and Naomi brought her harp, that by its music and her own
sweet voice she might draw away her mother's attention from the
sounds of discord that always excited her fears and her grief.

She continued to sing in a low, gentle tone, until Salome, soothed by
the sound and refreshed by the breeze, sank into a quiet sleep; when
Naomi laid aside her harp, and indulged in grateful meditation on the
discussion which she had just held with her mother.  It is true the
faith which she had heard her express was both weak and
wavering--clouded with doubts and obscured by prejudices.  Yet it was
evident that she was sincere in her inquiry after the truth, and
really desirous of knowing the will of her Heavenly Father, that she
might do it.  Therefore Naomi was very confident that her mother
would not be long left in uncertainty as to the way in which she
should seek the salvation of herself; for Jesus himself had said, "If
any man will do His will, he shall know of the doctrine whether it be
of God."  What comfort did the remembrance of this promise bring now
to the heart of Naomi; and how earnestly did she thank her merciful
Redeemer, who had left such words for the encouragement of all who
seek him in sincerity, however small their knowledge or weak their
faith!  She trusted that her beloved mother would yet be spared for
some time, and enabled, before she should be called hence, to make a
full profession of her trust and confidence in the merits of her
Saviour.  She hoped that when her last hours should arrive they might
be cheered and illumined by such a sense of pardon and acceptance as
should deprive death of all its terrors, and make her more than
conqueror over all that now she greatly dreaded; and that then, when
life was fading away, and eternity appeared in all its awful reality,
she might be able to lay aside her fears and scruples, and tell to
Zadok on what her soul was trusting, and whence she derived her peace
and joy.  But should it please the Lord of life and death to hasten
her mother's departure, and deny her the privilege of bearing a
triumphant testimony in her dying hours to his power and will to save
sinners, yet Naomi felt that she should have no fears for her
salvation--no doubts that when her flesh and her heart failed, God
would be the strength of her heart and her portion for ever.

"O God!" she softly ejaculated, "I thank Thee for this blessed hope!
May I but hold my own faith steadfast unto the end of my pilgrimage;
and then, when I stand before Thy throne, I shall see my mother, my
own beloved mother, among the countless throng that shall assemble
there, having washed their robes and made them white in the blood of
the Lamb!  But where, oh, where will my father be found in that great
day? and where shall Javan stand?  Can it be, O Lord Almighty! that
their blindness shall exclude them from Thy presence?  Shall they
suffer the wrath of the Lamb if they continue to despise his mercy?
O Lord God, Thou knowest.  Thou knowest how much of their blindness
is wilful, and whether their hearts are upright in Thy sight; and
Thou art very merciful."

Naomi buried her face in her hands, and wept.  She could pray and
hope for the conversion of those she loved so dearly, but the present
state of their souls made her shudder.  She knew that a heavy
judgment was coming speedily upon Jerusalem--the hand of the avenger
was already stretched forth to smite the city and her inhabitants;
and there was but one way opened for escape--but one refuge into
which sinners might flee and be safe for ever.  That way was despised
by Zadok, and hated and blasphemed by Javan--how could it then avail
to save them?  Naomi could not look into the decrees of God, or
foresee what His providence should ordain concerning her father and
brother.  She could not look into their hearts and discover the
degree of their responsibility and their guilt.  She could only bow
in trembling submission to His just decrees, and pour out her soul in
fervent supplication that they might yet repent and be converted, ere
the days of destruction should come, and there should be none to help
them.  She was still engaged in deep and anxious thought when Salome
awoke, and looked up at her daughter with a smile of greater
contentment and peace than Naomi had seen on her countenance for
several months.

"I have been dreaming of former happy days," she said, "when you and
Javan and our poor Theophilus were merry children playing together on
this terrace; and Claudia and Marcellus were with us too.  I was
thoughtless, and well pleased to be so, at that time, Naomi; but I am
happier now, in my present weak, declining state, with sorrows, and
cares, and miseries around me, than I ever was while I was ignorant
of what Jesus has done for my soul.  I dreamed just now that I saw
you all in childish mirth, playing among the flowers at the end of
the terrace; and while I looked at the joyous group, a bright and
glorious being descended from above, and called to Theophilus to come
out from the rest of his companions and prepare for Heaven.  How
joyfully the boy complied! and how gratefully he looked up to Him who
had thus chosen him for himself!  Then the heavenly visitant summoned
you, my Naomi; and with equal readiness you left your childish
sports, and I saw the light that shone from the divine countenance of
him who called you reflected in your own.  Marcellus and Claudia were
both afterwards summoned: and I looked to see my son also placed in
the chosen band; but no--he stood aloof, and though the same voice of
mercy called to him, he did not move.  The glorious being turned from
him with a look rather of sorrow than of anger, and then he spoke to
me.  I did not heed his words at first, and many times he called me
ere I even tried to rise and obey; but at length he came and took my
hand and drew me forward, and placed me by your side.  O then my eyes
were opened, and I saw a multitude of angelic creatures around us,
clothed in white; and they sang a song of triumph, because the Lord
of their salvation had looked in mercy upon us also, and had joined
us to their happy company.  I looked for Javan and for Zadok that I
might call them to join us, and share our felicity, but I could not
see them--the terrace and all that I had seen before had vanished
away; and then I woke with a feeling of peace that I have never known
before.  O Naomi, I believe that I shall soon realise that happy
vision, and that all I love best on earth will be partakers of the
same joy.  If I did not trust that Zadok would surely be of the
number, I fear that even the prospect of Heaven would not now make me
feel satisfied.  And Javan too--my poor mistaken son!  His errors of
faith have led him into grievous sins.  May the Lord pardon him the
death of Theophilus!  Your father's life has been one of devoted
obedience to what he believed to be the will of God, and of unwearied
benevolence to his fellow-creatures.  Surely he will be accepted of
the Lord, though he may die in ignorance of Him for whose sake alone
his sins are pardoned and his obedience rewarded.  But Javan gives me
far more anxiety.  His zeal is so mixed up with cruelty--his temper
is so unhumbled--and his conduct so fearfully opposed to the love and
mercy and charity that ought to characterize all pardoned sinners,
that I cannot think of him without fear and dread.  Oh, in what part
of God's revealed will did he learn to persecute his own brethren?
Where did he read that it was an acceptable offering to the Lord of
all goodness to shed the blood of one who dwelt at peace with him,
and worshipped the same God, and hoped for the same Heaven, though he
differed from him as to the foundation of those hopes?"

"May his spirit be enlightened to see his errors," replied Naomi;
"and may he yet find pardon.  He was less cruel to Theophilus than
you believe, mother.  He thought he was making a last effort to save
the soul of our poor cousin from the devices of Satan.  I fear that
much of personal animosity was mingled with that feeling, and urged
him to execute his fatal enterprise against his liberty; but I do
believe that his anger was softened and his hatred subdued after
Theophilus was in his power.  And when he saw his noble conduct, and
witnessed his unshrinking courage, I do believe that he pitied and
admired him, and regretted the step into which his own misguided zeal
had hurried him."

"Then why did he not save his life, Naomi?  Surely he had power to
obtain his release."

"Alas, mother, pride and fanaticism forbade his openly pardoning a
Nazarene, even if his hard-hearted colleagues would have consented to
it.  But speak to him on the subject, and hear his own feelings and
his own thoughts; and you will pity him more, and perhaps blame him
less."

As Naomi spoke Javan himself appeared on the terrace.  His father had
met him, actively engaged in the business of the civil warfare, and
had told him with deep sorrow that his mother was far less well than
when he had last seen her, and that he began to entertain very
serious alarm about her.  Javan was shocked at this announcement, for
he really loved his mother; and though he had seen her look pale and
feeble for some time past, he had not admitted the idea that her life
was in danger.  He eagerly inquired of Zadok whether the rabbi
Joazer, who acted the part of a physician as well as of a spiritual
adviser, in the family, considered her illness in so serious a light,
and whether any further medical aid could be obtained in the city.

His father assured him that everything was done for the invalid that
human skill could devise, but that he feared her naturally delicate
constitution had suffered so much from sorrow and anxiety, that she
would never rally again, though she might yet linger for a
considerable time.  This, he added, was also the opinion of the
rabbi.  Javan's heart smote him, for he remembered how much he had
contributed, by his conduct towards Theophilus, and also by his
harshness to Naomi, in harassing the mind of his gentle and
affectionate mother, and laying on her a heavy burden of woe, which
she had not strength to bear.  He hastened homewards, and when he
reached his father's house, of late so seldom visited by him, he felt
a degree of remorse while he thought how he had been a cause of
constant sorrow to its inmates, instead of being their support and
joy.  He proceeded to the terrace with softened feelings, and
approached his mother with a kindness and gentleness of manner that
were very unusual.  Encouraged by this, Salome conversed freely with
him; and Naomi, seeing that sha looked tranquil and happy, left her
with her son, while she retired to attend to some domestic
arrangements with Deborah.

The conversation that ensued on her departure, between Javan and his
mother, was extremely interesting; and whatever was the subject of
it, it tended in a great degree to remove the gloom that hung on
Salome's spirits; and Naomi found her more cheerful on her return
than she had ever been since the apprehension of Theophilus, and all
the sad scenes which had followed that unhappy event.


[Illustration: Vaults of the Harem]




CHAPTER XXI.

Marcellus and his father reached the Roman camp in safety on the
preceding night, when they escaped from the plan laid by Simon and
Javan for their destruction.  As they descended the hill that lay
between Jerusalem and the Valley of Thorns, the vast encampment lay
before them like a fortified city.  A large space had been cleared
and levelled by the pioneers; and there, in an incredibly short time,
the camp was formed according to the usual plan of the Roman army.
It was an exact square, and surrounded on every side by a strong
rampart about twelve feet high, the top of which was armed with a
line of almost impenetrable palisades; and a ditch, twelve feet wide
and twelve deep, also ran at the foot of the rampart as a further
security.  These prodigious works were executed by the soldiers
themselves, who were accustomed to use a spade or a pickaxe with
almost as much readiness as a sword or spear, and were always kept
employed in some useful manner by their commanders when not engaged
in the actual duties of warfare.  A vacant space of two hundred feet
in width was left inside the ramparts, and the tents were pitched in
the remaining portion of the vast enclosure.  They were arranged so
as to form broad and straight streets, and in the centre of the whole
rose the lofty and magnificent pavilions of Titus, ornamented with
the emblem of the eagle, so sacred in the eyes of every Roman
soldier.  A strong tower had been already erected at each corner of
the camp, and the intervening space withinside the rampart was lined
with scorpions, catapultas, balistas, and other ponderous and
dreadful engines of destruction.  A handsome gate was placed in the
rampart on each side of the encampment, sufficiently wide to admit
the broad and heavy waggons and military carriages that attended the
movements of the army; and also of strong detachments of troops
sallying forth with unbroken ranks.

The strictest order and decorum were preserved throughout this
populous camp, which were rigidly enforced by the general and his
subordinate officers.  The soldiers were summoned by the sound of
trumpets to their regular meals, and the same signal warned them when
it was time to retire to rest, or to arise and begin the business of
the day.  The clear blast of the evening trumpet was sounding through
the camp when Rufus and Marcellus entered the gateway; and ere they
reached the quarters of Titus the wide streets were almost deserted,
and none remained abroad except those whose duty it was to patrol the
different districts, and keep watch while their comrades slept.

The expedition in which Marcellus had that night been engaged was
known and permitted by the general, with whom he was a great
favourite.  Titus had listened with considerable interest to the
story of his attachment to the young Jewess, and would willingly have
done anything in his power to rescue her from the dangers to which
she must soon be exposed; but no open measures could be of any avail,
and he could only hope that the scheme of his young friend might be
crowned with success.  He allowed him to take from the ranks of his
own troop such a number of men as he might think sufficient for his
purpose, and gave orders that he and his attendants should be
permitted to pass unquestioned through the gates of the camp at any
hour, either of the day or night.  He had sympathized in the
disappointment of Marcellus, when on the two preceding evenings he
had repaired to the garden in the Valley of Jehosaphat, and returned
without any tidings of Naomi; but he encouraged him in his
determination to visit the appointed spot on each following night,
and wait in patient hope for better success.  All that hope was now
gone, and Marcellus hastened to his kind commander to communicate to
him how all his expectations had been frustrated, and his fears that
Naomi might even be subjected to oppression and restraint, in
consequence of the discovery which had been made by her brother of
his unsuccessful attempt to rescue her from impending evil.

The young soldier and his veteran father were immediately admitted
into the presence of Titus, who was busily engaged in looking over
plans and maps of Jerusalem and the surrounding country, and
revolving in his mind the plans of future proceedings, and the best
mode of commencing an attack on the rebellious city.  He ceased from
his employment on the entrance of his visitors, and heard the account
of their meeting with Javan with attentive interest, and sincere
commiseration with the mortified feelings of Marcellus.  The only
consolation which he could offer him was in the prospect of a speedy
vengeance on the crafty Jew, and the possibility of saving and
rescuing Naomi when the Roman arms should have conquered Zion, and a
way should be opened for their entrance within her proud walls.  But
Marcellus knew that much of danger and suffering might befall his
beloved Naomi long ere the courage and obstinacy of the Jews should
be subdued, and the eagles glitter on the conquered towers of
Jerusalem.  He knew the unyielding and determined character of their
opponents better even than Titus did, and he anticipated a long and
desperate resistance to all their efforts.  He shuddered at the idea
of Naomi being exposed to all the privations and miseries, all the
horrors and excesses of a besieged and vanquished city; and he
retired to his own tent for the night, with feelings of anxiety and
dread that effectually banished sleep from his eyes.

The signal for rising and engaging in active employment was welcome
to him; and after the first and most solemn occupations of the day
had engaged his attention in the retirement of his tent, he gladly
went forth among his comrades, and tried to forget his own personal
anxieties in the zealous performance of those duties which fell to
his lot in the discipline of the camp.  It was the custom in the
Roman army for all the soldiers to repair in the morning to the
centurions of their respective bands, and offer to them a respectful
salutation.  The centurions paid the same compliment to the tribunes,
and they in their turn waited on the general or commanding officer,
to proffer their services, and receive from him the watchword for the
day, and the orders which they were to deliver to their inferior
officers.  These forms were attentively observed in the camp of
Titus, and the tribune who presided over that part of the army to
which the equestrian troop was attached, was commanded to prepare six
hundred horsemen for an expedition to reconnoitre the wall of the
city that morning.  He was also desired to inform Marcellus that his
attendance was required in the general's tent.  He gladly obeyed the
summons, for he hoped to be allowed to take a part in the intended
movement; and any occupation of that kind was preferable to passing
his time idly in the camp, and indulging his own painful reflections.

[Illustration: THE ESCAPE OF TITUS.]

He was not disappointed, for Titus immediately communicated to him
his plans, and desired him to be in readiness to accompany him, as
his personal attendant, in an hour's time.  They sallied forth at the
hour appointed, a gallant band of horsemen, splendidly mounted and
equipped, and soon appeared on the summit of the heights that looked
on the walls of Jerusalem.  As they wound down the last declivities
that sloped at the foot of the walls they gazed in astonishment at
the turbulent city.  Not a man appeared upon the battlements--not a
sound of preparation for resistance or attack was heard; even the
gates seemed to be deserted, and that scene of violence to be hushed
in perfect peace and repose.  Titus led his squadron to the right,
and passing the angle of the wall which was guarded by the Women's
Tower, to the north-east of the city, he filed off towards the Tower
of Psephina, which occupied an important situation on the north-west
side, near the upper fountain.  Suddenly the gates behind him were
thrown open, and a vast multitude rushed tumultuously forth, and
threw themselves upon the troop of cavalry.  Some succeeded in
passing the squadron, and placed themselves across the road by which
it was advancing, and others burst violently through their ranks and
separated their enemies into two parties.  Titus was cut off from the
remainder of his troop, with Marcellus and a few other brave
followers.  He could not advance, for the ground before him was
divided into orchards and gardens, fenced round with walls and deep
ditches, besides broad watercourses that reached to the walls of the
city.  To retreat was almost as impossible, for thousands of his
assailants crowded between him and his troops, to intercept his
movements in that direction.  Titus saw that the only chance of
escape lay in a desperate effort of strength and courage.  He called
loudly to his men to keep close to him, and with Marcellus at his
side he urged forward his noble steed and charged fiercely on those
who opposed him.  Hundreds of javelins and arrows were discharged at
him, and every effort was made to obstruct his passage and secure his
person; but though he wore neither helmet nor breastplate,--for he
had not anticipated that he was going forth to battle,--yet he did
not receive a single wound, but passed through the cloud of missiles
unharmed.  With his sword he cleared a passage before him, while his
well-trained charger crushed beneath his feet the wounded enemies who
fell around.  Marcellus bravely seconded him, and thus did they
cleave their way through the dense mass that surrounded them and
shouted for their destruction.  The undaunted courage of Titus and
his young companion excited the admiring wonder of the Jews.  They
exhorted one another to rush forward and secure the inestimable prize
that seemed within their reach; yet still they shrank away from the
rapid strokes of his bloody sword and the irresistible force of his
fiery steed, as he slowly and steadily made his way through the
crowd.  His band of devoted followers formed around him as well as
they could, and with a trifling loss the party at length reached the
Valley of Thorns, and escaped from their pursuers.  Two only were
missing from this brave company--one had been surrounded, and with
his horse pierced with countless arrows and javelins--the other
dismounted incautiously, and was instantly overpowered and slain, and
his horse led away in triumph into the city.

The exultation and joy of the Jews at this event were unbounded.  It
is true but a small advantage had been gained, yet they regarded it
as the happy presage of future victory.  Titus himself, the noble and
all-conquering Titus, had been forced to fly, and nothing now seemed
too great for their hopes and expectations.  The news ran through the
city with the speed of lightning, and the superstitious inhabitants
hailed it as a token that the Lord would give them the victory, and
that His arm would now be stretched out to save them.  Javan shared
the general enthusiasm, and with his pious father gave thanks to the
God of Israel for this token of his favour and protection; and Simon
thought it politic to encourage the same feeling among his troops.
In his own cold calculating heart he trusted more to the strength of
his army than to the invisible arm of Jehovah; but he knew that the
Jews, however sunk in sin, and regardless of the laws of the God and
their fathers, yet looked on themselves as his own peculiar people,
whom he would save and defend from all those who sought their ruin.
Therefore he joined with Zadok and his ardent son in openly ascribing
the late signal success to the special interposition of their
Heavenly Father, and in exhorting his men to courage and
perseverance, under the assurance that the Divine aid would attend
all their efforts, and enable them to baffle every attempt of their
foes to deprive them of their freedom or their inheritance.

Zadok returned to his home that evening full of bright hopes and holy
confidence, and he endeavoured to inspire Salome and his daughter
with the same feelings, but in vain.  Naomi ever remembered the sad
prophetic words once uttered by her Lord and Saviour, and she knew
that the ruin of Jerusalem was drawing nigh.  Salome too had learnt
from her to believe that not one jot or tittle of what he had
pronounced should ever pass away unfulfilled; and her own naturally
timid and desponding disposition had made her more readily assent to
the truth of his declarations of punishment and woe, than to his
promises of pardon and acceptance.  She could easily believe that her
nation should be brought low and her beautiful city destroyed, for
the wickedness of them that dwelt therein; but she could not so
easily apply to herself the equally clear assurance that those who
put their trust in the Lord should be safe under the shadow of his
wings--that those who believed in the Son of God should be cleansed
from all sin--pardoned, justified, saved, and glorified, without any
merit of their own, or any claim on the mercy of an offended God, but
a simple reliance on the atonement of his Son Jesus.

Salome's heart was weak, and when Zadok looked to see her pallid
countenance lighted up with joy at the account which he gave her of
her people's triumph, he was grieved to observe her turn away and
weep.  Gladly would she have told him all her fears and all her
anxieties, but her courage failed her, and she could only show by her
dejection that she was insensible to the hopes of temporal glory and
prosperity that animated her husband's breast, and unable to reveal
to him the eternal hopes that, however dimly and faintly, cheered her
own spirit and lightened her earthly sorrows.  Zadok attributed her
depression of spirits entirely to her present weak state of health,
and he gently reproached Naomi for not using better endeavours to
amuse her mother's mind, and at the same time regretted that he was
so much occupied in the discharge of his sacred duties, and in the
affairs of the city, as to have but little leisure to devote to his
wife.  Had he suspected the subject which formed the chief and
constant theme of discourse between Salome and his daughter during
his absence from home, he would still more deeply have regretted the
state of public affairs that had compelled him to leave them so much
alone, and expose his beloved wife to a danger which he regarded as
far more to be dreaded than any temporal evils.

He had contented himself with the conviction which he entertained of
Salome's pious attachment to the religion in which she had been
brought up, and her implicit submission to his judgment in all
spiritual matters.  He also felt assured that her mind was not of
that active and inquiring nature that would lead her, like Naomi, to
investigate any new opinions or receive the truth of any new
doctrines.  He knew that she had a great veneration for the rabbi
Joazer, and had always considered his opinion as a rule of faith; and
when he requested him to watch over her bodily sickness, he also
charged him to lose no opportunity of strengthening and establishing
her spiritual health.  Thus he believed that he had no cause to fear
that the heresy he so much dreaded would ever be communicated to her,
and he was well satisfied that the devoted affection of Naomi should
watch over her, and provide for her every comfort and attention that
her present precarious state of health required.  Little did this
priest of the Most High God understand the power of that faith which
he despised.  Little did he know of those influences of the Holy
Spirit which can change the whole nature of the soul, and infuse a
thirst after the truth that nothing else can satisfy.  Little did he
know of that strength of the Lord Jesus, which is made perfect in our
weakness, and which was then silently and gradually working in the
soul of Salome, transforming her weakness into strength--her fears
into holy confidence--and inspiring her with such an assured hope of
pardon and eternal bliss as should at length shine forth resplendent
amid the struggles of departing life, and make her triumphant over
all that hitherto she had trembled to contemplate.

As yet this power from on high was not perfected in her soul, and she
was in bondage to the fears of death and the occasional dread of
God's wrath; and notwithstanding all the efforts which Naomi made
again and again to chase away her fears and fill her with humble
trust in the promised support of her Heavenly Father, and the
atonement once offered on the cross to wipe away all her sins, she
was subject to frequent temptations and doubts, that clouded her
views and marred her peace.

