Aleph, the Chaldean; or, the Messiah as Seen from Alexandria

VIII.
THE ESCORT.

In going to the Serapeum, our friends had noticed near the gate of the khan the Cretan who, as agent for Malus, had dealt with the Phenician dealer in dyes. They recognized him readily, though he turned hastily away as they approached him. The catspaw of Malus! they both thought; and would perhaps have thought no more of it had not——

But, on going a little farther, whom should they see but Malus himself coming toward them! They could not be mistaken—the same obese figure, the same waddling gait, the same wooden face and gimlet eyes. He stopped almost immediately at a fruiterer’s stall, and seemed busy in selecting some fruit as they passed. After they had passed he turned and watched them. They did not turn to notice the fact, but they knew it all the same—knew that Malus had tracked them to their quarters and made sure of a close connection between them.

When Aleph came out with Rachel to her sedan, he very naturally looked about to see if he was still under surveillance. But he saw only the porters of the rich conveyance that waited for the daughter of Alexander. Nor did he, on the way to Miriam’s, as he walked by the side of the chair and occasionally exchanged a word with its inmate, observe anything but that courteous general observation which a very distinguished looking man in honorable attendance on a great lady might be expected to draw.

There was one interruption on the way—a pleasant one. Rachel, through her curtains, happening to descry Shaphan at a distance, stopped her bearers and begged Aleph to beckon the Jew to them. He promptly crossed the street. The lady gave him her hand and said that she had been hearing with great interest the story of his visit to Judea, but wished to hear it again at first hand. Could he not go with them a short distance to where her nurse lived and there gratify her? He could: in fact, his brother, who had just returned from Judea, and himself were even now returning from the Egyptian khan near the Serapeum, whither they had gone for the purpose of seeing the young Chaldean (he bowed to Aleph) and his friend, and communicating some new information about the Messiah.

Aleph expressed his gratification at the meeting, and warmly seconded the lady’s request. So Shaphan beckoned to his brother, and the two followed the chair to the house of Miriam.

They found the door guarded by a stout servant of Alexander, and by bars still stouter. It appeared that Antis had lately been there, demanded admittance, and, on being refused, had become violent, tried to break open the door, and finally had gone away threatening to return shortly with authority and force that could not be resisted.

Aleph suggested that the sedan be brought within the house. Should violence be used it might be well to add the porters to the resisting force.

They found that Miriam had been so agitated by the attempt of her husband that she was unfit for the further conversation that Aleph desired. But with so many friends now about her she was in a restful state; and when Rachel proposed that, if it would not tire her too much, Shaphan and his brother should give an account of their visit to Palestine and Jesus, she declared that she could well endure it. Indeed, it would strengthen her. To hear of Jesus again would be as cool water to a thirsty soul.

So Shaphan told again the story with which we are already familiar—told it, however, with omission of the part relating to Malus; for Aleph had suggested that all the servants, excepting the door-keeper, should be present at the recital. “This was a matter that concerned everybody.”

When Shaphan had finished, his brother Nathan added substantially the following account:

After the departure of his brother, he had remained a few days longer with Jesus, listening to his teaching and seeing further examples of his wonderful power. Two of these examples were specially impressive.

One day, as the night drew on, Jesus, who had been teaching the people from a boat belonging to his disciples, was overheard saying to them, Let us go over to the other side. Whereupon they put out into the lake and headed for Gadara. Some of his hearers, of whom Nathan was one, hating to part company with him for even a short time, immediately sprang into another boat and followed. Soon the night shut down—one of the blackest nights ever known. Jesus’ boat could no longer be seen. Suddenly the wind rose into a gale. It wrestled with the sea like a giant; and the sea rose in its wrath and wrestled back again with a mighty outcry. For a moment they would lie breathless in each other’s arms; and then, reviving, fling themselves madly at each other in mortal duel. It was an awful scene. It seemed as if all