Zadok knew nothing of all her spiritual trials, and he frequently
talked to her of the joys that would be her portion, if it pleased
the Lord to remove her from this world of care, and the reward that
would follow her constant obedience to His laws, and her humble trust
in His mercy towards His chosen people.  But the ground of his hopes
was not that on which Salome had learned to rest, and the humility
which she had acquired at the foot of the cross made her shudder at
the spirit of self-confidence that tarnished the piety even of the
upright Zadok.  Night and morning he prayed with her, and repeatedly
he read the Scriptures to her: but the form of his supplications,
however earnest, now sounded imperfect in her ears, and his comments
on the word of inspiration grieved her heart.  Oh, could she but have
heard him, who was dearer to her than all the world besides, pouring
forth the desires of his heart in the name of Jesus of
Nazareth--could she have heard him acknowledge the "Man of sorrows"
to be Him of whom Moses and the prophets did speak, how joyfully
could she have borne every other trial, and even, she thought, have
encountered death with a smile, in the assured hope of his following
her to those mansions which Christ has prepared for his disciples!
And yet she could not at that time command her faltering tongue to
declare in whom she believed, and entreat her husband to seek refuge
in the ark provided for the day of calamity.

The evening passed away in the usual unsatisfactory manner; and the
following day brought with it events that occupied Zadok's attention
even more than before, and engrossed even more of his time.

Titus had returned to his camp in the Valley of Thorns, greatly
exasperated at the unexpected attack which had been made on him, and
determined to lose no time in commencing the siege of the offending
city.  During the night he was joined by one of the legions which he
had left at Emmaus, and orders were immediately issued for the
removal of the camp to a place called Scopus, within a mile from the
outer wall, and so situated as to afford a fine view of the city, and
of the level plain which extended to the base of the fortifications.

At break of day the business of removing the army and all its
ponderous equipments commenced, and was performed with all that
astonishing expedition and order that distinguished every movement of
the well-trained Roman armies.  Orders had been given the night
before for the men to be in readiness; and soon after the sun rose,
all the tents were taken down and packed in the waggons, with the
rest of the heavy baggage.  Then the first signal-trumpet blew, and
at its sound the troops all fell into their ranks, each carrying
their arms, their kitchen furniture, and their instruments for
constructing fortifications.  The second trumpet sounded, and
instantly fire was set to temporary bulwarks and towers that had
surrounded the encampment, and quickly they formed a blazing mass of
ruin.  The third and last signal sounded loud and long, and then the
herald, who stood by the side of Titus, raised his voice, and
demanded whether the troops were prepared for battle; and he was
answered by a cheerful and universal shout of assent.  Three times he
repeated the same demand, and each time the deafening shout of the
armed multitude replied to him, while the hands of the troops were
raised on high to express their readiness and zeal.

The word of command was given, and that glorious array of invincible
men marched simultaneously forward.  Alas! that such a goodly
assembly should be moving in all their pride and pomp towards the
slaughter of millions of their fellow-creatures, and the destruction
of the noblest and most sacred city that ever adorned the earth!  The
army advanced in the usual order of march: the allies led the way
attended by the company of pioneers, and then the baggage of the
officers, escorted by a strong guard.  Titus himself followed with a
select guard of spearmen and the cavalry belonging to the legions.
The military engines, strongly guarded, formed the next detachment;
and to these succeeded the sacred standards, attended by the
trumpeters; then the legionaries in their phalanx, ten deep; the
slaves with the baggage; and, last of all, the mercenary troops, with
a strong rear-guard to keep order.

The equipment of this fine army was as admirable as the order and
discipline that marked its movement.  Nothing vain or superfluous was
to be seen in the dress or ornaments of either the men or their
officers; while at the same time it was evident that the Romans knew
the value of a certain degree of show, and endeavoured to produce an
imposing effect upon their adversaries.  The accoutrements of the
officers were superb and costly: their helmets, cuirasses, and swords
were inlaid with silver and gold, and their beautiful and spirited
steeds were richly caparisoned; while the common soldiers prided
themselves on their well-polished shields and helmets.  The numerous
gilded banners which attended the army, in addition to the glittering
eagles, increased the brilliance of the scene; and the whole of that
numerous army looked rather as if they were attired and equipped for
a public feast, than as if carnage and desolation were their only
objects.

The Romans formed a second encampment near Scopus, two legions being
in front, and a third at some distance in the rear; and while they
were erecting their walls and towers of defence, the tenth legion,
which had taken its route by Jericho, also arrived, and received
immediate orders to pitch their tents at the foot of the Mount of
Olives, facing the lofty temple walls and pinnacles.

Each of the leaders of the rival factions in the city beheld the
hostile camps forming under their walls.  Eleazar looked from the
summit of the temple, John from the porticoes of the outer courts,
and Simon from the heights of Zion; and for the first time they all
became aware that their only chance of safety lay in a united effort
to repel their formidable enemies.  They entered into negociations of
peace; and at length agreed to lay aside their mutual animosities,
and combine their now divided forces for a simultaneous attack on the
common foe.  Zadok and Javan hailed this tardy reconciliation as a
second omen that the Lord was on their side, and that he had inclined
these fierce and hitherto implacable enemies to forget their personal
hatred, and only contend with a valiant emulation who should be
foremost in rushing on their assailants.  Joyfully did the son of
Zadok obey the call to arms, and hasten to join his leader.  He was
at his father's house when the summons reached him.  He had returned
to his home in search of a part of his armour for the expected sally;
and Salome heard with trembling fear the call for her son to join his
comrades.  She gave him a mother's parting blessing; and when he was
gone from her sight, she passed the anxious hours that succeeded in
fervent prayers for his safety.  How earnestly did she beseech her
Heavenly Father to spare his life, and not suffer him to be hurried
into eternity while his soul was a prey to evil passions and baneful
prejudices!  Naomi united in her mother's supplications; and while
they were thus engaged, a fierce and bloody scene was going forward
in the Valley of Jehosaphat.

The combined forces of Jerusalem had sallied out by the eastern
gates, and rushing along the margin of the Kedron, had fallen with
unexpected and irresistible fury upon the tenth legion, then busily
occupied in constructing their camp.  The soldiers were at work in
their intrenchments, and many of them were unarmed.  They retreated
before the sudden attack of the Jews, and several of them were killed
before they could regain their arms.  Fresh swarms of their
assailants still poured from the city, and in their consternation the
Romans yet further multiplied their numbers.  Accustomed as they were
to fight in battle-array, they knew not how to resist the wild
desultory attacks of the Jews, who rushed upon them with a blind
impetuosity.  Sometimes they turned and faced their pursuers, and
succeeded in repulsing them for a moment and slaying the foremost;
but such overpowering numbers followed to take their places, that the
brave legionaries were on the verge of a total defeat, when Titus,
who had heard of their danger, came suddenly to their relief.  He was
attended by a few picked men, and fell so unexpectedly on the Jews
that he drove them up the valley with considerable loss.

The tenth legion now rallied, and united with the troops that
followed Titus in pursuing the enemy along the valley; but
notwithstanding the disadvantage to which the Jews were exposed, from
the steepness and inequality of the ground, they yet had the courage
to turn and face their pursuers after they had crossed the brook.  In
this situation they maintained the battle till noon, when Titus
placed a part of his forces at the end of the valley, and sent the
rest to occupy a strong position on the heights above, in order to
secure the valley.  This movement was mistaken by the Jews for a
retreat; and a sentinel who had been posted on the walls, made a
signal to those within the city that the Romans had fled.  Instantly
a fresh multitude issued from the gates with the undisciplined fury
of wild beasts, and bore down the ranks of their enemies by the
impetuosity of their charge.  They fled to the mountains, and once
more Titus and his chosen band of attendants were left exposed to the
attack of the infuriated multitude.  He was posted on the declivity
of the hill, when he found himself deserted by the main body of his
forces; but taking advantage of his commanding situation, he defended
himself resolutely, while Marcellus and his comrades endeavoured to
ward off the blows that were aimed at him on every side.

One of the Jews, who had distinguished himself throughout the
engagement by his intrepid courage, advanced through the crowd of his
countrymen to the spot where Titus and his brave company stood like
lions holding the inferior animals at bay.  With a desperate effort
he broke through the Roman band, and aimed a deadly blow at their
general.  So wild and sudden was his attack, that he would probably
have succeeded, at least in wounding Titus, whose attention was
directed another way, but for the courage and activity of Marcellus.
He saw the descending blow, and quick as thought he sprang between
his commander and the fierce Jew, and arrested the weapon ere it
reached the destined object.  The flashing eyes of the Jewish soldier
fell upon him who had thus robbed him of the triumph so nearly won,
and Marcellus saw that he was again brought hand to hand in conflict
with the brother of Naomi.  Revenge was a passion that lurked deep in
Javan's heart, and now it rose up to animate him against the young
Roman.  He forgot his eagerness to rush upon the general, in the hope
that now he had found an opportunity of obtaining vengeance for all
the injuries that his prejudiced mind laid to the charge of Marcellus.

With a bitter curse on his lips, he turned to aim his sword at the
heart of the Christian soldier, and was astonished at the strength
and dexterity with which his attack was met by his opponent.
Marcellus would not for worlds have slain the brother of his beloved
Naomi, and he contented himself with warding off the fierce blows of
Javan.  Had this single combat been permitted to continue for any
length of time, Marcellus must have been driven either to seek the
life of his antagonist, or to save his own by a retreat, for Javan
was resolved to die or to conquer.  But happily they were forced
asunder by the rush of combatants on either side, and they met no
more in that day's battle.

Those of Titus's troops who had gained the summit of the hill, and
saw the enemy come pouring up on either side, and attacking their
noble general and his faithful band with determined fury, were struck
with horror at the critical situation to which they had abandoned
him.  By a loud outcry they raised an alarm among the whole legion,
and spread the information that Titus was surrounded and in danger of
being massacred.  Bitterly they reproached one another for their
desertion of their brave commander; and with the resolute courage of
men ashamed of their conduct, and resolved to make amends for it,
they rallied their scattered numbers, faced their pursuers, and by
their determined valour at length succeeded in driving them down the
hill.  Every foot of ground was well contested by the Jews, but they
could not long stand against the force of the Romans bearing down
upon them from above in a solid phalanx, and they were compelled to
retreat, entirely discomfited.  Titus remained to establish a strong
and efficient line of outposts, and then retired to his camp, and
dismissed his wearied men to seek repose after the lengthened
struggle which they had been compelled that day to maintain.


[Illustration: Attack of the First Wall]




CHAPTER XXII.

It was now the time of the passover; and though the festive joy that
was wont to pervade the once happy and favoured city at that sacred
season was gone for ever, yet even in these days of calamity the
hallowed festival still retained its hold on the hearts of the people
of Judah.  Formerly the whole population of the land used to repair
with joyful feet to their holy and beloved city, where they found
every house open to receive visitors with a free and cheerful
hospitality.  This thronging of the sons of Israel to offer up their
united praises for the deliverance of their forefathers from the
bondage of Egypt could now no longer be effected; yet great numbers
still repaired at the accustomed period to the metropolis, undeterred
by fears or obstacles from attempting to accomplish what they
regarded as a solemn duty and privilege.  They found an entrance into
the city, but to retire from it was impossible, and this vast
addition to the population of the place only increased the misery of
the besieged, by hastening the consumption of the provisions that
were yet stored up for the day of want.

The recurrence of this holy feast at such a time of civil disorder
was also the occasion of other calamities, by causing the rupture of
the recently established peace between the factious leaders of the
city.  The great day of sacrifice arrived.  The priests were at their
stations, and all was ready for the celebration of the sacred rite.
Eleazar commanded the gates of the inner temple, where he still kept
his quarters, to be opened for the of the worshippers; when a party
of John's most desperate adherents stole in unperceived among the
crowd with swords and other weapons concealed beneath their cloaks.
No sooner were these ruffians within the gates than they cast aside
their cloaks, and brandishing their swords, fell upon the defenceless
multitude, who expected that a general massacre would follow.  The
Zealots suspected that the stratagem was designed entirely for their
destruction, and leaving the gates undefended, they all fled away and
took refuge in the subterranean chambers beneath the temple.  The
helpless crowd who had assembled to worship the Lord God of Israel
now gathered around the sacred altars for protection; but even the
sanctity of those hallowed spots was insufficient to preserve the
fugitives from the violence of the Zealots.  Many were trampled to
death, and a still greater number slain either in mere wantonness and
cruelty, or to gratify private hatred.  The altars flowed with blood,
but it was not the blood of the appointed victims shed for the
expiation of the sins of the people.  It was the blood of human
beings, poured forth by the hands of murder and sacrilege, to fill up
the measure of Zion's iniquity, and call down the vengeance of an
insulted God!

At length the fierce partisans of John of Gischala were glutted with
robbery and carnage; and having taken possession of the inner
apartments of the temple, they made terms of peace with their enemies
who were concealed beneath.  They permitted them to come up from
their places of refuge, and even to resume their arms, and remain
under the nominal command of their leader Eleazar; but in fact they
became a subordinate part of the faction attached to John, and thus
the sedition which before was divided into three parties was reduced
to two.

Meanwhile Titus was slowly and cautiously advancing towards the city.
He posted in the camp at Scopus a sufficient body of horse and foot
to guard against the incursions of the enemy, and then he employed
the rest of the army in levelling the whole space between the place
of encampment and the Tomb of Herod, near the pool called the
Fishpond of Serpents.  All the fences and verdant hedges that
enclosed the orchards and gardens were torn up; and those beautifully
luxuriant spots where the inhabitants of Jerusalem had enjoyed so
many hours of recreation, were swept away by the merciless hand of
war.  The trees were cut down, and the clear fountains filled up with
rubbish, that a broad and level road might be constructed from Scopus
to within a short distance of the outer wall of the city.

Simon was not idle during this interval; and as he was unable to meet
the advancing foe in a pitched battle, he had recourse to stratagems,
by which he hoped to obtain some advantage, however small.  He placed
the enterprise under the conduct of Javan, as the most daring and
faithful of his officers; and the zealous young Jew readily accepted
the command.  To the astonishment of the Romans they one day beheld a
considerable body of the Jews issue rapidly from a gate near the
Women's Tower, as if forcibly driven out by a stronger party within.
They supposed that this band consisted of the fiercer insurgents, and
that they were expelled by the party who desired peace.  This idea
was confirmed by a number of Jews appearing on the wall, holding out
their hands, and making every sign that they would willingly receive
the Romans, and open their gates to them.  At the same time they cast
down stones upon those whom they had driven out, and who were
cowering beneath the wall as if dreading the approach of the enemy,
and supplicating mercy from their countrymen.

The Roman soldiers who beheld this transaction were about to charge
in a body, but they were restrained by Titus, who suspected some
artifice, and commanded them to remain at their posts.  A small
detachment, however, who were in front of the rest, employed under
the inspection of their centurion Rufus, seized their arms and rushed
towards the wall.  Rufus, himself, in the ardour of the moment,
forgot the attention to discipline for which he was usually
remarkable.  He recognised the hated and perfidious Javan among those
who now seemed exposed to destruction; and with a strong desire of
vengeance for all his cruelty and want of faith, he sprang forward
with his unsuspecting men.  The Jews, who had advanced to meet them
at some distance from the wall, now fled to the gates, and were
followed by the inconsiderate Romans, until they found themselves
within the flanking towers.  The artful Javan and his companions then
turned upon them, while others sallied forth and surrounded the
little band, and those on the walk hurled down stones and other
missiles on their heads.  They suffered a considerable loss in killed
and wounded; but some of them escaped, with Rufus, fighting a valiant
retreat, and pursued by the enemy as far as the monument of Helena.
The Jews then retired, exulting in their victory, and when they
reached their walls they insulted the vanquished Romans by clashing
their shields and loading them with every ludicrous and opprobrious
name, for their folly in being so easily deceived.

The proud spirit of Rufus was roused to the uttermost at these
taunts, and he fiercely cast them back at Javan, with threats of
future vengeance.  For the present, however, that vengeance was
beyond his reach, and he was forced to lead back the remnant of his
men to the camp, greatly discomfited at their defeat and loss.  Nor
was this all, for they were received with severe reproofs by their
tribune for their breach of discipline; and so great was the
displeasure of Titus that he threatened to execute upon the offenders
the martial law, which punished even such breach of orders with
death.  This announcement caused great sorrow throughout the army,
for Rufus and his brave men were deservedly loved and respected by
their comrades; and all the officers immediately gathered round the
general to implore his mercy.  For some time he sternly refused to
listen to their entreaties, and it is probable that he might have
carried his harsh sentence into effect, as a warning to the rest of
the army, had it not been for the earnest intercessions of Marcellus.
The grief of his young friend and favourite, and the high opinion
which he had always entertained of Rufus, at length appeased his
anger; and he pardoned the offence of the centurion and his band upon
their pledging themselves to atone for the error by a strict
attention to regularity and discipline for the future.

This act of lenity increased the popularity of the general, and the
devotion of the army to his service.  With fresh vigour they
proceeded to carry his schemes into execution, and in four days the
whole space from Scopus to the wall was levelled, for the conveyance
of the baggage and removal of the camp.  The army took up their
position among the northern and western walls; the infantry in front,
the cavalry in the rear, and the archers between them.  With this
impenetrable line between the city and the camp, they removed in
perfect safety all the heavy baggage, and Titus encamped within a
quarter of a mile from the outer wall, near the Tower of Psephina.
Another detachment of the army was posted near the Tower of Hippicus,
at some distance from head-quarters, and the tenth legion kept its
position near the Mount of Olives.

At this period Jerusalem was divided into different quarters, which
might almost be termed distinct cities, each inclosed in its own
walls, and all surrounded by the great outer wall, which was guarded
with towers of solid masonry, of the same kind as that which composed
the rest of the fortifications.  The first or outer wall encompassed
the northern quarter called Bezetha.  It was built of stones
thirty-five feet long, and so massive as to offer an almost
impenetrable obstacle even to the powerful battering-rams and other
formidable engines of the Romans.  It was erected by King Agrippa the
First, and though it fell far short of his original design, it was
yet a work of great power and strength, being upwards of seventeen
feet in height, and the same in thickness.  The Jews had carried it
up to the height of thirty-five feet, but not with the same stability
as that part which was built by Agrippa, and the summit was furnished
with battlements and pinnacles, which gave it a still greater
elevation.

The second wall enclosed a part of the lower city, and joined the
north-west corner of the strong citadel of Antonia.  This fortress
was built on a high rock, and was separated from Bezetha by a deep
ditch.  It stood at the north-west of the temple, and with that
beautiful and commanding edifice composed a separate and independent
portion of the city.

The most ancient part of the walk was that which surrounded Sion, the
southern quarter of the town, and containing the strong pile of
buildings called the City of David.  It passed along the verge of the
Valley of Hinnom, and then turning northwards, joined the eastern
portico of the temple.

Thus the city was calculated to resist the strength and perseverance
of almost any army that could be brought against it, being composed
of four distinct quarters, each, it would seem, able to stand a
regular siege independent of the fate of the other portions.

The towers which guarded the whole of this circuit were thirty-five
feet high, and of the same width.  On their summits were lofty
chambers, less solidly built, which were again surmounted with large
tanks to receive the rain-water.  There were in all a hundred and
sixty-four of these massy towers, the ascent to which was by handsome
flights of steps; and the space from tower to tower being about three
hundred and fifty feet, the whole extent of the walls must have been
rather more than four miles.

Titus ascended the most elevated height in the neighbourhood of the
camp, attended by Marcellus and some other of his officers, with a
strong escort of cavalry.  He wished to obtain a commanding view of
the celebrated city which he was destined to overthrow, so that not
one stone should remain upon another.  Had he known what was to be
the fate of that splendid city, he would have regarded it with other
and more melancholy feelings.  The intimate knowledge which Marcellus
possessed of the interior enabled him to point out to his admiring
general the situation of all its various quarters, and the most
distinguished buildings.

The fortress of Antonia, and the snowy walls of the temple adorned
with burnished gold, attracted the immediate attention of Titus, and
long he gazed on the wonderful pile, where art and wealth had
expended all their treasures.  The citadel rose conspicuous above the
temple, on a steep rock ninety feet high.  The body of the tower was
seventy feet in height, and it was finished at each corner by lofty
towers.  It was provided within with every accommodation that luxury
could require, and was fitted rather for a royal palace than a
garrison for troops.  The temple itself appeared a fitting edifice to
contain all the countless treasures that had once been lavished on
its altars and its walls by the piety of the sons of Zion, and which,
in spite of the frequent depredations that had been committed by
foreign and domestic foes, were still of surpassing value.

Titus surveyed all this magnificence, and the many other noble and
extensive buildings that lay before his view; and then he proceeded,
with some caution, to make an entire circuit of the city.  Nicanor,
the tribune who had so greatly distinguished himself at Jotapata, was
one of those who followed the general, and by his side rode the
liberated captive Josephus.  The Jew expressed an ardent wish to
approach the walls and address his countrymen, who were watching
their movements from the battlements and towers; and Nicanor
imprudently consented to accompany him, in the hope that their united
persuasions might have the effect of inclining the besieged to listen
to terms of peace.  Josephus made an eloquent appeal to them,
describing the power and valour of the Romans, and vaunting also the
clemency and generosity of Titus towards those who submitted to his
arms.  But while he was yet speaking, and extending his arms towards
his countrymen, as if to implore them to have pity on themselves, one
of those on the wall aimed an arrow at his breast, at the same time
assailing him with the epithets of coward and traitor.  The shaft did
not reach its intended mark, but it pierced the arm of Nicanor, who
stood close to Josephus, and inflicted a severe wound.

Titus was highly exasperated at this act of wanton cruelty and
insult, which plainly showed that all attempts at bringing about
terms of capitulation would be in vain, and he instantly resolved on
commencing the siege without any further delay.  He gave orders to
his soldiers to ravage and destroy the suburbs, and to bring away
everything that would be serviceable in raising their mounds and
completing their works.  All the trees were quickly cut down, and the
suburbs, lately so blooming and beautiful, became naked and desolate.
Titus resolved to make his first attack on the outer wall which
surrounded Bezetha, because the buildings of that quarter did not
reach to the wall, which consequently appeared lower.  The spot which
he selected was near the tomb of John the high-priest, and immediate
preparations were set on foot.

When the inhabitants of Jerusalem beheld the Roman works being
completed, and saw that the day of assault was near at hand, those
who had hitherto been entirely occupied in destroying their own
fellow-citizens, began at length to turn their attention in the
direction of the Romans--the foes alike of every faction--and the
more peaceable inmates enjoyed a temporary repose from their outrage
and violence.  Many of them even hoped and prayed for the success of
the Roman arms, as the only means by which they could be rescued from
the power of enemies far more to be dreaded.

The force under the command of Simon consisted of 10,000 of his own
men, and 5,000 Idumeans; John of Gischala had 6,000; and 2,400 owned
Eleazar as their leader.  The son of Gioras allowed himself and his
followers no respite to their labours.  With vast exertion they
succeeded in raising the military engines, formerly taken from
Cestius, on the walls; but his men wanted skill to use them with much
effect, and the Romans continued their labours under the shelter of
their penthouses of wickerwork.  Being also more practised in the use
of the destructive catapultas and balistas, they greatly annoyed the
besieged, and not only repelled their frequent sallies, but cast over
the walls stones of an enormous size from the distance of two
furlongs.  These masses of rock carried death and ruin in their
track, and the Jews knew not how to guard against them; but as they
were generally of a very white colour they were enabled to see them
approaching, and numbers of men were placed on the wall to watch for
these silent and deadly enemies.  These sentinels gave notice to
their comrades the moment they perceived the stone leave the engine,
by crying, "The bolt is coming!" when they immediately separated, and
threw themselves flat on the ground, so that the rock generally
passed harmless over them.  This stratagem was observed by the
Romans, and they afterwards took the precaution of blackening the
stones, which completely baffled the besieged, and rendered these
tremendous implements fearfully destructive.

Notwithstanding the great terror and loss occasioned by these
engines, the Jews did not suffer their enemies to proceed undisturbed
with the mounds which they were erecting, but were incessant in their
sallies, and in the artifices which they employed to interrupt their
labours.  All their efforts were, however, unsuccessful, and the
works were speedily completed.  Then the engines were brought to a
proper distance from the walls, and strongly guarded against the
excursions of the besieged.  The signal was given, and at the same
moment a thundering noise resounded through every part of the city.
On three different parts of the walls the battering-rams were let
loose together, and terror ran through the heart of almost every
dweller in Jerusalem.  The soldiers of the besieged city raised a
general and terrific shout, in reply to the first strokes of the ram;
and all private animosities, all party feuds, appeared to be
forgotten in the dreadful excitement that ensued.  Convinced that
nothing remained but to unite all parties in the common cause, Simon
proclaimed an amnesty to all of John's adherents who would join his
men in defence of the wall; and though John was himself too
suspicious of his rival leader to venture out of his stronghold, yet
he did not oppose his followers obeying the summons.  The two
factions combined in their efforts to set the engines on fire by
discharging combustibles from above, while strong parties sallied
from the gates below, tore away the palisades and killed many of the
engineers.

Titus was unwearied in his exertions.  Wherever assistance and
counsel were wanted, there was he to be seen in person, and his
courage and presence of mind equalled his activity.  His personal
inspection and encouragement excited his troops to fresh exertions,
and at length a tower which stood at an angle of the wall came down
beneath the blows of the battering-ram; but its fall made no breach
in the walls.  The besieged drew back as if in terror at this event,
and the Romans were unsuspicious of any immediate attack, when
suddenly a large body of the enemy rushed out from a gate near the
Tower of Hippicus, and fell upon them with resistless fury and
impetuosity.  They were furnished with flaming brands, for the
purpose of setting fire to the engines, and they soon reached the
intrenchments.  Had they not been most valiantly opposed by a party
of Alexandrians, they must have succeeded in destroying all those
dreaded machines; but while they struggled fiercely with their
opponents round the engines Titus came galloping up, attended by his
cavalry.  With his own hand he laid twelve of the Jews dead on the
ground, and the rest at length retreated, leaving one of their number
a prisoner in the hands of the Romans.  This unhappy man was
immediately made fearful example of, being crucified before the
walls, in the hope of deterring his countrymen from making any more
such desperate sallies.  He was the first--would that he had proved
the last!--of these rebellious people who was treated with such cruel
and unjustifiable barbarity, and made to endure those torments which
their fathers had inflicted on the innocent, the holy, the divine
Jesus of Nazareth.  But the fate of this victim to Roman severity did
not in the least degree deter his fellow-citizens from exposing
themselves to the same perils, whenever they could hope to gain the
most trifling advantage over the enemy.  They continued the conflict
until night put an end to their efforts, and the Romans retired to
their camp exhausted with the severe exertions of the day.

With the morning dawn the battle was renewed, and again the terrific
sound of the battering-rams came like thunder on the ears of the
besieged.  One of those dreadful engines had been named by the Jews
"Nico," or "The Victorious," for they observed that nothing seemed
able to resist the overwhelming strength of its blows.  The dreaded
Nico continued to work with unabated vigour throughout the day, and
at night it ceased not to thunder against the wall, until at length
it began to totter.  When the Jews saw that a breach was to be
apprehended, they forsook the wall, and abandoned all further
attempts at defending it.  The showers of darts and arrows which
their enemies were able to pour down upon them from the lofty towers
which they had erected to overlook the battlements, had for some time
forced them to descend from the summit of the wall, and leave the
battering-rams to continue their destructive blows without any effort
to interrupt them.  They were also wearied with exertion, and anxious
to return to their own houses within the second wall, and therefore
they deserted the suburb, and left Bezetha an easy prey to the
conqueror.

Those of the inhabitants who still remained in that quarter fled to
the more secure parts of the city, and the gateways were thronged
with terrified fugitives, carrying all that was portable of their
possessions, and hurrying from the expected incursion of the Romans.
The confusion and alarm that already prevailed in the city were
augmented by this sudden influx of a destitute population, who were
entirely dependent on the charity and hospitality of their
fellow-citizens for shelter and subsistence.  These social virtues
had almost expired in that miserable city, while selfishness and
avarice reigned triumphant on every side.  Few were found willing to
receive and comfort their distressed brethren, and the sufferings of
these wretched people were extreme.  But some individuals were yet
remaining in Jerusalem in whose hearts all the better and nobler
feelings were not extinguished, and who gladly offered an asylum to
as many of the fugitives as their dwellings would contain.  Among
these Zadok was the most distinguished, and his benevolence set a
bright example to the rich and noble of the city.  Several families
were brought under the shelter of his roof, and received from the
hands of Naomi and Deborah all the assistance and relief that their
destitute condition required.

Salome was at this time but little able to support the constant
excitement of terror in which she lived from day to day; and the
appalling sounds that reached her ears told her sinking heart that
the destined ruin was approaching very nigh.  Naomi had hitherto used
every precaution to conceal from her mother the progress that the
enemy was daily making, and the slaughter that was effected among
their countrymen.  It would but have augmented her terror and her
grief, and added to the constant anxiety which she felt from the
perils to which both Zadok and Javan were exposed.  But when Bezetha
was abandoned to the conqueror, and the inhabitants rushed
tumultuously into the inner city, mingled with the troops, and
uttering wild cries of terror, the truth could no longer be
disguised, and Salome learnt that the Roman eagles were even then
being planted on one of the walls of Jerusalem.  Soon the whole of
the deserted quarter was in the possession of the enemy, and Titus
having ordered a large portion of the outer wall to be thrown down,
took up his position near what was called the Camp of the Assyrians.
His troops commenced an immediate attack on the second wall, and were
resisted with dauntless courage by the Jews.  John and his party
maintained the conflict from the citadel of Antonia and the northern
porticoes of the temple, while Simon's men defended the wall as far
as the aqueduct that passed to the Tower of Hippicus.  Many and
fierce were the sallies of the besieged, but as often as they rushed
on the well-disciplined foe, they were driven back with considerable
loss.  That night both parties remained under arms, as the Romans
every moment expected a sudden attack, and the Jews feared to leave
their walls defenceless.

As soon as daylight returned the engagement was renewed, and never
was a contest maintained with greater vigour and courage than were
displayed on either side.  The Jews strove to emulate one another in
their contempt of danger, and in the fearless exposure of their
lives, for they fought beneath the eye of Simon; and such were the
awe and reverence with which he had inspired his followers, that they
were willing to brave every peril in the hope of obtaining his
approbation.  Titus exercised the same influence over his troops, and
the pride of their first success, joined to his continual presence,
excited them to a stubborn and unconquerable courage.

The central tower of the second wall was the point against which the
chief efforts of the Romans were directed, and the dreaded Nico was
brought to bear upon it with all its resistless force.  This tower
had been committed by Simon to the care and defence of Javan; and a
strong garrison was placed under his command for the protection of so
important a post.  The Romans soon drove away almost all these men by
the cloud of arrows which they sent among them from their own movable
buildings which they had brought to look down upon them, and Javan
remained with only ten companions.  He scorned to fly, and determined
to have recourse to a stratagem by which an advantage might be gained
to his party.  He therefore desired his men to remain quiet for some
time, and conceal themselves as much as possible from the enemy.  But
when the tower began to totter above their heads, he directed them to
start up and stretch forth their hands, as if imploring mercy.  At
the same time he advanced to the battlements of the tower in a
supplicating attitude, and called loudly on the name of Titus.  His
voice reached the ears of the general, who immediately gave orders
for the assault to be suspended, and commanded Javan to speak.  The
artful Jew replied that it was his sincere desire to surrender, and
throw himself upon the generosity of the noble Titus, and that he had
endeavoured to bring all those under his command to the same
determination.  As he made this deceitful speech five of his men
appeared to take his part, while the rest declared that they would
never be slaves to the Romans, as long as death was in their power.
A fierce quarrel seemed to follow these declarations, and the assault
was in the meantime entirely suspended.  Javan observed this, and
instantly sent one of his men secretly to inform Simon of his
artifice, and advise him to take advantage of the temporary cessation
of the siege, and to concert measures for some vigorous sally, while
he endeavoured as long as possible to attract the attention of the
enemy.

He then continued his pretended expostulation with the adverse party
of his own men, who stood on the breastworks, brandishing their
swords with a menacing air, and at length, as if resolved to die
rather than yield, struck their own breasts with violence, and fell,
seemingly dead.  The Romans were completely deceived by this
pretended act of devotion to liberty, and even pitied the fate of the
self-destroyed victims; but one of them, less generous than the rest,
discharged an arrow at Javan, and wounded him in the face.  He
withdrew the shaft and held it reproachfully towards Titus, who
sternly rebuked the man who had shot it, and desired Josephus to
advance towards the tower and speak with the Jew.  He, however, knew
his own countrymen too well to place himself within their reach, and
declined the errand, but a deserter named Æneas offered to go in his
stead.  Javan called to him to come close to the wall, that he might
throw down to him some money as a pledge of his good faith; and when
Æneas spread out the folds of his cloak to receive it, he cast at him
a large stone with the intention of crushing him on the spot.  He
missed his aim, but wounded a soldier who stood near him, and Titus
then saw that the whole affair was a treacherous device to gain time.
He was enraged at the deceit which had been practised upon him, and
gave instant orders for the assault to be resumed with fresh vigour.
Javan perceived that no further advantage was to be obtained, and in
desperation he and his men set fire to the tower in several places.
It blazed rapidly up around them, and when the flames were high and
fierce they leaped boldly into the midst of them, and again deceived
the Romans into a belief that they had bravely sacrificed their
lives.  It was but another artifice, for they had thrown themselves
into a secret passage that led underground to the interior of the
city, where they soon appeared, and boasted of their success in
keeping the enemy so long inactive.

On the fifth day from that on which Titus became master of the first
wall, the second also was taken, and the Jews retreated.  The Roman
general entered that quarter of the lower city with a thousand
men-at-arms and a few other chosen troops, and found himself in the
midst of those streets occupied by the clothiers, the wool-merchants,
and the coppersmiths, with many narrow lanes, leading to the walls in
every direction.  In the hope of gaining over the people to his side,
and convincing them that their wisest course would be to submit
without any farther struggle, Titus gave strict orders that no houses
should be set on fire or injured, and no massacre committed.  He
caused it to be proclaimed that he did not wage war against the
defenceless population, but against the insurgent garrison; and that
to all the peaceable inhabitants he would readily restore their
property.  The leaders of the Jews and their seditious troops
regarded this lenity as a proof of weakness, and threatened instant
death to all who should attempt to utter a word of surrendering.
They stabbed without mercy every one whom they suspected of wishing
for peace, and then fell furiously on the enemy as they passed along
the streets.  Some poured their darts and arrows upon them from the
houses, and others rushed upon them by the intricate and narrow lanes
with which they were well acquainted, but which embarrassed the
Romans greatly.  Others sallied out of the walls that were already
lost, by gates which were not yet guarded by the conquering army, and
attacked their enemy in the rear.  Advance or retreat seemed alike
difficult for the Romans, and but for the presence of Titus, who came
in person to their relief with a band of archers, a dreadful loss
would probably have been sustained.  He, however, succeeded in
driving back the countless assailants on every side, and brought off
the greatest part of his men; but the conquest which had been won
with so much labour and bloodshed was again lost, and the Jews
regained possession of the second wall.

This success inspired the insurgent troops with the greatest joy and
confidence, and they doubted not that if ever the Romans again gained
an entrance into the city they should be able to repulse them as they
had already done; but they did not consider the progress of that more
certain enemy that already was working its silent way through the
city, and daily adding to the victims of misery and violence.  The
cruel and desperate soldiery had hitherto lived in plenty on what
they plundered from the people, and they heeded not the distress
which they inflicted, and beneath which many were continually sinking
and expiring.  Indeed they rather rejoiced in thus ridding the city
of some part of its disaffected populace, and continued to seize on
all the provisions that came in their way and retain them fur their
own use.  They were unable to repair the breach which the Romans had
made in the wall, but with determined resolution they presented
themselves to fill it with their own bodies, and for three days they
fought without intermission.  Vast numbers fell on the spot, but
their comrades slept undauntedly upon their bleeding carcasses to
supply their place and share their fate.  On the fourth day they gave
way, and were compelled to abandon the post; when Titus again took
possession of the wall, and caused a large part of it to be razed to
the ground, while he strongly garrisoned the remaining portion.

Still Antonia and the temple looked proudly down upon the conquering
arms of Rome, and all the high places of Sion and David's city
remained in their strength; and the garrisons were undismayed at the
loss they had sustained.  Titus resolved to allow the besieged a
little time for reflection, in the hope that the peaceable party
might yet prevail before it should be too late, and persuade the
rebels to surrender.  In order to impress the besieged still more
with the strength and discipline of his army, he employed the
interval which he allowed them from their exertions in taking a grand
review of all his troops within sight of the city.  From every window
and every tower that commanded a view of the splendid pageant the
Jewish people and their tyrant defenders looked down with
consternation and dismay, while the whole Roman army, in their best
equipments, defiled beyond the wall.  It was a brilliant spectacle,
for all the arms were uncased, and the polished shields and
breastplates exposed uncovered to glitter in the sunbeams; while the
cavalry followed, leading their beautiful and richly-caparisoned
horses, whose trappings gleamed with gold and silver.  All ranks, all
classes of persons, were assembled to look on their destined
destroyers; and truly it was a sight that might strike terror into
the boldest hearts, or induce any beleaguered people to lay down
their arms, except the obstinate and insurgent Jews, who felt that
they had too deeply offended to hope for any terms from the Romans.

This beautiful but appalling spectacle was presented to the eyes of
the besieged for four days; but no offers of capitulation were
made--no overtures of peace reached the Roman general; and with
reluctance he gave orders for the siege to be recommenced.  The first
step was to raise lofty mounds against the Antonia, and also against
that part of the wall which was defended by Simon.  The Jews had by
this time learned to use their military engines with great dexterity,
and they now plied them with deadly effect against the Romans
employed in constructing the works.  Titus was willing once more to
give them an offer of peace, and far this purpose he sent Josephus
again to address them; and having found a spot where he could be
heard without being exposed to the arrows and darts of his
countrymen, he made to them a long and eloquent speech.  He used
every argument that religion or humanity could furnish.  Many of the
people were touched by his earnest expostulations; but the Zealots
were only the more irritated and enraged; and their fury knew no
bounds when they discovered that numbers of the miserable populace
were deserting to the enemy.  Many sold all that they possessed in
the city, and then fled; others swallowed their money and jewels, and
then escaped to the Roman camp, where they were kindly received, and
suffered to pass unmolested to whatever place they chose.  Their
success emboldened others, and all the efforts of John and Simon were
ineffectual to restrain the constant desertions that now took place.
Their partizans watched every avenue and outlet with the greatest
care and diligence, and cruelly slaughtered all whom they suspected
of an intention to desert.  This charge also served as a convenient
pretext on which they could seize and massacre any one whose wealth
they coveted, and numbers were put to death who were innocent of any
such design as that of which the murderers accused them.




CHAPTER XXIII.

The son of Ananus no longer passed up and down the streets of
Jerusalem uttering his warning and prophetic cry.  He was neither
seen nor heard from the day that the siege began.  The woes which he
had so long and so perseveringly denounced were come in all their
dread reality.  Famine, with its attendant miseries, was felt
throughout the city, and with the general distress the desperation of
the insurgents increased also.  There was no longer any corn to be
seen in the markets for sale, and if the ruffian soldiers heard of
any being concealed in private houses, they furiously broke them open
and dragged away the treasure.  If they were disappointed in the
search, they tortured the wretched inhabitants to make them disclose
and deliver up what they frequently did not possess.  Humanity
shudders at the horrid recital of the barbarity exercised by these
monsters, and the sufferings of their miserable victims; which were
aggravated by seeing their tyrants revelling in plenty, and even in
intemperance while they were expiring for want.  Every natural
affection, every generous sentiment, was destroyed by the
all-absorbing hunger that raged among all classes.  The dearest and
the closest ties were severed, and those who would in happier times
have laid down their lives to preserve those of their husbands, their
wives, their children, and other beloved relatives, now were seen to
snatch from their dying grasp the last morsel of food, and greedily
devour it before their eyes.  Oh these were days of sorrow such as
never had been, and may God grant they never may be again!  The grey
hairs of old age, and the helpless innocence of childhood excited no
compassion--all were alike sacrificed to the cruel selfishness that
reigned triumphant in that abode of crime and horror.

And were there no exceptions to this awful state of sin and
pollution?  Had the Lord God of Holiness and mercy no sanctuary left
in that once blessed city?  Blessed be His name, amidst so many who
profaned His dwelling-place, there were yet a few in whom His image
dwelt, and who thought upon his commandments to do them.  In the
house of Zadok, piety, charity, faith, and resignation glowed with an
inextinguishable flame, and its inmates were as a burning and a
shining light in the midst of a thick darkness.  The influence of
Javan over the partizans of Simon was sufficient to preserve his
family from the visits of the plunderers, or if a few of the ruffians
attempted to enter the gates, they found them too well secured and
guarded; and hitherto the effects of the famine had not been felt so
powerfully in that habitation as in almost every other.  Zadok had
foreseen what must be the unavoidable consequence of the waste and
destruction of provisions that had been committed by the members of
every faction before the commencement of the siege, and he had taken
the precaution to lay up large stores of corn and other articles of
food against the day of necessity.  These stores were unknown to the
insurgents, or doubtless even the protection of Simon himself would
have failed to save the dwelling from their attacks, or the
inhabitants from outrage and slaughter.  The provisions thus
preserved were not kept for the use of Zadok's family, but were
freely bestowed on those who had taken refuge in his house, and on
many others who knew his benevolence and came secretly to share it.
He himself, and all belonging to his establishment, allowed
themselves no more sustenance than was barely sufficient to support
life, that they might have more to give to those who needed; and
their wasted forms and pallid cheeks would have prevented any
suspicion that they yet possessed the means of living in plenty.

The days, the weary days, passed on; and the provisions in Zadok's
secret storehouse rapidly diminished.  With great reluctance he was
compelled to restrain his liberal spirit, and refuse all further aid
to those who were not of his own household.  The strangers who had so
long found an asylum beneath his roof, went forth to seek a
subsistence elsewhere, but they only found death in some of its most
dreadful forms.  Naomi wept in secret over the sufferings which she
could no longer relieve; but when she sat by the side of her mother,
or glided about, a shadow of her former self, to minister to her
wants, she forced an appearance of cheerfulness which was far from
her compassionate heart.  It was with gratitude and joy she watched
that beloved mother, and saw her daily fading away; for though "the
outward man decayed, the inward man was renewed day by day;" and she
knew that death would be a kind and welcome visitor, to take her from
a scene of surpassing woe, to the presence of her Saviour and her
God.  Zadok too was resigned to part with the object of his love,
rather than see her linger in protracted sorrow and anxiety; but
grief would frequently unman his soul, and tears would start to his
gazing eye, while he looked on the sinking form of her whom he loved
with a devoted affection, and who had been the light and the joy of
his life.

Many hours in every day he passed from home, in fruitless efforts to
lessen the misery that surrounded him, and to pour the balm of
religious consolation into the bleeding hearts of his dying and
despairing fellow-citizens; and when, wearied with exertion and
oppressed with sorrow, he returned to his home, it was with
difficulty that he roused himself to speak cheeringly to his dying
wife, and his afflicted but uncomplaining daughter.  Zadok knew that
Naomi had no hopes of her country being delivered from the Roman
yoke; he knew also that she looked for the accomplishment of every
word of those terrible predictions pronounced on the city by Jesus of
Nazareth; and he marvelled greatly at the firmness and resignation
with which she supported these prospects of desolation.  But he did
not know the inward peace that pervaded her soul, in spite of outward
trials, and which was the result of her unshaken confidence in Him
whom Zadok despised.  He did not know that such a faith in a
crucified Redeemer as glowed in the breast of Naomi, could enable a
weaker mind than hers to triumph over all the ills that flesh is heir
to, or he would have ceased to wonder at her cheerful patience, and
at the smile with which she strove to greet him on his return from
his daily occupations.  It was for the sufferings of others that
Naomi mourned, and for the spiritual darkness of her countrymen,
especially her dearly-loved father and erring brother: for herself
life had little charm, and death no terrors; and her most earnest
prayer was that the Lord might see good to take her to himself
shortly after her mother's removal, and ere the city should be given
up to the outrages of a conquering army.  It was only when she
thought of Marcellus that a bursting sigh would rise, and a bitter
tear tremble in her eye.  It was sad to think how soon that heart
which was devoted only to her would have to mourn her loss; and that
eye which had looked on her with admiring pride and love, would seek
her among the mangled bodies of the famished and the slain.

Zadok lamented and deeply sympathised in the miseries of his nation,
but he did not yet despair of her final triumph.  He could not yet
believe that the God of Israel had abandoned his favoured people, and
the city where his glory had dwelt; and though heavy were the
chastisements with which He was now visiting the sins of his
children, yet the priest trusted that He would era long remove the
rod of his anger, and stand up to deliver them from the oppressor.
In this hope he sustained his own dauntless courage, and excited
others to the same confidence.  Javan was even more sanguine than his
father: he exulted in the desperate condition to which Jerusalem was
reduced, for he hoped that when the hour of her greatest darkness had
arrived, then would the "Sun of Righteousness arise, with dealing in
his wings;" then would the great Messiah appear, to triumph over
every foe, and reign "before his ancients gloriously."

The rabbi Joazer also shared these hopes, and frequently expressed
them to Salome, when he came to visit her, and sought to cheer her
drooping spirits.  He readily perceived that she did not enter into
his expectations of future victory, and he taunted Naomi with having
filled her mother's mind with her own heretical fears.  Naomi did not
deny the charge; she wished that Salome would take courage to confess
her faith ere her weakness should become too great for the effort;
but when she gently urged her to do so, she always replied that she
had not then the power; and her daughter feared that she would depart
without making one effort for her husband's conversion.  The fear of
death had ever been a powerful feeling with Salome; and its near
approach had not yet lessened its terrors.  Her hope of future
blessedness was daily growing stronger and clearer, but her dread of
the dark valley of the shadow of death, by which she must pass to her
glorious rest, appeared unconquerable, and was the cause of much
anxiety to Naomi.  Many and fervent were the prayers she offered up
at the throne of grace for her mother's support and comfort when the
trying hour should arrive; and unweariedly did she endeavour to
strengthen her soul with the blessed promises of God, that He will be
with his people in the time of weakness, and at the hour of death.

For a time her efforts would sometimes appear successful, and Salome
would recover the naturally placid expression of her countenance, but
ere long the same doubts and distressing fears would arise and the
same restlessness return.  Then she would call on Naomi, and entreat
her again to repeat the same words of consolation, and pour forth her
prayers in her behalf.  If Naomi was absent, her faith failed; but
while she hung over her, and whispered to her the encouraging
promises of Scripture, she felt calm and joyful.  She was sorely
tempted of Satan; but when she could wield the sword of the Spirit,
and shelter herself behind the shield of faith, she was enabled to
quench all his fiery darts, and baffle his reiterated attacks.  There
was one point on which she was very anxious, and suffered many fears;
and that was whether she could be accepted by Christ as one of his
children, when she had not been admitted by baptism into his visible
church; and it required all Naomi's arguments to convince her that as
the appointed rite was out of her power, a willing heart and obedient
spirit would be as acceptable to her merciful Lord, as if she had
enjoyed all the privileges and advantages of partaking in his
sacraments.  When the tempter was baffled at one point he harassed
her at another; but "He who was on her side, was greater than all
that were against her;" and he gave to Naomi the happy privilege of
soothing her mother's fears and stilling her doubts.  Her precious
copy of the Gospel was now doubly valuable to her, since she was
permitted to read it to her dying parent, and witness the peace and
joy which she derived from listening to it.  She grieved that Salome
still enjoined her to conceal it whenever Zadok entered the house, or
approached the terrace where she loved to repose during the cool
evening hours; but she waited in faith and patience for the time when
her timidity should cease, and she should obtain an answer to her
prayers.  Her tender assiduity was also engaged in daily efforts to
save her mother from bodily privations, and furnish her every
indulgence and comfort that her weakness required.  Little food of
any kind remained, and that was mostly of the coarsest description;
but Naomi could look from the terrace, and behold her father's garden
beyond the walls, where the ripe fruit was hanging in clusters.
Could she not obtain some to cool the parched lips, and allay the
feverish thirst of her mother?

She did not communicate her bold scheme to Salome, for she knew that
she would forbid her attempting it; but she applied to the faithful
and devoted Deborah, and with some difficulty persuaded her to
consent to share the enterprise.  With trembling steps these two
defenceless women issued from the private gate at the back of Zadok's
house, and with many a fearful glance on either side, passed rapidly
down the unfrequented lane that led to the wall of the city.  A
sentinel was posted at the narrow gate through which she had so often
passed in former days to bend her steps towards Bethany, but he was
one of her father's own retainers, for the care of that entrance was
committed by Simon to the priest.  The man at first refused to let
her pass, but at length he was moved by her entreaties, and unlocked
the heavy portal, on her promise to return with the greatest speed.
His life would have been forfeited if his breach of orders had been
discovered; but he could not refuse the urgent request of his young
mistress; and that part of the town was then almost deserted, as all
the troops were engaged at the northern wall, except a few sentinels
who kept watch over the movements of the tenth legion on the Mount of
Olives.  The garden of Zadok was extensive, and part of it reached
almost to the foot of the wall which circumstance had preserved it
from the destruction that had fallen on all the orchards and gardens
at a greater distance.  The troops also who were encamped on the
opposite hill had hitherto been employed in constructing their mounds
and intrenchments; and no attack had been made on the eastern side of
the city.  Naomi darted forward with rapid footsteps, and in a few
minutes she had gathered as much fruit as her enfeebled hands could
carry.  Her heart beat violently with fear, but she blessed God for
the treasure she had obtained, and hastily called on Him to protect
her.  Followed by Deborah, breathless with fear and speed, she
regained the gate, which was immediately opened by the sentinel, and
as speedily closed and secured.  She hoped that all danger was past;
but who can conceive her terror when she saw a party of Simon's men
appear, who, on perceiving her, rushed towards the spot where she
stood!  She sprang forwards with her burden, in the hope of reaching
the entrance to her father's house, and Deborah attempted to follow
her; but their trembling feet were unable to save them, aid the
ruffians surrounded and seized them.  Naomi sank on her knees, and
while the prize which she had encountered so much danger to obtain,
fell on the ground, she buried her face in the folds of her garment,
and implored the mercy of those wretches who knew not what mercy
meant.  At this moment the voice of Javan sounded in her ears, and
looking up, she beheld her brother, who gazed upon her with
astonishment and displeasure.  He was leader of the party who had
thus intercepted her return, and he had followed them more slowly
when he saw them rush upon their prey.  Little did he suspect that it
was his sister who was thus in the power of the savage crew, until
the sound of his voice caused her to raise her head, and he beheld
her pale and terrified countenance.  With a stern authority he
commanded his men to let her go free, and they sullenly obeyed him;
but it was with the angry look of a beast of prey, compelled to
relinquish its intended victim at the word of its more cruel and
powerful master.

Javan then raised his sister, and demanded for what cause she had
ventured out, and where she had procured the fruit which lay
scattered around her.  He was astonished at the boldness of her
enterprise, when she informed him that she had been to the garden
beyond the walls, and could not refuse his admiration at the filial
devotion which had prompted her to make such a perilous attempt.  He
conducted her to the door of Zadok's house, closely followed by the
terrified Deborah, who, in spite of her alarm, had gathered up the
fallen fruit that was within her reach, and bore it off amid the
fierce glances of the soldiers.  They did not dare to snatch it from
her; but they muttered curses on their leader, who had overawed their
violence and prevented their cruelty.  Javan had saved his sister
from the consequences of her temerity, but he determined to execute
prompt vengeance on the sentinel who had permitted her to take so
daring a step.  He returned to his men, and seeing their looks of
rage and disappointment, he commanded them to allay their thirst for
blood by slaying the unfaithful sentinel.  In a moment they
transfixed him with their lances, and then threw his bleeding corpse
at the threshold of Zadok's house, as a warning to his daughter that
her excursions exposed both herself and others to peril.  The
ruffians then opened the gate, and rushed tumultuously out in search
of those fruits which had tempted Naomi.  Javan did not attempt to
restrain them, for he feared to chafe their angry spirits too much,
and he suffered them to gratify their love of destruction by breaking
and cutting down the luxuriant trees and plants, after they had
gathered the fruit.  Some they carried away, but much more they
trampled beneath their feet, and then returned again to the gate.
Javan left two of the party to act as sentinels in the place of him
whom they had slain, and led on the rest of the band to execute the
business which had called for their exertions, when their attention
had been diverted by the appearance of Naomi and her attendant.

Salome had been carried out to her customary place on the terrace,
and was reclining there, when Naomi returned to her, paler than ever,
and greatly agitated, but still with an expression of joy lighting up
her countenance.

"Where have you been, my child?" asked Salome eagerly; "and why have
you been so long absent?  Have you been to Mary's house, and brought
from her garden those beautiful grapes?"

"No, mother, Mary's garden has been long ago exhausted of all that it
produced.  These grapes I gathered from the vines which last summer
you trained over the entrance to our own garden by the brook."

"What can you mean, Naomi!  Have you ventured beyond the walls?  You
could not have been so rash?"

"I saw your feverish cheek and parched lip, my mother, and I saw
these clustering grapes and ripe figs hanging in our own beautiful
garden.  Can you wonder that I should make an effort to obtain them
for you?"

"Bless thee, my dearest Naomi.  But the risk was too great, and you
must not venture again.  Did you meet no one by the way?  I heard a
noise of shouting and violence in the street beneath the wall."

"It was a party of Javan's soldiers," replied Naomi.  "They did alarm
me greatly; but the Lord preserved me, and sent my brother to deliver
me out of their hands."

"Then you have indeed been exposed to danger, and for my sake, Naomi.
Never, never again let your anxiety for my comfort lead you to take
such a step.  Rather would I bear the extremity of suffering and
want, than that you should encounter the risk of meeting those
lawless ruffians who are the scourge of our unhappy city.  Promise
me, my child, that you will not again set your foot beyond these
walls, which by God's blessing have hitherto protected us from their
violence."

"I shall not again be tempted by the fruitfulness of that beloved
spot yonder," answered Naomi with a sigh.  "Look, mother, the
spoilers are there.  I see them cutting down and wantonly destroying
all the plants and flowers, in which we used to take so much delight.
There, there they fall beneath the strokes of their swords, and the
fertile garden is becoming a desert."

Naomi turned away, unwilling any longer to witness the havoc and
destruction of the trees beneath whose shade she had passed the
happiest hours of her childhood and youth.  Just then the little
David came bounding along the terrace towards her, and called away
her attention by his playful caresses.  He came for the daily supply
of food which Naomi denied to herself that she might bestow it on
him.  She could not bear to see his little dimpled cheek grow pale
and wan, and his bright laughing eye look dim with pining want; and
to supply the deficiency of nourishment which his mother was now
unable to prevent, she every day laid by a portion for her little
favourite.

The house of Mary was at a very short distance from that of Zadok,
and when the street was empty, the little boy used to come day by day
for his accustomed meal.  How joyfully he smiled when Salome beckoned
him to the side of her couch, and placed in his hands a bunch of
grapes that they could hardly hold!  The little fellow eagerly
swallowed a few of the delicious fruit, and then pausing, he
exclaimed,

"I will take them to my mother; she said she was very hungry, and her
cheek looked very pale when I kissed her and came away.  These grapes
will do her good."

"You shall take her some more, my dear boy," said Salome: "I fear she
suffers much distress and want Would to God that I could relieve her."

The grateful happy child received the gift with joy, and calling his
nurse, hurried back to share the unusual luxury with his mother.
Mary was indeed reduced to a degree of privation and want, which her
delicate and luxurious mode of life had made her quite unequal to
bear with fortitude or patience.  Her temper was naturally irritable
and uncontrolled, and now anxiety, and fear, and distress had made
her still more the slave of passion.  She sat gloomy and distracted
in her chamber, when her lovely boy ran towards her with childish
glee, and presented his welcome offering.  Mary snatched the fruit
and eat it hastily.  She did not look pleased, as David had expected,
but she gazed wildly at him, and burst into tears.

"Why do you weep, mother?" asked the child.  "I thought that you
would smile and thank me, as I thanked the good Salome."

"I weep because my heart is sad," replied Mary.  "The heiress of
Bethezob is reduced to beggary, and her child is fed by the charity
of others.  O my father, if thou hadst foreseen the sufferings of thy
daughter, it would have broken thy heart, which lived but in me, and
the hope of my happiness.  Alas! the spoiler has taken all the wealth
which thou didst bequeath to me.  My friends have forsaken me, my
domestics despise and rob me, and I am desolate and miserable."

It was too true.  Mary had lived in dissipation; and those who gladly
frequented her house when they found splendour and profusion there,
abandoned her when she had no longer the means of entertaining them.
She had neglected the friendship of Zadok and his family; and though
her child spent much of his time with them, she had seldom crossed
their threshold since she had ceased to be an inmate of their house.
Now that she was in distress, pride withheld her from seeking their
society; and though she received from them almost all her means of
subsistence, it was with a sullen and ungracious spirit.  It was from
the vengeance of Isaac, and the treachery of her servant Reuben, that
she had suffered the loss of almost all her property.  She confided
blindly in the supposed integrity of Reuben, and he knew where she
had concealed the most valuable of her possessions.  He failed not to
inform his employer Isaac of what was told to him in confidence, and
ere long a band of Zealots entered and pillaged the house.  It was a
part of their orders to carry off the lady of Bethezob to the
head-quarters of their party in the temple; but she succeeded in
eluding their search, and remained free, but deprived of all that
might avail to procure the necessaries of life as the scarcity and
famine increased.  A measure of wheat was now worth far more than its
weight in gold, and the vilest rubbish was eagerly purchased at a
high price by those who still had money in their possession.  All the
grass and herbs that could be found in the city were used as food by
those who were destitute of any other means of subsistence; and many
of the poorest of the people would steal out, and wander by night
down the ravines, in the hope of picking up something to allay the
torments of hunger.  These wretched creatures would willingly have
fled, and deserted to the Romans: but they hesitated to forsake their
wives and children, who were sure to be cruelly murdered as soon as
it was known that their husbands and fathers had left the city.
Titus discovered the practice of these men, and set an ambush to
surprise and take them prisoners.  When they were attacked they made
a vigorous resistance, but they were overpowered and carried to the
camp.

For the crime of defending themselves, they were barbarously scourged
and tortured, and then hung up before the walls writhing in the agony
of crucifixion.  Again and again others were driven by despair and
famine to make the same attempt at obtaining relief, and the same
dreadful fate awaited them.  When morning dawned upon that ill-fated
city, it often displayed to the view of the horror-stricken
inhabitants as many as five hundred crosses, each supporting a
tortured victim.  The Roman soldiers added ridicule and insult to
their cruelty, and fastened the bodies in every sort of ludicrous
position, taunting and reviling the miserable beings while they
expired in agony.  The spots chosen for these appalling scenes were
at length crowded with crosses, and wood was wanting to furnish fresh
implements of torture for the prisoners who were nightly brought in.
Nothing can be said to extenuate the guilt and inhumanity of these
executions.  They were a fearful example of heathen barbarity in the
most civilized nation of that period, and by the command of one of
her most enlightened generals.  Titus believed that by these awful
and repeated warnings he should weary the people of resistance, and
convince them that it was better to throw themselves openly on his
mercy; and he also feared that it would be unsafe to let them escape.
In vain Marcellus pleaded with his noble commander, and besought him
almost with tears of agony, to forbear this wanton infliction of
death and torment.  His expostulations moved the general to sympathy,
but failed to make him change his cruel policy.

The effect produced on the besieged by these executions was contrary
to that which Titus expected.  The Zealots seized on the friends and
relatives of the victims and dragging them to the walls and towers,
compelled them to behold the dreadful spectacle of Roman cruelty.
This checked the desertions; and none fled to the camp of the
besiegers but those who preferred running the risk of immediate death
rather than remaining to suffer the slower torments of hunger.  Some
of these were sent back into the city by Titus with their hands cut
off and a message to John and Simon, exhorting them to capitulate
before it was too late, and not force him to destroy both the city
and the temple.

Instead of complying with this advice, John commenced undermining the
embankments on which the Roman engines were placed.  He carried a
quantity of combustibles to the spot; and when all the machines were
erected and ready to begin their attack, he set fire to the pitch and
sulphur, and immediately the ground began to rock and heave as with
an earthquake.  Volumes of smoke and flame issued from the ground,
and the embankment, with all the ponderous engines, fell into the
fiery abyss.  Thus the works which had cost the Romans seventeen days
of constant labour were destroyed in an hour.  The army were greatly
discouraged at this and other losses which were effected by the
desperate valour of the Jews.  Titus called a council of his
officers, and proposed to them that they should either storm the city
immediately, repair the works and resume the siege, or else draw a
complete line of circumvallation round it, and starve the garrison to
surrender.  The last of these plans was decided on, and immediately
executed.  In three days the trench and embankment were completed,
and extended a distance little less than five miles.

Naomi could watch the progress of this work along the Valley of
Kedron and the Mount of Olives, and with the sad reality before her
eyes she remembered how the pitying Jesus had declared that "the days
should come when the enemies of Jerusalem should cast a trench about
her, and keep her in on every side;" and she looked for the speedy
accomplishment of the remaining part of the denunciation, "and they
shall lay thee even with the dust, and thy children within thee,
because thou knowest not the time of thy visitation."

Salome had ceased to occupy her usual position on the terrace.  Her
weakness had greatly increased, and she had received a shock to her
feelings the last time she had been carried out, which had almost
overpowered her.  She had desired to enjoy the early morning air, and
watch the sun rising gloriously over the Mount of Olives, and she was
borne as usual to her couch.  But what was her horror on looking
towards the mount, to behold the summit crowned with crosses, and to
perceive that each cross was furnished with a living victim!  A
deadly faintness overcame her, and she was carried back to her
chamber in a state of unconsciousness.  When she recovered, the
impression of the dreadful spectacle clung to her mind, and she could
not shake it off for several days.  Her weakness and exhaustion were
considerably augmented by the shock, and it was evident to Naomi and
her father that the beloved sufferer had not long to live.

Naomi rejoiced to perceive that as her mother's bodily powers failed,
her soul was strengthened, and her desire to bear a good testimony to
the grace of her Redeemer before she departed became fixed and
strong.  The dread of death subsided, and she looked for its approach
with calmness and peace.  Her only fear was now for the fate of
Naomi, and though she tried to put her trust in the Lord, and commit
her child to Him in confidence, she could not think of leaving her in
that distracted city without grief and anxiety.




CHAPTER XXIV.

The immediate effect of the strict blockade which Titus had
established was to carry the horrors of famine to their height.
Whole families lay expiring together, and the streets were strewn
with the bodies of the dead and dying.  None wept over them--none
buried them.  No cry was heard in the streets, for the wretches had
not strength to complain: they lay in a state of mute anguish,
waiting unheeded by those whom once they loved, for the last expiring
pang.  The only sounds that broke the oppressive silence of that city
of death, were the bands of robbers forcing open the houses in search
of food and plunder, or the blows which they wantonly inflicted on
the dead bodies that were scattered on every side.  For some time the
soldiers made an attempt at burying the corpses, as they feared their
exposure might occasion a pestilence; but they soon became too
numerous, and then they threw them over the walls into the trenches
below.  Even this precaution ceased ere long, and the whole city was
poisoned with the odour as of a vast charnel-house.  The way to the
walls was actually choked with dead bodies; yet still the soldiers
both of John and Simon went trampling over them to man the
fortifications, with a desperate courage and hardened indifference.

At this time another crime was added to the awful catalogue of Zion's
sins.  The high-priest Matthias was slain on a pretended charge of
holding a correspondence with the Romans; and the cruelty of the act
was enhanced by the three sons of the venerable old man being first
massacred before his eyes.  This sacrilegious murder at length
excited in the populace a determined resolution to shake off the
tyrannical yoke under which they had so long groaned in silence.  One
of their number, named Judas, conspired with several others to betray
one of the towers to the enemy.  They made the offer of surrendering
it, but the Romans had learned to be suspicious of such overtures,
and hesitated to take advantage of it.  While they paused the
conspiracy was revealed to Simon, and instant vengeance overtook
Judas and his accomplices.  They were slaughtered, and their bodies
cast down to those with whom they had been parleying.  This plan
being defeated, the wretched people again began to desert in
multitudes; but their sufferings did not always end with their
reaching the Roman camp, for many of the famished creatures so
eagerly devoured the food which was presented to them by the soldiers
that they died in agony.  Others perished yet more miserably.  They
were suspected of having swallowed their gold and jewels before they
left the city; and to obtain this wealth the Arabian and Syrian
allies seized a large party of the deserters, and actually cut them
open alive, and searched for the treasure.

When this inhuman proceeding reached the ears of Titus he was filled
with indignation, and would have ordered his cavalry to surround and
slay the murderers, but that their great numbers deterred him from
such an act of justice.  He however denounced death against whoever
should in future be guilty of such barbarity but the love of gold was
in many instances greater than the fear of detection, and the crime
was not entirely prevented.

The calamities of Jerusalem were at their height.  What a spectacle
of God's righteous vengeance did the proud city now display!  Within
the walls the rival factions dyed their hands in each other's blood,
and in that of their helpless countrymen; and without, the Roman
camps covered the surrounding hills.  The trumpets and shouts of the
armed host resounded through the day, and in the darkness of night
their watch-fires were seen gleaming on every side.  All the pastoral
beauty of the scene had departed.  The summer dwellings and
garden-houses of the Jewish nobles that so lately were seen among the
trees, in every variety of architecture, had been levelled to the
ground by the troops of Titus, and the vineyards and shady groves
were swept away.  The gardens had become a sandy waste, cut up in
every direction by trenches and military works, in the midst of which
was seen the fatal wall of Titus, effectually shutting out all hope
of relief or reinforcement from the beleaguered city.  Within its sad
enclosure all was dark despair.  The daily sacrifice had ceased, for
no victims remained to offer, and the sword and famine had fearfully
reduced the once crowded population.  The dogs and vultures shared
their dreadful meal undisturbed, for none ventured into the streets
except they were compelled to do so; and then they hurried on as
swiftly as possible, to avoid the spectacle of horror that surrounded
them, and dreading every moment that the hand of violence would lay
them by the side of the mangled corpses that strewed the way, to
become the food of birds and beasts of prey, or the objects of insult
to the yet more ferocious soldiery.  In every street numbers of
houses which had been partially destroyed by fire, were abandoned to
decay, the doors and windows torn away, and in many instances the
roofs fallen in, and the once splendid edifices left to be beaten by
the storm and become the habitations of owls and bats.  From some of
the shattered tenements lights might be seen gleaming through the
fissures in the walls, and showing that they were yet peopled with
miserable human beings.

Among the desperate men who passed to and fro through these desolate
streets were many who even yet retained that natural vividness of
countenance for which their nation ever were distinguished; but it
was hardened by ferocity, and the keen black eye scowled darkly,
while the compressed lip spoke of desperate thoughts and the firmness
of despair.  Then there were hurried gatherings of these insurgents,
frequently ending in fierce quarrels and murders in the open face of
day, or in the sudden attack of some house that was yet deemed worth
pillaging.

Men and angels might have wept to behold how deeply this city of God,
this sanctuary of holiness, was sunk into misery and desolation.  But
oh! it was the spiritual degradation of her children that called for
the deepest pity; it was the spectacle of human nature in all its own
depravity, unrestrained by the fear of God or the laws of man; it was
the scourge of the Almighty lighting on this rebellious people, and
piercing their inmost souls--a faint representation of that eternal
punishment, where those who persist in rebellion will suffer and
blaspheme for ever, but repent not.

Amid all the crime and all the horror of that siege, there was one
event that seemed to surpass every other, and even moved the hearts
of those to whom murder was a pastime.  Spies were employed by the
officers of both John and Simon's party, to bring them intelligence
of any provisions that they might discover in the houses of the
famishing people; and one day the artful Reuben came hastily to the
temple, and informed Isaac that he had observed the smell of food
being cooked in the house of his former mistress.  He had long ago
deserted her, and only visited the house to commit fresh acts of
depredation, or lead others to add to her misery, and take from her
and her child the scanty pittance that she was yet able to procure.
Isaac summoned a party of his chosen companions in cruelty, and
hurried off to the dwelling of Mary, followed by the traitor Reuben.
The door was fastened inside, but it soon yielded to the furious
blows of the assailants, and they rushed on to the apartment usually
occupied by the heiress of Bethezob in the days of her wealth and
prosperity, and so well known to Isaac.

It was bereft of all its sumptuous furniture and rich ornaments; the
repeated incursions of the robbers had left nothing that was valuable
or beautiful.  But she who had so often presided in that very
chamber, amid a crowd of admiring guests, was there,--yet alas, how
changed!  Her graceful form reduced to a living skeleton, her lovely
features sunk and disfigured, and all that had given a charm to her
presence departed.  Her eyes burnt with an almost unearthly glare,
and on her cheek was a bright hectic spot, the token of fever or
delirium.

She sat upon the ground, and when Isaac entered, her head was upon
her knees, and her face concealed.  She had not heard or heeded the
noise of his violent entrance, and moved not until his footsteps on
the uncovered marble pavement roused her from her painful reverie.
Then she looked wildly up, and starting on her feet, exclaimed, in a
hollow and hurried tone,--

"Ah, Isaac, my betrothed husband, are you come at last to claim your
bride?  I was fairer in those happy days when you first saw me in my
pride and my beauty.  But hunger and strange thoughts have worn sad
ravages upon the form you used to praise."

Isaac did not reply: the memory of other scenes came over his mind,
and even he was moved at the sight of the wreck of mind and body
before him.  Mary continued in the same wandering strain,--

"You see my apartments are not decked for our wedding, Isaac; the
spoilers have taken away all my goodly furniture.  But, Isaac," she
added in a whisper, while she laid her wasted hand upon his arm, "I
have a feast prepared--a wedding feast!  Do not tell your comrades,
for there is not enough for all.  I have eaten and am satisfied, and
I have reserved the rest for you.  See here!"

[Illustration: FAMINE AND MADNESS.]

She drew him towards a couch at the end of the room, and raised the
corner of the hangings.  There he beheld the mangled body of a little
child which had been roasted, and from which part of the flesh had
been torn and devoured.

The bloodthirsty, the cruel Isaac drew back with a cry of horror, and
a shudder passed through his powerful frame, while the blood curdled
in the veins of his companions, who had followed closely, in the hope
of partaking in the expected meal.

"Why do ye tremble?" cried Mary, fiercely: "his mother has eaten, and
will not you?  Oh! do ye say that I murdered him?  my beautiful, my
beloved!  Did ye see me give him that last embrace, and did ye behold
his sweet blue eyes as they smiled at me through their tears?  I held
him to my bursting heart, but the demon within me strangled him--it
was not I that did it.  Oh do not look so loathingly at me--it was
the fiend that has so long possessed my soul.  It was famine, Isaac,
that drove me to it.  It was better that his mother's hands should
take away his life, than that her eyes should see him pine away and
die for want!"

"Let me go, unnatural monster in a human form!" cried Isaac, bursting
from her grasp; for she held his arm with the strength of a maniac,
and fixed her fiery eyes upon him with a gaze that made his blood run
cold.  "Let me go, ere I plunge this dagger to thy heart."

"Oh, that would be the kindest deed that you could do for me,"
answered the wretched mother; "God and man have deserted me, and
devils possess my soul.  Here, give the fatal stroke, and end the
miseries that I have no power to endure."

She sank at his feet, exhausted with her wild emotions and the effort
she had made.  Her eye was fixed on him, as he retreated slowly from
that once radiant and joyous being, who now lay crushed beneath a
load of misery and guilt.  Ere he reached the door he turned again,
and saw that the fire of that eye had fled, and the features were
fixed in death.

Isaac and his fierce companions retraced their steps to the temple,
and though they stepped unheedingly over many a livid corpse that lay
in their path, yet they could not recall the dying look of the lonely
heiress of Bethezob without a shudder.  But the impression soon died
away, and they again busily engaged in the strife and violence and
ruthless war that filled the city.

For two days the scanty portion of food that Naomi was able to
procure and reserve for her little favourite remained untouched;
David did not appear, and she became very uneasy.  She could not go
out to seek him, for her father had strictly prohibited her from
venturing beyond the gates of the house; and the alarm she had
experienced on the day she went to the garden made her dread to
expose herself to a similar danger.  She waited anxiously until Zadok
came home on the second evening, and then besought him to go to
Mary's dwelling with some of his attendants, and ascertain whether
she and her child yet lived, or whether either want or violence had
put a period to their existence.  Zadok was evidently distressed at
her inquiries, and at length told her that they had both expired: but
his manner bespoke something more than his words declared, and Naomi
entreated him to inform her of all that he knew of the wayward Mary
and her lovely little boy.  Her father had heard the dreadful story
of their death, for it had spread through the city, and caused a
thrill of horror in every one who heard it; but he wished to avoid
shocking the ears of his daughter with such a revolting account.  Her
inquiries however were so urgent, that he was compelled to own to her
that David had expired by the hands of his mother, and that despair
and misery had then speedily terminated her existence.  More than
that he did not disclose to her; but that was sufficient to fill her
with grief and horror.  She could not but weep at the sad fate of the
engaging child in whom she had taken so much delight; and still more
at the thought of the frantic state of misery to which his mother
must have been reduced ere she could have committed so dreadful a
deed.  An asylum had been offered to Mary in the house of Zadok, when
distress had first begun to be felt in the city; and though she had
then rejected it with some contempt, and preferred trusting to her
own resources, the offer had been renewed more than once.  But Mary
was too proud to accept it; she knew that her whole mode of life had
ever been opposed to the purity and simplicity that marked the family
of Zadok; and in the presence of Salome and her daughter she felt a
restraint that was extremely irksome to her spirit.  Her mind was
weakened by suffering and constant privation; and she sat in her
desolate house, brooding over her sorrows and fears until reason
forsook her, and she was left a prey to passion and despair--an awful
example of the depth of depravity to which the human mind may sink
when unsupported by God's preventing grace, and a dreadful fulfilment
of the worst of those woes that had been pronounced by the prophets
of old on the inhabitants of Jerusalem.

Salome's feeble remains of strength were daily declining, and she
blessed the Lord who was so mercifully removing her from scenes of
horror that harrowed her soul.  The miserable death of her relative
Mary and the little David preyed upon her mind, and she passed a
restless night.  Zadok and Naomi had not retired to rest, though it
was past midnight, when they were all startled by a tremendous crash
which appeared to come from the wall beyond the temple, where the
greatest part of the Roman army was posted, and where they had just
completed another set of military engines to replace those which had
been destroyed by the bold stratagem of John.  They listened in
breathless anxiety, and expected every moment to hear the shouts of
the Romans and the sounds of a desperate conflict.  But nothing
reached their ears until the day dawned, when Zadok hastened to
discover the cause of their alarm.  The noise had been occasioned, as
he feared, by a large portion of the wall having fallen.  It had been
shaken by the blows of the engines during the preceding day, and the
subterranean passage which John had dug to undermine the works of the
enemy passed beneath that spot.  It sunk, and the massy wall fell,
leaving a heap of ruins.

The Romans rushed to the breach as soon as daybreak enabled them to
perceive it; but they were disappointed in their hopes of an
immediate entrance, by finding that John had, with great foresight,
caused a second wall to be built within, as a precaution against the
event which had just occurred.  This new erection was, however, of no
great strength, and Titus exhorted his men to make a vigorous effort
to scale it.  A Syrian, named Sabinus, volunteered to attempt the
perilous enterprise, and eleven others followed his example.  With
their shields held over their heads, they pressed forward in spite of
the shower of darts, and arrows, and stones that were hurled upon
them from above.  Sabinus had actually reached the summit of the wall
when his foot slipped, and he fell on the inside.  Instantly he was
surrounded, and though he rose to his knees, and made a valiant
defence, he was soon overpowered and slain.  Three of his followers
were also killed by stones, and the remainder carried back, all
severely wounded, to the camp.

But the Romans were not discouraged.  Two nights after the falling of
the wall, Marcellus resolved to make a second effort to scale the
breach and wall.  His heart was wrung with agony at the protracted
sufferings of the wretched Jews, and it died within him when he
thought what might already have been the fate of Naomi.  The only
chance which seemed to remain of rescuing her, or any of her
countrymen, from destruction, was for the besiegers to gain an
entrance into the city ere famine and strife had completed the work
of death that was going on within the walls.  Twenty of the soldiers
of the guard consented to follow him, with a standard-bearer and a
trumpeter.  He was also accompanied by his valiant father, who
gloried in his son's intrepidity, and insisted on sharing the
enterprise.  Soon after midnight they passed silently through the
ruins and reached the wall.  They mounted it undiscovered by the
guard, who had fallen asleep overpowered with fatigue.  They were
instantly slain, and then Marcellus commanded the trumpeter to sound
a loud and stirring blast from the wall which was already gained.
The sound aroused the other sentinels, and those appointed to guard
the wall.  They saw that the enemy had surprised them, but they knew
not that the party was so small, and in a momentary panic they fled.

Titus also heard the victorious sound of the trumpet, and the shout
of the triumphant band.  He hastily summoned his officers and a
strong party of soldiers, and hurried to the wall, where by the light
of torches he saw his gallant young friend and his veteran father
standing on the wall, where they had planted the standard of Rome.
Marcellus informed him that the Jews had fled, and Titus with his
troops succeeded in surmounting the wall and scaling the tower of
Antonia before the affrighted Jews made any attempt to oppose them.
They fled to the temple when they saw the enemy entering the tower,
while numbers of the Romans gained access to the street below, by
means of the opening into the subterranean passages that had been
made by John underneath the wall, the entrance to which was now
abandoned by the besieged.

The Romans passed through the deserted Antonia, and made a furious
attack on the temple; but here they met with a determined resistance
from the followers of John, while Simon's party hastened to join
them, and both factions united in their efforts to repulse the enemy
and drive them back to the tower.  Neither party gained any great
advantage with their swords and spears, but at length the Jews came
out and met their assailants sword in hand.  Then the narrow passages
were soon crowded with the dead and wounded, and the soldiers climbed
over heaps of bodies to rush upon their antagonists.  Ten hours did
this deadly conflict last; when Titus finding it was impossible to
force his way into the temple, withdrew his men, well satisfied with
having gained possession of the fortress of Antonia.  He loaded
Marcellus with grateful praises for his gallant and most successful
enterprise, and desired him to name his own reward, when the young
Roman immediately demanded that when the city was taken, Zadok and
his family should be spared; and requested Titus to give strict
orders throughout the army that his house should be respected and
left in undisturbed security, until the inhabitants could be removed
to a place of safety.

Titus readily acceded to this request, and the situation of the
priest's dwelling was carefully described to the troops, who were
commanded not to enter it on pain of instant death.

It was early in the month of July when the Antonia was taken.  Titus
gave orders that the magnificent tower should be razed to the ground,
and an easy ascent made for his whole army to march up the hill on
which it was built.  He then resolved to make one more attempt at
persuading the obstinate insurgents to surrender or to meet him in
open battle, by appealing to their religious feelings, which he
believed yet to exist in undiminished force.  He knew that it was a
day appointed in the Jewish law for a great sacrifice; but no victims
remained to be offered, and the people feared to enter the temple.
He therefore sent Josephus to speak with John, and offer him a free
egress from the sacred edifice, if he would come forth and fight, and
thus save the temple from pollution.  Josephus having placed himself
in a secure situation, delivered the message to John, and further
besought him to spare his country, and not to cause the most holy
sanctuary to be destroyed by fire, which the Romans were ready to
apply to it.  Some of the Jews were moved by his address, which John
perceiving, immediately replied to him with many insulting words: and
told him that he never entertained the slightest fear of the temple
being injured, as it was the dwelling-place of Jehovah, and He would
protect it.  He then cursed the renegade Jew for his cowardice and
treachery, and while Josephus with tears and sobs endeavoured to make
an impression on his countrymen, John sent out a party of men to
seize upon him, and bring him into the temple.  In this he was,
however disappointed, for Josephus escaped, and rejoined the Romans
in safety.

When Titus saw that he could neither persuade the Jews to take pity
on themselves and their families, nor to regard the sanctity of the
temple, he was compelled against his will to resume the siege.  He
resolved on an attack in the darkness of night; and finding the place
too narrow for his whole army to act together, he selected thirty men
from each century, and informed them that Cerealis should take the
command, while he would overlook them from one of the towers of
Antonia that yet remained uninjured.  His presence always acted as a
powerful stimulus to the bravery of his soldiers, and he would have
led them himself to the attack had not his officers entreated him to
refrain from such an exposure of his person.  For their sakes he gave
up the command to Cerealis; but he proclaimed that his eye would be
upon the combatants, and that he should reward every act of
individual courage.  Led on by the hope of earning their general's
approbation, the troops advanced to the temple walls at the ninth
hour of the night.  They did not, however, find the sentinels again
sunk in sleep as they had expected, but the garrison were all on the
alert, and ready to repel their attack, They rushed out in large
bodies, and the Romans sustained the shock unmoved.  Those who
followed in the obscurity of the night mistook their own comrades for
the enemy, and multitudes of the Jews fell by the swords of their own
fellow-soldiers.  When day dawned on the bloody scene, the fight was
carried on with greater equality, and was maintained for eight hours.
The Romans fought for honour and promotion, and every man strove to
distinguish himself above his comrades, and merit the reward promised
by the general; but not a foot of ground was gained; and at length
the combatants on each side, weary of such continued and fruitless
exertions, gave up the contest, and retired to their respective
quarters.

A considerable part of the Antonia was levelled, and in seven days
the Romans had constructed a broad road up the steep ascent, and
fortified it strongly on each side.  When they had thus cleared the
way to the temple wall, they began to raise mounds; and
notwithstanding the great difficulty of procuring timber, and the
constant annoyance to which they were exposed from the attacks of the
Jews, they succeeded in erecting embankments against four different
parts of the outer court.

Day by day the destruction was carried on, while the horror-stricken
inhabitants of Jerusalem trembled at the progress of the foe.  Many
still cherished a vain confidence that the holy temple would never be
suffered to fall into the hands of the heathen, but that the Lord of
Hosts would yet manifest His power and save the sacred edifice from
ruin.  Among these Zadok was the most sanguine, and he and Javan
still cheered their companions with words of hope and encouragement.
They both passed their time within the temple walls, giving all their
aid in its defence, while the daily combats were carried on.  At
night Zadok always returned to his home, and saddened the sinking
hearts of his wife and daughter and the terrified Deborah with the
account of the operations of the enemy and the slaughter of their own
defenders.  They anticipated the evils which he believed would never
be realized; and amid his many feelings of grief at the evidently
approaching death of his wife, one of the strongest was a deep regret
that she should be taken away before the glorious appearance of
Messiah, and not share with him in all the triumph and prosperity of
the promised kingdom.  Once he expressed this regret to Salome, who
regarded him with an earnest expression of sorrow, while he spoke
with ardour of the blessed days that were yet reserved for Zion.

"Oh, Zadok," she replied, "talk not to me of our country's
prosperity.  Alas! that is yet far distant, and we can hope to see
nothing but her woe, even though our days should be prolonged beyond
the time allotted to man.  I am about to leave you, my beloved Zadok,
and all my hopes are fixed on the joys of a better world than this.
I know that you will deeply grieve at my departure, and I could not
think of our separation with calmness, were it not for the confiding
hope I feel, that ere long you will join me where we shall never part
again."

"I cannot bid you banish these sad thoughts, my Salome," replied her
husband, with much emotion, "for I cannot shut my eyes to the
dreadful certainty that I shall soon be left alone.  May all your
future hopes be realized, and may our souls dwell together in the
presence of God.  Yet I could have desired a longer continuance of
our union on earth, that you with me might have beheld the Messiah
coming in the clouds of heaven to redeem Israel, and to sit upon the
throne of David in the glory of Jehovah."

"Zadok, I have learnt to know that Messiah will not appear in glory
until he stands in the latter day upon the earth.  This is the time
of Israel's darkness and dispersion, so clearly foretold by all our
holy prophets, and her restitution is yet a long way off."

"Who has taught you to adopt this belief, Salome?  I fear that
Naomi's wild fancies and expectations have tinged your mind also.
You were wont to enter into all the views which I, in common with our
most learned men, entertain of the coming of Messiah.  Our sacred
Scriptures plainly declare that it will be as we expect.  The time is
already past when our nation began to look for his appearing, and
though it has been so long delayed, we have evident tokens that we
shall not now look for him in vain.  Our land is trodden by
strangers, and our people are sunk in the lowest misery.  Now--now is
the time for the archangel's trump to rend the sky, and proclaim to
our trembling foes that He who reigns on high is coming to protect
his chosen people from their insolent oppressions!  Salome, I look
for him each day: and at night while I am watching your broken and
uneasy slumbers, I listen for the piercing sound, and look out
through the dark sky to catch the first beams of that great light
that shall tell of his coming.  This supports me through the scenes
of horror that I daily witness, and this enables me to mark unmoved
the progress of our foes.  I know that their course will suddenly and
swiftly be arrested when our guilty city has received its measure of
chastisement."

"Oh that these glorious but vain expectations would vanish from your
mind, Zadok!  I would to God that your eyes were opened to the real
state and future prospects of our race!  Guilty indeed we are.  A
load of guilt rests upon the seed of Abraham that may not be so
quickly expiated.  O Zadok!  I tremble while I speak, but I must
declare the truth.  I know that nothing but the blood of Christ can
atone for the guilt of the land where that blood was shed, and the
blind people who cried, 'His blood be on us and on our children!'"

"Salome!" cried Zadok, starting in surprise and horror; "can I have
heard aright?  What mean you?"

"Do not look so terribly at me, my own Zadok," replied Salome, in a
faltering voice.  "Do not curse your dying wife, though she confesses
to you that all her hopes of immortality are founded on the merits
and death of Jesus of Nazareth.  In his atoning blood I trust for the
pardon of my sins, and into his hands I am ready to commit my spirit,
for he has redeemed me."

"And do I live to hear this declaration from the wife of my bosom?"
exclaimed Zadok vehemently.  "O God of my fathers, the measure of my
sorrow is now full.  Salome, Salome, this from you!--you who have
walked through the path of life by my side, and never till this hour
have caused me one pang of disappointment.  I believed that the
unsullied faith of Abraham was your support in these your last days
on earth, and that when I should depart in the same faith we should
meet in Abraham's bosom.  Now what is my hope?  You have forsaken the
Lord to worship a human being, and removed your trust from the
Ancient of Days to place it on a crucified malefactor!"

Salome trembled violently.  She had expected that Zadok would be
greatly distressed at the confession of her belief in Jesus, and
therefore she had deferred it from day to day; but she had not
anticipated such a burst of grief, and it almost robbed her of all
courage to proceed.  She looked at the agitated countenance of her
husband, and inwardly prayed for strength to support her in this
trying moment.  The prayer was heard, and her sinking heart was
stayed and encouraged.  She laid her slender wasted hand on that of
Zadok, and while she grasped it with all the force that remained to
her as if she feared that he would leave her in anger, she again
addressed him.

"Zadok, I have loved you with a deep devoted affection that your
unutterable kindness has well merited and well repaid.  It has been
the object of my life to please you--alas!  I fear I have often
thought of pleasing you more than the Lord my God.  Can you then
believe that I have lightly adopted opinions in opposition to yours,
and which I knew would give you displeasure and grief?  I have long
struggled against the convictions that entered my mind many many
months ago; but the Lord was too strong for me.  He would not let me
go on in error and unbelief, but gradually He has dispersed the
clouds of prejudice that hung over my soul, and has disclosed to me
the way of salvation through his Son Jesus Christ.  I could not shut
my eyes to the dazzling light of the Gospel, when revealed to me by
the Spirit of God.  As easily might I look up into the unclouded
noonday sky and not see the sun shining in his strength, as read and
hear the history of Jesus, and not perceive him to be the Son of God,
the promised seed of David."

Zadok did not reply.  He feared to give utterance to his feelings,
and suffered Salome to continue.

"It was the word of God, written by His servants, and left for the
conviction and comfort of His children in all ages, that has wrought
this change in my mind.  And now, Zadok, listen to my request; it is
the last that I may ever have to make to you--let it not be the first
that you have ever denied me.  In the name of our covenant God I
entreat you to read the Gospel--to listen to all that our dear Naomi
has repeated to me; and, above all, to pray that the Lord will
graciously enlighten your mind to understand and receive the truth.
Then I know that you will believe--I know that you will see in Jesus
of Nazareth the promised Messiah, who was to grow up as a tender
plant, and a root out of a dry ground.  Did not the prophet rightly
describe him as despised and rejected of men, a man of sorrows and
acquainted with grief?  Zadok, you know the words of Isaiah; and can
you read them without feeling how wonderfully they foretell the
sufferings and death of Jesus?  Oh, if you would but believe that he
was wounded for your transgressions and bruised for your iniquities,
you would find rest to your soul, and be filled with such joy and
peace, and such humble adoring gratitude, as no other belief could
ever inspire.  Promise me, my own beloved husband--promise me that
you will comply with my request.  I am too feeble to speak as I would
fain speak to you."

Zadok was moved at her earnestness, and astonished at the boldness
and energy that seemed to animate her timid sinking spirit.

"What is there," he cried, "in this new doctrine, which thus seizes
on its votaries with such infatuation?  Naomi was ever a wayward,
enthusiastic girl, and I might have anticipated that she would
readily embrace any visionary ideas that were presented to her.  But
you, Salome, I thought possessed a calmer spirit.  Why did you not
apply to me when first these doubts began to trouble you?  I would
have answered them, and restored you to your former stability and
faith in our holy religion."

"I feared your anger, Zadok, for I knew how strongly you were opposed
to the doctrines of the gospel.  But I consulted the law and the
prophets, I examined the Scriptures with fervent prayer,  and I saw
that they all spoke of a suffering Messiah.  The descriptions of his
lowliness and rejection, his agonies and death, are as full and as
minute as any of those passages that foretell his future glory and
triumphant reign.  Both are the inspired word of God, and both must
be accomplished.  Jesus has suffered, and died, and ascended alive to
Heaven, thus fulfilling all that was declared of his first coming.
Christ will hereafter come again in like manner as he went up to
Heaven, with the holy angels, and in the glory of his Father.  Then
shall he sit on his everlasting throne, and then shall be the day of
Israel's triumph.  They shall look on him whom they have pierced, and
mourn because of him, and he will remember his holy covenant with
them, and make them once more his own people.  Zadok, let us believe
in him now, that when he comes, we may also be in the number of his
saints, And reign with him for ever.  Will you not believe in his
name, that name of power and love that can charm away the fears even
of a timid heart like mine?"

"Salome, I must leave you," replied Zadok gently.  "You are too weak
for such a discussion as this, and I see that just now all arguments
would be ineffectual.  I lament the change that has been wrought in
you, but I cannot look on your dear pallid face and feel an emotion
of anger.  The Lord has permitted this trial to come upon me, and I
will try to bear it with composure, and not embitter your last hours
by my unavailing regrets that I have been compelled to leave you so
much alone with Naomi, and exposed to the influence of her erroneous
opinions.  May God bless you, and may he bring you back to the right
way before it is too late.  Oh, if your name should be wiped away
from the book of life!--but it cannot be.  Your past life of
obedience and piety will be remembered, and the Lord will pardon the
errors into which you have fallen through weakness."

"Do not go thus sadly, Zadok; listen to me once more, and give me the
promise I so fondly ask, that you will seek the truth.  O how I have
prayed for you!--and I feel as if my prayers would yet be heard.  My
God has softened your heart towards me, and you do not look at me in
wrath and hatred; surely he will do more, he will give you grace to
believe his word.  Will you read it?"

"I will, Salome.  I will read what you call the word of revelation,
but which I regard as a tale of imposture.  I know that Naomi
possesses a copy; and had I ever imagined it would work such ruin in
your faith, I would long ago have destroyed it.  Since you have read
it, and been deceived by it, I will also peruse it attentively--not
to believe its contents, but that I may be better able to remove the
errors which it inculcates."

"Thank God, my Zadok!  Only read it, and your acute judgment will
quickly discern its divine truth.  You leave me happier far than I
have been for months past, for now I have told you the feelings of my
inmost soul, and I have a ray of hope that they may yet be shared by
you."

Zadok left the room, and immediately sought his daughter in her own
chamber.  She was engaged in studying the contents of her
highly-valued manuscript when her father entered the room, and she
laid it down with a look of anxious fear.  What was her joy when
Zadok informed her of the confession which he had just heard from her
mother, and the promise he had given her that he would read the book
which had produced so powerful an impression upon her mind!  Though
this was followed by a severe reproof for the part which Naomi had
had in her mother's conversion, and a strong representation of the
sorrow which she had thus occasioned to her father, yet she could not
conceal her gratitude and delight at what had occurred.  She very
meekly asked the forgiveness of Zadok for having in this one instance
disobeyed him, and acted contrary to his wishes; but she ventured at
the same time to speak of her imperative duty to point out the way of
life to others, and especially to one so near and dear to her, and
not to neglect the opportunity which had been afforded her of leading
her beloved mother to embrace those doctrines which had brought light
and joy and peace to her own soul.

Zadok was not angry at her boldness, nor did he charge her to refrain
from any further conversation with her mother on the subject of their
religion.  He saw that the faith of both was unalterably fixed, and
his was not a heart that could take pleasure in harsh or oppressive
measures, when no good result could be hoped from them.  He took the
roll of parchment, and Naomi blessed the Lord when she saw him place
it in the folds of his robe, and leave the room.  She hastened to
Salome's apartment to rejoice with her in the happy result of her
long-dreaded declaration, and to pray that the Holy Spirit would
bless to her father's soul the perusal of the sacred volume.


[Illustration: Burning of the Temple]




CHAPTER XXV

The Romans were securely established in the fortress of Antonia, and
they occupied the whole area between the tower and the temple.  A
magnificent portico united the two buildings, and formed a means of
communication which the Jews were resolved to cut off before it
should be turned to their disadvantage by the besiegers.  They
therefore contrived to set fire to the cloister, and by this means
made a breach which extended nearly thirty feet.  The Romans in their
turn set fire to the remainder, and in a short time the whole of the
beautiful portico was a heap of smouldering ruins, and the space
between the temple and Antonia was entirely cleared.  The Jews looked
on from their walls, and calmly allowed the flames to spread along
the cedar roofs and gilded mouldings, until they reached the
battlements of the temple.  That sacred edifice was yet uninjured;
and still they madly hoped to preserve it from the hands of the
heathen, who daily advanced upon them by slow degrees, and made fresh
steps towards their final destruction.  The great cloisters that ran
along the inside of the western wall appeared to be the portion of
the temple that was most exposed to the attacks of the enemy, and
John was resolved that if the Romans succeeded in getting upon the
roof and attempting to destroy it, their temerity should not go
unpunished.  He caused all the hollow space between the beams and the
roof to be filled with dry wood, pitch, and other combustibles: and
then he commanded his men to withdraw, as if exhausted with fatigue.
The Romans saw them retire, and many of the more wary suspected that
it was merely a stratagem to draw them on to destruction.  But
numbers were deceived, and in spite of the warnings of their
comrades, rushed impetuously forward.  They applied the
scaling-ladders to the wall, mounted to the summit, and immediately
descended on the roof of the portico.

John saw that his artifice had succeeded; and when the roof was
covered with hundreds of the assailants, and they were about to
precipitate themselves into the court below, he gave the word, and
fire was applied to the combustibles in several places at the same
moment.  The flames burst forth with violence, and the Romans found
themselves surrounded with the roaring element, and no way left of
escape.  Filled with despair, many of them leaped from the wall into
the city, and were dashed to pieces.  Others flung themselves down
among the enemy, who now crowded to the spot, and were either crushed
to death in the fall, or lay with broken limbs in the midst of their
enraged foes, and were quickly slain by their swords and lances.
Many of those who remained on the blazing roof were burnt to death,
while they looked vainly down towards their fellow-soldiers in the
area beyond the cloisters, who were unable to afford them any
assistance.  Titus himself beheld their desperate situation, and
deeply commiserated it, though they had acted without orders, and
were suffering the consequences of their heedless impetuosity.  He
made every possible exertion to rescue his brave men from a dreadful
death, but without success; and in profound sorrow he was forced to
behold even those who had retired to a broad part of the roof and
defended themselves valiantly, fall sword in hand, and perish to a
man.

The destruction of the cloisters had left the besiegers in
undisturbed possession of the outer court, or court of the Gentiles.
The legionaries completed the erection of their mounds on the eighth
of August, and Titus commanded the battering-rams to be planted
against the north gallery of the temple.  For the six preceding days,
the most powerful of all the military engines had been playing upon
the outer wall without intermission; but the enormous size of the
stones, and excellent construction of the wall, had resisted all
efforts at its demolition.  A portion of the troops were at the same
time employed in undermining the northern gate, but in this attempt
they could make no progress; and nothing remained but to apply the
ladders and storm the cloisters.  They met with no resistance in
mounting to the platform at the summit of the wall; but the moment
they reached it, the Jews hurled them violently down, or slew them
before they had time to cover themselves with their shields.  In many
places the ladders were overturned when crowded with men, and they
fell backward on the marble pavement, and were dashed to pieces.  The
crash of the falling armour, the groans of the wounded and dying, and
the shouts of the combatants, were mingled wildly and fearfully
together; while above all these sounds, the regular and uninterrupted
strokes of the engines were heard to fall on the walls and buttresses
with an overpowering and thundering shock.

Many distinguished soldiers fell among the Romans in this assault,
and the Jews also lost several of their bravest men; but they
succeeded in repulsing the enemy from the top of the wall, and
considered themselves victorious: they therefore sought a brief
repose after the toils of the conflict, and hoped for greater success
on the morrow.

This had been a day of awful suffering to poor Naomi.  When she
repaired early in the morning to her mother's chamber, she thought
she perceived an evident alteration in her countenance; and Deborah
also confirmed her in the belief that Salome had not many days,
perhaps not many hours to live.  Zadok lingered near her, for he felt
that he had not long to enjoy her much-beloved presence; and it was
with an agonizing effort that he tore himself away, when Javan sent
hastily to summon him to the temple.  He felt it his duty to repair
to the holy place when he heard that the walls were being stormed,
and every arm was called for that could be lifted in its defence.
Sadly he took leave of his dying wife, who smiled sweetly at him, and
whispered a blessing as he kissed her marble brow.  He dreaded that
it might be the last smile he should ever see on that loved
countenance; but he charged Naomi to send one of the domestics who
were left to guard the house, with all speed to the temple, if any
further change should take place, that he might hasten home and
receive her parting breath.

All day the fearful sounds of the assault struck mournfully on the
ears of Salome and her afflicted attendants, mingled with the
shriller blast of the trumpets, and the cries of agony or rage.
Naomi stood by her mother's couch, and saw her wasted form quiver at
each piercing sound, while her clasped hands were convulsively
pressed together, and her eyes looked fervently upward, as if to seek
strength and comfort where only in that dreadful hour they could be
found.  At midday Zadok and Javan returned together from the scene of
conflict to ascertain her state, and they found her greatly revived,
notwithstanding the constant alarm she was suffering.  They
endeavoured to cheer her by assurances that the enemy had not yet
obtained any advantage, and that the Jews were bravely repulsing them
from the battlements.  They could not tarry long, for their presence
was urgently required by Simon; but Zadok's heart was somewhat
relieved, for he felt assured that Salome would yet linger for
several days.

It was a hot and sultry day: the sun had looked with unclouded
brightness on that once lovely scene, and not a breath of air came
through the open casements to cool Salome's parched lips, and fan her
pallid cheek.  At length he sank in radiant glory behind the western
hills, and a refreshing breeze came over the Mount of Olives, and
Naomi perceived that it revived the languid spirits of her mother.
She had spoken very little during the day, and had seemed to wish to
be left undisturbed; but now she turned to her daughter, and bade her
pray for her speedy and happy release.  Naomi complied with her wish,
and Salome's eye beamed with pleasure as she thanked her
affectionately for this, and every act of kindness that she had so
unweariedly bestowed upon her throughout her illness.

"You have been to me a blessing from the Lord, my Naomi: you have
watched my poor sinking frame, and ministered to all its wants, and
soothed all its sufferings with your gentle hand.  But greater far
have been the blessings that you have rendered to my soul: you have
charmed its fears to rest, and taught it to meet the last enemy with
composure, yes, even with joy.  Naomi, my child, I am going to the
presence of God; and it is you who have pointed out the way."

Naomi had learnt to bear the thought of her mother's death; she had
learned to restrain her tears and still her beating heart, while she
watched her panting breath, or while she joined with her in prayers
that cut her to the soul.  But she could not bear this touching
expression of her mother's gratitude, and she burst into tears of
mingled joy and grief.  But she quickly recovered her wonted command
over her feelings, and Salome continued,

"You must not weep for me, Naomi, for I have only cause to thank my
gracious Father, who is so gently removing me from the evils to come.
The heaviest weight that now presses on my mind is the fear of what
may be your fate, my child; and the anxious doubts I feel as to your
father's spiritual state, and that of my poor Javan.  But even these
cares I am able to cast on my Redeemer, remembering that he careth
for us."

"What joy it is to me, my dear mother, to hear you speak so
peacefully, and to see the calmness that now pervades your
countenance!  I trusted that it would be so, and that God would give
you this perfect peace before he called you to himself."

"He is very merciful, Naomi.  I hope and believe that He has heard my
prayers, and will give me grace and strength to make a good
confession to the last.  I wish to bear testimony with my latest
breath to the power of our most holy faith, and the goodness and
mercy of our Redeemer.  If my belief in Him, and my confidence of
being pardoned through his merits alone, sustain me in the hour of
death, it will prove to Zadok that our faith is no vain delusion, but
an anchor of the soul, sure and steadfast.  I only hope that the many
painful doubts which I have experienced of my own personal interest
in His great atonement may not return, when the shades of death
gather round my soul, to obscure the blessed hope of eternal life
that now sustains me."

"It may be, mother, that our great enemy may try to shake your faith
in the hour of weakness.  But should any doubts arise in your mind,
be not troubled.  Remember that your security rests not in the degree
of confidence which you may be enabled to feel, but in the great
things which the Lord Jesus has done for your soul.  He has once
suffered, the just for the unjust, that he might bring us to God.  He
has borne the penalty of all our sins, and it cannot be that we shall
be made to bear it again.  Our God is faithful and true, and He must
fulfil the promise he has made that not one of those who come to him
in the name of his Son shall ever perish."

"I know it, Naomi, I know it; and on that blessed promise I rest my
dying hope.  When first I believed in Jesus as the Son of God and the
Saviour of men, I often doubted whether I was one of his flock, one
of those whom he would own as a disciple.  But now that beautiful
promise spoken by his own lips, and which you so often repeat to me,
is able to banish these doubts I whisper to myself, 'All that the
Father giveth me shall come to me, and him that cometh to me I will
in no wise cast out;' and I am at peace.  I know that I am a vile
unworthy sinner; but I know that he is the unchangeable Jehovah, who
keepeth his promise for ever."

"Oh, my dear mother," exclaimed Naomi, "I bless and glorify God for
his goodness to us, in having removed all your fears, and given you
this victory.  Now you experience the truth of his promises, and find
that though you walk through the valley of the shadow of death, yet
his rod and his staff they comfort you.  Soon the short passage will
be passed, and you will be in the presence of him who has loved you,
and washed you from your sins in his own blood.  How thankfully do I
feel that I could lay down my head in death, and follow you to that
blessed home!  Were it not for my father's sake, my spirit would
yearn to leave this world, so full of sorrow and of crime; but while
I can try to soothe his grief, or hope to lead him to the foot of
Jesus' cross, life will still be valuable."

"If I did not depend on you to be the solace and support of your dear
father when I am gone," replied Salome, with a tremulous voice,
"death would be much more terrible to me.  I hope and believe that
yet many years of happiness are reserved for you; and that, united to
Marcellus, you will live an ornament to the Christian profession.
Zadok will see the power and beauty of your religion, and he too will
embrace the Saviour.  O Naomi, my soul looks on through many fancied
scenes of life, and rests with joy in the prospect of greeting all I
love on the threshold of heaven!  Yes, all--I cannot believe that one
will be missing."

"God grant it, my mother.  How many of our family have already been
called to the faith of Christ! and we may hope that his mercy will
yet be extended to those who now reject him.  May He prolong the
lives of my father and brother, and give them time and grace to
repent.  I tremble every hour while this bloody siege continues, lest
they should be suddenly called into eternity before they have sought
pardon through Jesus Christ."

"It is a fearful thought," replied Salome.  "And when the conquering
arms of Rome have found an entrance into our wretched city, what will
be their fate?  Perhaps to be slain with the sword--perhaps to be led
away captive into a heathen land, where the Saviour's name will not
be heard.  Oh, I must banish these dreadful thoughts, for they pierce
my soul with agony.  Naomi, bring your harp, and sing to me that hymn
which has so often soothed me to repose.  I am weary, and this has
been a long, long day to me.  I marvel that your father does not
return, for the sounds of war have died away while we have been
conversing."

It was true; the battle had ceased for that day, and the exhausted
combatants had retired as daylight departed, to prepare for a fiercer
conflict on the morrow.  No sounds now fell on Salome's ear but the
sighing of the evening breeze and the hoarse cry of the vultures as
they hovered over the pestilent streets.  The gusts of air that
entered the open casements of her chamber were tainted with the foul
vapours of the city, though Naomi had placed her vases of blooming
flowers within the window, in the hope of excluding the noxious
odour.  In the midst of all her other cares and anxieties, these
favourite plants were watched and tended for her mother's sake, and
their bright blossoms, so pure and fragrant in the midst of death and
corruption, were an emblem of the purity of Naomi's spirit and the
beauty of her holy faith, that remained unsullied amid the depravity
that surrounded her, and only grew brighter and more lovely as the
path in which she walked became darker.  Nothing but that faith could
have supported the Jewish maid under her present trials, or have
enabled her to bear the prospect of those which she anticipated.
Nothing but the firm assurance that her Redeemer's eye was upon her,
and His arm sustaining her, and that all things would work together
for good to those who loved God, could have enabled her to maintain a
calm and almost a cheerful spirit in that time of matchless woe.
Nothing but a perfect confidence that her mother's soul was about to
wing its way to a realm of unutterable bliss, and that the same faith
which opened the portals of heaven to Salome's ransomed spirit, would
also enable her to join her there, could have taught her to look on
the dying and beloved form before her and not feel that her heart was
breaking.

Naomi took her harp, which was once her greatest pleasure and most
frequent occupation, but now was never touched except when Salome
wished to be soothed by its plaintive sound.  She seated herself near
the open casement, where she could look out on the Mount of Olives
and the more distant Hills of Judgment, now illuminated by the rising
moon, and in a low sweet voice she sang her mother's favourite hymn.

  "Mother, let thy spirit rest in peace:
    He who died for thee is watching near.
  Jesus bids thine anxious doubts to cease,
    And gently whispers, 'Wherefore dost thou fear.'

        Mother, trust thy soul to him,
        Lord of the hosts of Seraphim;
        The crucified, the holy one,
        God's only well-beloved Son!

  He has bid the weary sinner come,
    He calls the heavy-laden to his breast.
  Oh, vainly may the troubled spirit roam,
    Until at Jesu's feet it sinks to rest.

        Then, mother, cast thy cares on him,
        Lord of the hosts of Seraphim;
        The crucified, the holy one,
        God's only, well-beloved Son!

  He hath said that he will ne'er cast out
    In any wise the soul that comes to him.
  He will not crush thy faith, though mixed with doubt,
    Or quench thy heavenly hopes, however dim.

        Mother, fix thy hopes on him,
        Lord of the hosts of Seraphim;
        The crucified, the holy one,
        God's only, well-beloved Son!

  And when he sets thy ransomed spirit free
    From earthly trials--earthly care and woe,
  I will not murmur at the sad decree.
    Would I detain thee?--dearest mother, no!

        In glory thou wilt dwell with him,
        Lord of the hosts of Seraphim;
        The crucified, the holy one,
        God's only, well-beloved Son!"


When Zadok and his son left the temple to proceed towards their home,
their attention was attracted by a strong light which arose from that
part of the upper city where the great prison was situated.  They
paused to watch it for a moment, and they soon perceived that the
prison was on fire; and from the distant clamour and the shouts that
proceeded from the spot, they suspected that it was an act
intentionally committed by some of the wild insurgents.  Javan
hastily summoned a party of his own men who were assembled in the
temple court, and then begging his father to return home without him,
he added,

"I must hasten to the prison; there is one within those walls who
must not perish thus."

"Of whom do you speak, Javan?" replied his father.  "All the best and
most valuable men in our city have already passed from the prisons to
death; and who remains for whom you feel so keen an interest?
Whoever it may be, I will go with you to rescue him from the dreadful
fate that seems to threaten all the captives."

"Come then, my father," said Javan; "let us lose no time, and you may
yet see one whom you never thought to behold again on earth.
Theophilus lives in that blazing pile, and we may save him."

"Theophilus lives!" cried Zadok.  "Oh let us fly to preserve him!
When he is safe I will hear all you have to tell of him--but now let
us not waste a moment."

They hurried through the streets followed by their armed attendants,
and soon reached the area in front of the prison.  It presented a
scene of confusion and uproar that baffled description.  The building
had been set on fire by a party of Zealots, who had previously made
an ineffectual attempt to force open the gates and release the
prisoners, many of whom were criminals of their own faction, confined
by order of Simon.  These wretches now appeared at the grated windows
of their cells, and with frantic gestures and cries of terror,
besought their comrades to burst open the door and set them free
before the fire should spread through the building.  A multitude of
both factions were collected in the square, and a fierce struggle was
going on near the gates; the Zealots endeavouring to tear them down,
and those of Simon's parry striving to repulse them.  Meanwhile
flames were raging furiously, and volumes of smoke and fire came down
upon the crowd; while the shrieks of the prisoners, the shouts of the
combatants, and the crash of falling timbers combined to increase the
horror of the scene.

Javan was bold and resolute in the highest degree.  No danger ever
deterred him from prosecuting an object which he earnestly desired to
accomplish.  Collecting his followers into a compact body, he placed
himself at their head; and accompanied by his no less courageous
father, he forced his way through the crowd, and reached a small door
in the outer wall of the prison.  To Zadok's surprise he produced a
key which instantly opened this door, and they entered the
court-yard.  The same key admitted them into the building, which they
found filled with a dense smoke and intensely heated by the
rapidly-increasing flames.  Nevertheless, Javan and Zadok rushed
forward; and as they reached the door which led to Theophilus's cell
they saw that all the further extremity of the passage was enveloped
in a sheet of fire.  They entered the cell, which was partially
illuminated by the light of the flames which had seized the opposite
side of the court.  On the ground near the narrow window Theophilus
was on his knees: his hands, from which hung heavy chains, were
clasped in the attitude of fervent prayer, and his pale countenance
was turned towards Heaven with an expression of heroic and saintlike
resignation.  The creaking of the massy door aroused his attention,
and in a moment his eyes met those of Zadok, and he felt himself
embraced with warm affection by his uncle.  Javan stood aloof.  He
had visited Theophilus many times in that solitary cell, and his
appearance did not awaken any fresh emotions in his stern breast.

"Come, my father," he cried, "this is no time for greetings or
explanations.  The flames are drawing nearer, and even now our
passage may be stopped."

Zadok caught the arm of Theophilus, and supported him while they
passed swiftly through the narrow gallery, and retraced the way by
which he and Javan had entered.  In the court they met the rushing
crowd from without, for the great gates had now been burnt down, and
a free entrance was afforded to those who sought to release the
terrified captives.  Through this tumultuous band they wound their
way, and at length reached the open area in safety.  Onward they
pressed, and did not pause to speak or rest, though Theophilus,
weakened by long confinement and want of proper nourishment, could
scarcely keep pace with his companions.  Through all the time of
famine, Javan had carefully provided for his cousin's sustenance; but
it was not in his power to obtain for him more than would barely
sustain life; and his once manly form was wasted away, and all his
natural strength had forsaken him.

When they had descended the eminence on which the prison stood, they
entered one of the most frequented streets.  How changed was all
around since Theophilus had beheld that once splendid part of the
city!  The houses in ruins, or wearing an air of desolation that
eloquently told of the miseries of their inhabitants; and the street
that was wont to be crowded with passengers, and animated with the
hum of many voices, now silent and deserted--peopled only with livid
corpses, and a few straggling wretches, whose forms and countenances
were scarcely less spectral than those that lay stiff and cold
beneath their feet.  In the frequent visits which Javan had paid to
his cousin's cell, he had informed him of the progress of the war,
and the cruel factions that divided the city; but Theophilus had not
pictured to himself a scene of such utter desolation as that which
now met his view in the clear cold light of the moon.  He eagerly
questioned Zadok as to the welfare of his family and friends amid the
general misery that seemed to prevail; and he learned with deep
distress of the hopeless state to which his aunt was reduced, and the
sufferings and privations to which all the family had been subjected.
Zadok also learned from him the particulars of his preservation,
which though they had been told to both Naomi and her mother, had
been purposely concealed by Javan from his father, lest he should
interfere to procure his liberation.  It had been only under a solemn
promise of secrecy that the happy intelligence of Theophilus's safety
had been confided to Naomi and Salome; and thus Javan had been
enabled to pursue his plans without interruption.

It was the restoration of his cousin to the Jewish religion, and not
his death, that had actuated Javan after he had once secured his
person; and in the hope of obtaining this object, he had contrived to
substitute another condemned criminal in the place of Theophilus on
the dreadful day of execution.  The malefactor was clothed in the
vest and robe of him whom he was appointed to personate; and none of
those who felt any interest in the transaction had the slightest
suspicion of the change that had been made.  Executions and murders
were events of too common occurrence to excite much attention from
the self-constituted authorities that tyrannised over the city; and
Javan's artifice was known only to the jailor, who was a faithful and
devoted adherent of his own.  For a considerable time Javan had
visited the Christian captive daily, and patiently argued with him on
what he considered his fatal errors.  But latterly his time had been
too much occupied with the business of this siege, to allow of his
devoting many hours to what had hitherto been a fruitless labour; and
he had seldom seen Theophilus.  Still he felt a strong desire that he
should live to behold that glorious advent of the Messiah which he
was himself daily expecting--he wished that, since all his arguments
had failed, that awful event might break on the eyes of his deluded
cousin, and at once dispel his errors, and convince him that until
that moment the true Messiah had never appeared on earth.  Therefore
he took every precaution for his being provided with food, and
frequently denied himself that Theophilus might be preserved from
dying in the state of hopeless apostasy in which he believed him to
be sunk.

It was with the same feeling that he had this evening hazarded his
own life to rescue the man whom he had so deeply injured from a
dreadful death; and as he strode rapidly before his father and
Theophilus, his soul was occupied in contemplations of approaching
triumph and prosperity, in which he believed that all who shared the
pure blood of Aaron, that ran in his own veins, would take a
distinguished part.

He led the way through dark and narrow streets with which he was well
acquainted, and which at length brought them to the private entrance,
at the back of Zadok's house, near the city wall.  They entered the
door, and immediately met old Deborah, whose astonishment and terror,
at the sight of one whom she had so long believed to be dead, were
extreme.  She thought it must be a spectre, and would have hurried
away trembling with fear, had not Zadok detained her, and briefly
informed her of the truth.  With some difficulty he and Javan
detached the fetters from the hands of Theophilus, and he then passed
out on the terrace, followed by the two young men, as he wished to
enter Salome's chamber alone, and leave them without until he had
prepared her to meet Theophilus.  With a gentle step he approached
towards the open casement, which was his usual mode of entrance, and
as he heard the sound of Naomi's harp, he felt assured that all was
well, He paused to listen, and to contemplate the scene which met his
view within the apartment, as the dark shadow of the wall concealed
him from observation: and Naomi continued her song, with all the
feeling and tender expression of devotion with which the words
inspired her.

Javan and Theophilus drew near to Zadok, and with various feelings
they heard the song of Christian faith which Naomi had composed for
her mother's consolation.  In Theophilus's breast it inspired a
sensation of delighted surprise and gratitude; in Javan's, of zealous
indignation, which almost prompted him to rush forward and interrupt
the blasphemous strain.  In Zadok's heart were many mingled feelings
that held him motionless and almost breathless, until the last chord
died away on the harp of Naomi, and all was profound silence.

Salome's couch was near the window, and the rich curtains of Tyrian
purple had been drawn aside to admit the refreshing evening breeze.
She lay calm and still, listening to her daughter's voice, while a
sweet smile rested on her deathlike countenance.  Her eyes were
closed, and she did not see the tears that ran unchecked down Naomi's
cheek while she sang her mother's dirge of death.  Deep emotion had
called up a bright and hectic flush to that usually pallid cheek; but
when her song was done, and she leaned silently upon her harp, the
transient colour faded rapidly away, like the last brilliant rays of
the setting sun dying on the cold summit of a snow-capped mountain.

Theophilus was deeply moved.  When last he parted from his cousin she
was in the pride of youth and beauty, and the animation of her soul
looked forth from her beaming eyes.  But never had she looked so
lovely as now, in her sorrow and resignation.  She seemed a being too
pure and unearthly to tarry in this world of sin and woe, and as if
she were only waiting for her summons to that heavenly home where her
heart and her treasure were already laid up.

After a pause of some duration, Zadok approached the window and
entered the apartment.  Naomi met him without embarrassment, for she
had ceased to fear that he would rebuke her for speaking of Jesus to
her mother, and she saw in his countenance no traces of displeasure.
Salome too looked up with a peaceful smile, and asked whether he had
heard any part of Naomi's song.  He did not reply to the question,
but affectionately inquired how she had passed the day since he had
seen her, and spoke of the prison being on fire as the cause of his
long delay in returning to her.  Salome knew that it was the prison
in which Theophilus had been confined, and she listened with
returning animation to the account of his rescue and safe arrival at
his uncle's house.  She begged to see him immediately, and Theophilus
was quickly at her side.  The near approach of death had already
destroyed the keenness of her sensibilities, and she met him with
much greater composure than he could command; while Naomi was hardly
able to control her feelings at the recollection of all that she and
her cousin and poor Claudia had undergone, since their last meeting
in the prison.  Javan did not join them until they had had time to
converse on the past and the future; and mutually to relate the
events and the feelings that had marked the period since they parted.
It was with sincere delight that Theophilus heard of Claudia's pious
resignation and strengthened faith; and he blessed God for all that
they had suffered, since it had been the means of confirming her
faith and proving its sincerity.  Long the cousins discoursed
together, while Zadok remained by Salome's side, and saw with
satisfaction that she sank into a deep and tranquil slumber.  Still
there was an altered appearance in her countenance that spoke
fearfully to his heart, and he would not leave the room to seek the
repose which he so much needed.

Javan and Theophilus retired, but Naomi took her place by her father,
and together they watched in silence while Salome slept.  Deborah
also tarried, and gazed with tearful eyes on her beloved mistress,
who she plainly saw would very soon be taken from their sight.  About
midnight she awoke, and appeared so much revived that a faint gleam
of hope arose in Zadok's breast that he was not so soon to lose her.
But it was only the last light of an expiring lamp ere it sinks to
darkness.

"Zadok, my beloved," she said, and she laid her cold hand on his,
"the hour is fast approaching when I must close my eyes for ever, and
look on your face no more in this world.  Call my son and Theophilus
hither, that with my latest breath I may bear witness to the truth."

Deborah quickly summoned the two young men, and in breathless
attention they all stood round the couch.

"I bless the Lord, my dear Theophilus," continued Salome, in a low
but distinct voice, "that He has permitted me to see you once more,
and given me this opportunity of telling you how much I owe to your
noble example in awakening my interest towards the religion which
supported you, and proving to me that it was indeed from Heaven.  I
am now on the verge of that eternity into which I so long believed
that you had entered; and here, in the presence of God, and of those
who are dearest to me on earth, I testify that Jesus of Nazareth is
the true Messiah.  He has revealed himself to my soul, as the only
Saviour from sin and condemnation; and in His name I meet death
without a fear.  Oh, my dearest husband, and you too, my son, let my
dying voice persuade you to seek the refuge which I have found, and
save your souls alive."

She paused, but none replied, and after a short interval she
proceeded.

"The evil days are come upon us--those days of which the Redeemer
warned our fathers, and in the scenes which surround us we behold the
proof of his divine foreknowledge.  The awful completion of his
prophecy is yet to come, for not one jot or tittle of all that he
spoke shall pass away unfulfilled.  Then, when Jerusalem is trampled
down, and our holy temple cast to the ground, where will you look for
safety, Zadok?  Not on the earth, for our nation will be led away
captive by the heathen, and persecuted in every land.  Turn ye then
to the stronghold ordained before the world was created, as the only
sure refuge in the time of trouble.  Why should ye refuse to believe
in Him who spake as never man spake, and who fulfilled all that the
prophets foretold of him?"

"Mother," cried Javan, unable any longer to listen to her with
composure, "mother, I implore you to cease, and not let your last
words be words of blasphemy!  I cannot hear the majesty of Jehovah
thus insulted, and a crucified malefactor exalted to his throne, and
hold my peace.  Speak no more of the Nazarene; or suffer me to
retire, ere I forget my love and reverence for you in zeal for the
honour of my God."

"Javan, Javan! are you so hardened in prejudice?  I cannot cease to
tell of all that Jesus has done for my soul while yet I have strength
to speak; and I would to God that my voice might sink deep into your
heart, and leave an impression there never to be effaced.  Will you
not stay and hear my testimony?  Then farewell, my son, and may the
Saviour whom you despise yet look graciously on you, and bring you to
himself."

Javan took his mother's hand, which was feebly extended towards him:
he kissed her cheek with tenderness, and then hurried from the room
to hide the emotions which he could not command.

"He is gone, and may the Spirit of the Lord follow him," said Salome,
with a heavy sigh.  "Zadok, you are less obdurate.  I see that
conviction begins to steal upon your soul.  Do not deny it; do not
take from me the hope that enables me to part from you with
resignation.  When I am in my cold grave, you will remember what I
have said to you, and know that it was truth."

Again she paused to recover strength for all she wished to say, and
those who stood weeping round her couch did not attempt to interrupt
her.  There was a tone of holy dignity, almost of inspiration, in
this her dying discourse, that held them in silent and reverential
attention.

"Naomi, my child," she continued, in a fainter voice, "come near and
receive my parting blessing."  Naomi Rank on her knees, and stifling
the emotions that shook her trembling form, she waited in silence for
her mother's benediction.

"May the God of our fathers, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, bless thee,
my Naomi, and keep thee in all thy ways.  May He reward thee a
hundredfold for all that thou hast been to me; and may he grant that
you may prove as great a blessing to your beloved father's soul as
thou hast been to mine.  And oh, when thy earthly course is finished,
and thy spirit soars above, to enter the blissful mansions prepared
for thee by our Redeemer's love, may it be my happy privilege to meet
thee on the threshold, and conduct thee to the foot of the throne,
and there to testify that thy teaching and thy example first led me
into the heavenly road."

Naomi pressed her mother's hand to her lips, and bathed it with her
tears, but she could not speak; and Zadok and Theophilus knelt beside
her.

"Pray for me, Zadok," said Salome.  "The shadows of death are
gathering round me, and your voice should be the last--it has ever
been the dearest--that I hear on earth."

The priest complied with his wife's request; and had his prayer been
uttered in the Saviour's name, it would have been all that Salome's
soul desired.  The conclusion was consoling to her, and strengthened
her hopes of his conversion; for he prayed that he might meet his
wife in heaven, and that if there were in his own creed anything that
obstructed his heavenward course, the Lord would deign to remove his
error, and lead him into all truth.  This was a concession which
neither Salome nor her daughter had expected, and they heard it with
secret thanksgiving and joy.

Salome closed her eyes, and Zadok thought she slept; but soon she
opened them again, and fixed them on his countenance with a look of
anxious affection.

"Remember, my beloved," she whispered, "remember your promise.  Read
the book of life, and believe.  And I have one more request.  Be very
kind to our poor Naomi when I am gone, and do not suffer her to be
reviled or harshly treated because she believes in Jesus."

"Were she less dear to me than she is," replied Zadok, "she should be
guarded and cherished as the apple of my eye for your sake, my love.
Fear not, Salome, I will be a father and a friend to her; and none
shall deal unkindly with her while Zadok lives to protect her.  And
more than this--she shall tell me of this Jesus, whose name has
become so dear to your soul; and I will listen with sincerity,
remembering that it was your dying wish."

"The blessing of my Heavenly Father be upon you for these words, my
dearest husband!" exclaimed Salome, with sudden energy.  "Now will my
soul depart in peace, for its fondest desires are granted.  Bless
thou the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me praise his holy
name!"

It seemed that Salome's heart was now relieved of all its anxious
cares, for her countenance beamed with a heavenly calmness; and while
she held the hand of Zadok clasped within both her own, she fell
asleep.  For some hours she lay motionless, while her low and
lengthened breathing alone declared that life was not extinct.  But
there was light and conscious joy in her spirit, though its earthly
tabernacle seemed already stricken by the hand of death.  At length
her lips moved, and in a voice scarcely audible she murmured,

"O grave, where is thy sting!  O death, where is thy victory!"

"Tell us, dear Salome," said Theophilus, leaning over her
affectionately, "tell us, is it all peace?"

"Triumph! triumph! as far as I have gone," she replied.

"And you have no fears, no doubts, no darkness around you?" he
continued, anxious that Zadok should know how well her faith
sustained her to the last.

"Oh no!" she slowly and distinctly answered.  "The valley is all
light now.  I see heaven opening beyond it.  I see the redeemed with
their golden harps, and almost I hear their songs of joy.  There is
no darkness there, for the Lamb is the light thereof."

More she tried to say, but no sound came from her parted lips, and
her voice was never heard again on earth.  So gently, so
imperceptibly her breathing died away, that none knew at what moment
her spirit fled to God.  Zadok felt her hands unclasp their hold of
his, and they became cold and still.  With trembling steps Deborah
approached, and drew aside the drapery that had hitherto excluded the
light of the rising sun; and as the first beams darted brightly over
the summit of Mount Olivet, they fell on the lifeless form of Salome,
and showed the hue of death on her cold features.

The agony of grief, which had been so long repressed in the bosom of
Zadok, now burst forth with somewhat of the fervent feeling for which
his race was distinguished; and he mourned over the dead with bitter
tears.  Theophilus led him and his daughter from the chamber, to that
in which Javan sat gloomy and sad; and the meeting of Naomi and her
brother was deeply painful to both.

The circumstances in which the city was placed were such as to
prevent the greatest part of the ceremonies which usually followed
the death of a Jewish matron from being performed.  Deborah exerted
herself, with the assistance of the other domestics, to supply every
deficiency, and Javan was zealously anxious that nothing of the
customary forms should be omitted that could possibly be attended to.
He summoned the rabbi Joazer, and concerted with him as to the
funeral of his mother, which by Zadok's desire was to take place that
very day.  He would not suffer the remains of his beloved wife to be
carried out into the polluted streets, and he resolved that she
should be laid beneath the shady trees in the garden attached to his
house.  The custom of the Jews forbad a priest from touching a
corpse, or even remaining in the house which contained one.  Zadok
therefore went forth and wandered up and down the desolate street
while the hasty preparations were made.  Then, when the body was
carried down to the simple grave that had been dug by the servants of
the household, he repaired to the terrace with Naomi; and though he
was not legally permitted to be present at a funeral, yet he stood
there to see the mortal body of his beloved wife laid in the dust;
and he was enabled to lift his eyes to Heaven with gratitude that she
had been taken away from the evil to come, and with the hope that ere
long he should rejoin her beyond the clear blue sky that now glowed
brightly over his head.


[Illustration: Tombs of the Kings]




CHAPTER XXVI.

This was no time for the indulgence of sorrow.  Soon after the green
turf was laid over the grave of Salome, a messenger arrived from
Simon to demand the immediate appearance of Javan at the temple, as
the gates were about to be fired by order of Titus, and every hand
was required to prevent the execution of the dreadful project.  Javan
hurried to the spot, accompanied by his father and Theophilus, and
they found that all the fears of the besieged were realized.  Blazing
torches had been applied to the gates, and the plates of silver that
covered them had become intensely heated.  The wooden framework had
caught fire, and as they entered the court they saw the flames spring
up in several directions.  They joined their companions and friends
in exhorting the soldiers to make every effort to extinguish the fire
or arrest its further progress; but a panic had seized the men,
hitherto so dauntless, and in silent dismay they watched the flames
rising higher and fiercer, until in a short time they were
communicated to the inner cloisters.  The besieged now saw a circle
of fire spreading round them, and destruction threatening themselves
and their magnificent temple.  All day the flames raged with
violence, and the whole of the rich and beautiful cloisters were in
ruins, while the officers and leaders of the Jews used ineffectual
efforts to rouse their men from the state of consternation into which
they and sunk.  At night, Zadok and Theophilus returned to Naomi for
a few hours, but Javan remained with his chieftain, resolved to share
his dangers and assist his councils.

When morning dawned Zadok prepared to leave his home once more, and
join his son amid the burning walls of the sacred edifice, to defend
them, or to perish beneath their ruins.  Naomi felt a dark
foreboding, as her father came to bid her farewell, that it might be
the last time she should receive his affectionate embrace, or listen
to a benediction from his lips.

"Oh, my father," she cried, while she fell at his feet and embraced
his knees, "do not leave me--do not rush into certain destruction.
The hour is at hand when our city will be trodden by the Gentiles,
and it is in vain to resist the decrees of Heaven.  Tarry with me, I
implore you, and let me meet death by your side."

"Do not abandon yourself to despair, my child," replied Zadok,
raising her from the ground and pressing her fondly to his heart.
"All is not yet lost; and though my hopes of triumph and deliverance
are fading away, yet still there may be an effectual resistance made
to the enemy, and we may obtain terms from the conqueror.  I will
return to you if immediate danger threatens the city, and Theophilus
shall remain to support and comfort you.  A sacred duty calls me to
the temple, and as a servant of the living God I must not abandon His
sanctuary.  Farewell, my Naomi; may the blessing of the Almighty rest
upon you."

He left her, and she gazed after him through her tears until the
gates of the courtyard closed behind him and hid his manly form from
her view.  Theophilus would not leave his cousin alone to her grief
and apprehensions.  He knew that his presence in the temple could be
of no avail to arrest the approaching ruin, and therefore he remained
to cheer the drooping spirit of Naomi, and if necessary, to die in
her defence.

It was now the 10th of August, that fatal day which had already
proved so calamitous to Jerusalem, when the Temple of Solomon was
destroyed by the Babylonian king.  Titus beheld the spreading flames
that threatened the total demolition of the second glorious temple of
Jehovah, and he was moved to pity that so much splendour and beauty
should be laid in ruins.  He called a council of war, and solemnly
discussed with his officers the question whether the sacred edifice
should be preserved, or left to the effects of the destroying
element.  Many of his advisers were of opinion that the temple should
no longer be regarded as a sanctuary, but as a fortress, and that it
ought to be treated like any other stronghold of rebellion.  But
Titus was inclined towards milder measures.  The magnificence of the
building had struck him with profound admiration, and he wished to
preserve it as one of the proudest ornaments of the Roman empire.  In
this desire he was seconded by several of his principal officers, and
by Marcellus more warmly than the rest, and orders were instantly
issued for the soldiers to unite their efforts to extinguish the
flames.

It was in vain; a higher decree than that of Titus had doomed the
temple to destruction, and his legions were unable to stay the course
of the sword of Divine vengeance.  While they toiled in fruitless
zeal for the preservation of the devoted building, the Jews suddenly
roused themselves and shook off the terror which had kept them
inactive all the preceding day and night, and desperate thoughts of
vengeance seized on their minds.  Led on by Simon and Javan, they
made a furious sally from the eastern gate upon the guards who were
posted in the outer court.  The Romans locked their shields together
and received the shock with unbroken ranks; but such multitudes of
the besieged came rushing upon them that Titus himself was obliged to
come to their defence, and with a choice band of men he at length
succeeded in repulsing the Jews, and driving them back from the court
into the temple again.  He then withdrew into the Antonia, intending
to make a general and final assault on the following morning.  After
he had retired, a party of the besieged, not discouraged by their
repulse in the morning, made another attack upon the soldiers who
were still employed in extinguishing the fire in the cloisters.  The
Romans drove them back, and followed them within the sacred precincts
even to the door of the temple itself.  One of the legionaries,
animated with fury and a love of destruction, climbed on the
shoulders of a comrade who stood before him, and threw a lighted
torch through a small gilded door into the porch.  The flames at once
sprang up, and the Jews uttered one wild and general shriek of
consternation and rage, and grasping their swords, resolved to
revenge the sacrilegious act and perish in the ruins of the temple.
Titus was asleep when Marcellus rushed into his chamber with the
startling intelligence that the temple was on fire.  He started up,
and they both hastened to the spot, which was already crowded with
Roman soldiers.  With shouts and gestures the general commanded his
men to quench the flames, but his voice was unheeded or drowned in
the deafening clamour that surrounded him.

The legionaries rushed on: many of them cast flaming torches into the
inner court, and then, drawing their swords, turned to the work of
slaughter.  Thousands fell in the first onset, and the temple steps
flowed with blood, though Titus made every exertion in his power to
put a stop to the carnage.  He entered the temple with his officers,
and gazed in wonder and admiration on the matchless splendour that
met his view.  As yet the holy place was untouched by the fire, and
he made a last effort to save it.  But one of the soldiers privately
contrived to thrust a torch between the hinges of the door, and in a
few moments the building was enveloped in flames.  Titus and his
companions were forced to retire, and the whole of the glorious
structure was abandoned to ruin.  One by one the different parts of
the building fell in with a tremendous crash.  The cedar roofs became
a sheet of flame, and the towers and pinnacles rose in columns of
fire high above the rest of the edifice.  The light spread far and
wide, and was reflected from the neighbouring hills with a lurid glow.

At this awful moment the son of Ananus once more appeared.  Wild and
ghastly he stalked through the courts of the temple, and mounted the
tottering wall.  He gazed around him on the scene of desolation that
so fearfully fulfilled his oft-repeated prophecy.  Then he cried with
a loud voice, "Woe to myself!" and as he spoke, a stone that was cast
from the engines below struck him, and he fell backward a corpse in
the flaming ruins.

What were the sensations of the horror-stricken inhabitants when they
were aroused by the shout that burst from the temple when the
conflagration broke out!  They looked towards the holy hill, and
beheld its summit a mass of glowing flames.  Fear and wrath and dire
revenge animated the pale countenances of these famished and woe-worn
men; and from the streets of the upper city were heard such cries of
anguish and despair as reached the rocks and hills around, and were
echoed back to mingle with the shouts of the Roman soldiers, and the
dying groans of those who were perishing in the flames.  In the midst
of the confusion John of Gischala, ever intent on his own
preservation, rushed out of the temple with a band of Zealots, and
succeeded in forcing his way through the crowd and reaching the upper
city in safety.  At a later period a larger body of his adherents
also took refuge there; but the priests and the greater portion of
the Jewish leaders remained in the burning pile.

Every part of the temple was ransacked by the Roman soldiers, who
climbed over heaps of slain to seize on the treasures that gleamed on
all sides.  The wealth that had been laid up by the Zealots was
discovered and borne away, with the gold and jewels and rich
vestments belonging to the service of the sanctuary; and even the
bodies of the slaughtered priests were stripped of their embroidered
vests and ornamented girdles by the rapacious hands of the victorious
troops.  One small band of Romans were seen hurrying through the
courts, engaged in a different pursuit to that of their
fellow-soldiers.  They were Marcellus and a few of his faithful
friends seeking to discover and save Zadok the priest.  They were
passing by the altar where he had been wont to minister in his
course, when they observed a Roman soldier tearing away the golden
clasp from the girdle of a slaughtered priest.  Marcellus sprang
forward, and beheld the lifeless countenance of Naomi's father.  He
had fallen beside the altar, and his features even in death wore the
expression of dignified calmness that seldom deserted him in any
event of life.  Marcellus had arrested the plundering hand of the
soldier, and as he stooped to replace the vestments of the priest,
his eye fell on a roll of parchment that had been concealed in the
folds of his garment.  He took it up, and what was his astonishment
at perceiving that it was a copy of the Gospel of Jesus Christ!
Could it be possible that Zadok believed that Gospel?  He secured the
precious volume in his own vest, and with the assistance of his
comrades bore the body of the priest to that part of the building
where the fire was spreading most rapidly.  They cast it into the
flames, and left it to be consumed on that glorious funeral pile;
safe from the insults which were heaped on the mangled forms of his
brethren by the brutal soldiery.

This pious act performed, Marcellus sought for his commander, and
obtained from him permission to lead a sufficient body of men from
the temple to secure the house and family of Zadok from injury.
Already a number of persons had escaped from the burning ruins, and
were rushing distractedly through the streets of the lower city and
that portion of the town which was connected with the temple.  They
were pursued by parties of the victorious troops, and the alarm was
spread that the whole body of the Romans was coming down to bring
fire and sword among the wretched inhabitants.  Marcellus hurried on;
he dreaded that even now he might be too late to save Naomi and her
mother from danger and alarm.  All whom he approached in traversing
the well-known streets that led to Zadok's dwelling, fled before him,
supposing that he and his followers came only to destroy.

The flames of the burning temple illuminated the whole of the city,
and by that terrific light Marcellus saw what ravages famine and the
sword had made among the inhabitants.  He stepped shuddering over the
decaying corpses that polluted the streets; and when his eye glanced
upward he met the despairing gaze of many a spectral countenance
watching him from the windows of the houses, and shrinking with
terror at his approach.

The intrepid young soldier trembled with anxiety as he reached the
gate of Zadok's house.  Perhaps he should find his beloved Naomi a
ghastly corpse!  Could she have survived so much horror and
privation?  The gate was closed and secured inside, but it yielded to
the united and powerful efforts of the soldiers, and Marcellus
entered the courtyard.  It was silent and deserted, for the domestics
had fled to hide themselves at the dreaded approach of the Romans.
Marcellus stationed the greatest part of his men in the court to
prevent the entrance of any who might come for plunder or
destruction; and attended only by two of his party, he proceeded with
a beating heart to search the house for the objects of his anxiety.
He found them not in the apartments, and he passed out upon the
terrace.  The red light that burnt so fiercely above fell upon the
garden beneath the terrace, and he beheld a female form kneeling on
the turf, while by her side stood one who seemed resolved to protect
her or perish with her.  An aged woman was near them, who uttered a
shriek of terror as by the light of the conflagration she beheld
three Roman soldiers appear on the terrace.  Her scream awakened the
kneeling maiden to a remembrance of her perilous situation, and she
sprang to her feet.

"Slay her, Theophilus!" cried Deborah, in an accent of despair;
"plunge your sword to her heart, and save her from the Roman
conquerors.  Better far to see her life-blood flow on the grave of
her mother, than that she should be borne away a captive in the hands
of the idolaters!"

Theophilus gazed on his trembling and lovely charge.  Had he been any
other than a disciple of Christ--had he not surely believed that her
Lord and Saviour was able to protect her, and that come what may, his
followers must endure to the end, and possess their soul in patience,
he would have yielded to the wild entreaty of Deborah, and at once
have put an end to Naomi's sufferings and dangers.  He supported her
sinking form, for now at last her courage and firmness deserted her,
and she would have fallen to the ground had not Theophilus caught her
in his arms, and held her while the dreaded enemy approached.

Marcellus commanded his men to remain on the terrace and sprang down
the steps alone, crying loudly,

"Naomi, my own betrothed Naomi! you have nothing to fear: it is
Marcellus."

His words were unheeded by Naomi, for she had fainted; and when he
reached the spot where Theophilus stood in grateful astonishment, he
snatched her senseless form from the arms of her cousin, and tears
rolled down his manly cheeks as he gazed on her deathlike countenance.

"Look up, my Naomi," he cried; "look up, and see that it is Marcellus
who supports you.  I have looked forward to this moment in the midst
of bloodshed and danger; I have hoped to see your beloved face, as
the reward of every toil.  O gracious God! may not my hopes be
snatched from me now in this hour of meeting!"

It was long before Naomi's senses returned; but at length she opened
her eyes, and looked wildly round, expecting to see none but her most
dreaded enemies.  What words shall describe her feelings when she saw
the countenance of Marcellus, and heard his exclamation of rapture at
this sign of returning life!  Joy was almost as overpowering as fear,
and for a few moments deprived her of utterance.  But a delightful
feeling of perfect security came over her soul, and she soon
recovered.  Marcellus was with her--what earthly dangers could she
fear?

The surprise and joy of Deborah were more loudly expressed than that
of Naomi.  She poured forth her gratitude, mingled with inquiries and
conjectures, which Marcellus was too much absorbed to reply to.  But
Naomi had no sooner become convinced of the reality of her own
happiness than her thoughts reverted to her father, and she eagerly
inquired whether Marcellus had obtained any information respecting
him.  He would have evaded the question and deferred the sad
intelligence, but Naomi marked his countenance, and her quick eye
detected that he had something to conceal.

"I know it," she exclaimed; "I know the worst.  My father has fallen,
and I am an orphan indeed!"

"It is but too true, my Naomi," replied Marcellus; "Zadok has fallen
bravely, in the defence of his hallowed altar.  I saw his reverend
form, and I secured it from insult; it was all that I could do.  And
see," he added, drawing forth the well-known manuscript, "this sacred
volume was near his heart; may we hope that its truths were known and
valued there?"

"God grant it!" cried the weeping Naomi.  "He had ceased to despise
them, but the Lord alone knows how far he had received them.  His
soul was devoted to the service of God in sincerity and truth, and I
trust that it is now rejoicing in His presence."

"And your mother, Naomi, has she also departed from this world."

"But yesterday she was laid beneath this turf, Marcellus; I may not
mourn for her, for she died in the faith of our Lord Jesus Christ,
and her end was full of blessedness."

"The Lord be praised!" said Marcellus.  "Naomi, my father will be a
father to you; and it will be my happy task to cheer your spirit,
after all that you have suffered.  The night of affliction has been
very dark around you, my love; but we may hope that a joyful morning
will yet dawn forth even in this world, and that our future lives may
show our gratitude to the Lord, who has brought us through so many
trials, and permitted us at length to meet each other though in
circumstances of so much sorrow.  Come, Theophilus, my long-lost
brother, we must return to the house, and take measures for its
security; and you shall tell me how it is that I see you here
alive--you who have so long been wept as dead, and mourned for by the
widowed heart of my poor sister."

Theophilus gave his friend a short relation of his preservation and
subsequent existence in the prison, and in his turn he heard from
Marcellus of all that Claudia had suffered on his account, and of her
faithful and undying affection for him.  When they entered the house,
their discourse was interrupted by the sounds of violence and cries
of terror that issued from the streets.  The Roman soldiers had
rushed down from the temple, and were slaying all whom they could
overtake.  The houses on every side were in flames; and it was only
the presence of the troops who were stationed in the court, that had
preserved the noble dwelling of Zadok from pillage and destruction.
But the conflagration was spreading around, and ere long the fire
must reach the building.  It was no longer a safe retreat for Naomi;
and Marcellus determined to convey her and Deborah, without loss of
time, beyond the walls of the city to some place of security.  He
hastily prepared a litter; and having carefully concealed Naomi and
her attendant from the eyes of the now ungovernable soldiery who
paraded the streets, he caused his men to bear it towards the
water-gate, while he and Theophilus guarded it with drawn swords on
each side.  It was with considerable difficulty and frequent
opposition from the excited legionaries, that they succeeded in
reaching the gate.  The guards appointed to defend it had fled, and
they passed out into the desolate valley, once verdant with gardens
and orchards.  When Naomi knew that she was beyond the reach of
danger, she withdrew the drapery that surrounded her, and looked
around on the scenes so familiar and so dear.  All was changed; not a
vestige remained of what had been so beautiful and luxuriant, and the
red light of the burning city fell only on a barren desert.  The
valley was traversed, and Marcellus with his companions reached the
Roman camp at the north of the city, as the first rays of morning
dawned on the work of destruction that had been accomplished in the
preceding night.  In his father's tent he established Naomi and
Deborah; and leaving them to the care of Theophilus, he returned
again to the city, and joined his commander.

The whole Roman army encamped that day in the sacred precincts of the
temple, and planted their victorious eagles among the smoking ruins.
A sacrifice was offered to their false deities in the sanctuary of
the Lord of Hosts, and loud acclamations proclaimed the victory of
Titus.  The immense value of the spoils with which each soldier was
enriched, greatly increased their joy: so vast was the amount of the
treasures they had obtained, that gold became as brass among these
soldiers.  In the midst of their loud rejoicings, their attention was
attracted by the sight of a small party of priests and others on the
top of a wall to which they had escaped.  For five days these
miserable beings remained in that situation, until starvation induced
them to come down and implore for mercy.  Isaac, the cruel,
hard-hearted Isaac, was among them; and he entreated for life with an
abject fear that excited the scorn of the Romans.  It was unavailing,
Titus would not listen to their supplications, and they were
immediately executed.

A number of the Zealots had escaped to the upper city with their
leader, and there they still defied the Romans.  There were numerous
and extensive subterranean passages beneath that part of the city;
and the hopes of the insurgents rested in these for their
preservation.  It would be a repetition of scenes already described
to narrate the sufferings of those who were cooped up within the
walls of Sion.  All the miseries of a second siege were endured; and
it was not until the 7th of September that the Romans ascended the
wall with shouts of triumph, and rushed through the streets, slaying
and destroying as they went.  But little plunder was found in this
quarter: the houses were filled with putrid bodies of whole families
who had died of hunger; and after gazing on the massy towers and
walls of which he was now the master, Titus gave orders that the
whole city should be razed to the ground and utterly destroyed,
except three towers, which were left standing as monuments of the
conquest.

The multitude of prisoners was embarrassing to the conquerors; and
after a selection had been made of the tallest and most
powerful-looking of the insurgents, to grace the triumphal return of
Titus to the capital, a vast number of these rebels were put to
death.  The old and infirm, both of men and women, shared the same
fate; and of the rest of the prisoners, many thousands were sent to
the mines in various parts of the empire, or distributed among the
provinces to fight as gladiators for the amusement of the populace.
The number of the captives amounted to ninety-seven thousand; of
those who were slain or died of famine throughout the siege the
number has been computed at no less than our million one hundred
thousand!

Still the chief objects of search to the Roman soldiers, and those on
whom they especially thirsted to glut their vengeance, seemed to
elude their pursuit.  Neither John of Gischala nor the son of Gioras
was to be found amid the ruins of the city.  John had sought refuge
in the subterranean caverns, with a multitude of his adherents.  The
Romans discovered the entrance to some of these caves, and
endeavoured to penetrate them, but the pestilential effluvia that
proceeded from the putrid corpses that choked the passages drove them
back.  At length John, and his brothers who had followed him to his
retreat, came forth, reduced by starvation, and surrendered to the
victors on a promise of mercy.  This promise was performed, and the
atrocious John was spared, but condemned to perpetual imprisonment.

It was supposed that Simon had expired in one of the caverns, and the
search was suspended.  Titus prepared to leave the ruined city, and
Marcellus rejoiced that at length he might remove his beloved Naomi
from a scene where every object that met her view was a memorial of
former happiness and recent calamity.  The fate of her brother
weighed heavily on her mind; there was no hope of his being yet
alive; but every search that Marcellus had caused to be made for his
body had proved ineffectual, and Naomi was forced to leave the place
in uncertainty whether he had perished or been sent off to the
provinces as a captive.  She was treated by Rufus with the kindest
attention, and everything was done by those around her to reconcile
her to her situation; but her heart had been too severely wounded to
recover its natural strength and elasticity thus early.  She had much
to lament, as well as much to be grateful for; and Marcellus did not
love her less because she was frequently so much absorbed in her
melancholy reflections as to be insensible even to the pleasure of
his society.  She remained entirely secluded with Deborah in Rufus's
tent, or travelled, concealed in a litter, until the army arrived at
Cæsarea, on the coast, where Titus paused for some time before he
proceeded to Cæsarea Philippi.  Marcellus then applied for leave of
absence for himself and his father, that they might escort Naomi to
her friends at Ephesus, and the permission was readily obtained.
Happily a vessel was in the port, bound for Ephesus, and in this they
all embarked, and sailed away from the desolated land of Judea,
towards the spot where Naomi and Theophilus hoped to meet all their
surviving relatives, and to be once more united to those so dear to
them both.

After their departure a messenger arrived at Cæsarea from the ruined
metropolis, with intelligence that Simon and one of his officers had
been discovered.  A party of the Roman soldiers who were left
encamped in the ruined city had been startled one day as they were
reposing amid the blackened and tottering walls of the temple, by
seeing a man of dignified appearance, and clothed in a rich robe of
purple, over a white garment, rise suddenly among them, as if from
the earth.  At the first moment their superstitious fears led them to
believe that it was a spectre, but on their demanding the name of the
apparition, he replied, "Simon, the son of Gioras."

He had descended a secret passage on the total defeat of his party,
and with several others had remained concealed ever since that time.
The provisions which they had taken with them had failed, and none of
his companions remained alive except Javan, who followed his chief
from their retreat, and they both surrendered themselves into the
hands of Terentius Rufus, who held the command of the troops
remaining at Jerusalem.  Simon had hoped to overawe the guard by his
sudden and mysterious appearance, and thus to effect his escape; but
in this hope he was disappointed and found himself a captive in the
hands of his enemies.  This news was most welcome to Titus, and he
dispatched immediate orders that the son of Gioras should be sent
with his comrade to join him at Cæsarea, and assist to swell the
honour of his triumph.

The domes and pinnacles of Diana's far-famed temple were glowing in
the ruddy beams of the setting sun, when the white sails of a vessel
were descried from the watch-towers of Ephesus, bearing swiftly and
steadily towards the port.  It was known by the signals hoisted from
the masthead to be a merchant-ship returning from Syria, and numbers
of the inhabitants of the city assembled on the quays and the banks
of the river to witness the arrival of the goodly vessel, and hear
from the passengers the latest intelligence of the war in Judea.
Among those who waited most anxiously for the approach of the ship to
the landing-place, were Amaziah and his wife, with their adopted
daughter Claudia.  They hoped to receive some communication from
their beloved friends in Jerusalem, or at least a letter from
Marcellus, telling of the state of the metropolis.  Possibly some of
their countrymen might have escaped from the beleaguered city, and
from them they should hear of the welfare of those so deeply
interesting to them all.

A favourable breeze filled the sails of the vessel, and it cut
through the yielding waters with the grace and rapidity of a
water-bird, and yet the motion seemed too slow for the anxious
impatience of the Jewish exiles.  They wandered to and fro along the
margin of the river, to the point of land where the broad stream fell
into the bosom of the ocean, and again returned to the landing-place.
The daylight died away before the ship had entered the mouth of the
river, and ere it reached the quay its tall mast and lofty prow could
hardly be distinguished in the increasing darkness.  But lights were
hoisted from the rigging, and gleamed on the crowded deck, and the
rush of the parting waters told that the noble bark was coming
gallantly against the stream.  Many torches were brought down to the
shore, and their waving and flickering light fell on the anxious and
strongly-marked Jewish features of Amaziah and Judith, and the fairer
countenance of their young companion.  The anchor was cast out, the
ropes were thrown on shore, and the vessel lay steadily against the
marble steps of the quay.  What voice was that so wild and shrill
that sounded from the shore above all the murmuring of the assembled
crowd?  That pale and delicate girl who stood by the side of Amaziah,
and leant upon his arm, had cast her tearful eyes upon the deck of
the vessel, and in the midst of the groups of passengers she had
discerned a form that seemed the vision of one long dead and deeply
mourned.

She clung to the arm of Amaziah, and pointed convulsively to the
deck, while her large blue eyes were dilated with astonishment and
fear, and her parted lips refused to utter the name so dear and so
familiar to them.  Judith and her husband looked in vain for the
cause of Claudia's agitation.  The form which had conjured up such
wild emotions had disappeared among the crowd, and gradually she
became convinced that it had been a creature of her imagination, and
that the image for ever present to her heart had caused the startling
fancy.  Her extended hand fell down again, and with a deep drawn and
shivering sigh she faintly whispered,--

"Oh, it was a blissful, but a cruel deception!"

"What was it, my child?" asked Judith.  "Did you see any countenance
that recalled the memory of the friends we left in Judea?"

"Yes, mother, yes; I thought I saw those features that haunt my
sleeping hours, and seem to smile upon from the skies by day.  They
looked more like those of a living man than the angelic face that
visits my dreams, and my foolish heart was startled.  But ah! it is
there again!  Look, Judith, look at the side of the vessel;--and
another form is there!  O God of mercy, let not my bewildered brain
thus mock me with such fancies!  They come--they come on!  They have
stepped upon the quay!  Oh, those are no forms of air.  Take me,
Amaziah, take me to meet them, and let me find it true, or die!"

Judith and Amaziah were hardly less agitated than their companion.
They likewise saw the figures that passed from the deck to the shore,
and they likewise knew not how to trust their eyes.  But the
breathless suspense soon terminated in a blissful reality, and they
embraced the living forms of their lamented son and their beloved
Naomi.  It would be vain to attempt to paint the feelings of that
group, whose hearts were filled to overflowing with so many and
powerful emotions.  It was not for some moments that the presence of
Marcellus and his father was perceived, but then they were warmly and
joyfully greeted; and then came the inquiries after Zadok and Salome,
who were supposed to have sent away their daughter, and to have
remained themselves to witness the fate of their country.  Rufus
quickly replied, and silenced all further questions; while the tears
of Naomi plainly told that she had not abandoned her native land
until she was a lonely orphan.

The house which Amaziah occupied was not far distant from the banks
of the river; and when the party so unexpectedly united were
assembled in the pillared verandah, many hours were passed in sweet
discourse though deeply tinged with melancholy recollections, and
recitals of sufferings and trials that never could be effaced from
the heart.  But hope, and faith, and resignation shed their happy
influence over that family group, and deep gratitude was seated in
every heart, for the mercies that were so bountifully mingled with
their afflictions.  Rufus was a heathen amid a family of Christians.
Would he remain hardened in idolatry when he saw the blessed fruits
of a purer religion so beautifully displayed around him?

Some weeks had elapsed since the arrival of the merchant-ship, and
the bitterness of Naomi's feelings had begun in some measure to
subside, when Rufus announced that he could no longer tarry at
Ephesus, but must take advantage of a ship which he found was shortly
to sail for Rome, and return to the capital to meet Titus, and share
in the glories of his triumphant entry.  Marcellus had obtained
permission to absent himself, and he gladly relinquished his share in
the honours of the magnificent but somewhat barbarous ceremony that
was expected.  He however urgently joined in the request of his
father, that Naomi would consent to their marriage taking place
before the departure of the latter, and that the union of Claudia and
Theophilus might be celebrated at the same time.  Naomi's heart was
still too much oppressed with the remembrance of the sad scenes she
had so recently witnessed, to enable her to feel that it was a time
for the accomplishment of all her hopes of earthly happiness; but she
yielded to the solicitations of all her friends, and an early day was
fixed for the nuptials.  The benediction was pronounced on the two
young couples in the church consecrated to the service of Christ; and
the hands of the venerable Christian bishop were laid on their heads
as they knelt devoutly before the altar.  Many of the Ephesian
converts and exiled disciples from Judea were present at the sacred
ceremony; and all were deeply interested in the two lovely maidens
who after so much suffering and so many heavy trials, which they had
borne with exemplary fortitude, at length were rewarded with as much
of happiness as they could hope to possess on earth.

Rufus took leave of his children and departed for Rome, with a
promise that he would return to visit them at Ephesus, when his
presence was no longer required with the army.  This promise he was
unable to fulfil until the following spring, when once again he
joined the happy family--and this time he did not come alone.  He was
accompanied by a man, who, though still young in years, bore the deep
furrows of toil and suffering, and uncontrolled passions, on his pale
cheek and lofty brow.  That brow wore less of pride, and those dark
eyes glanced less fiercely than they were wont to do, for captivity
and disappointed hopes had humbled the heart that once burned with
ambition, and beat with a thirst for vengeance.  Tears of softened
and natural feeling flowed down his cheeks as he clasped Naomi in his
arms and extended his hand to her husband and to Theophilus.  It was
Javan.  Rufus had found him in slavery at Rome, and with a generosity
that was worthy of a Christian, he had forgotten all past injuries,
and redeemed the proud young Pharisee from the servitude that galled
his spirit.  The chastisements of the Lord had not been altogether
thrown away upon him.  He never forgot his native land, or ceased to
mourn her degradation; but it was not with the wrathful bitterness
that once preyed on his heart; for he learned to regard her
afflictions as the just retribution of her crimes, and to look for
her restitution to glory when that Jesus whose name he had so often
blasphemed, shall come in the clouds of heaven, with all his holy
angels, to sit on the throne of David, and reign over his people for
ever.



THE END.



BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.









*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 70520 ***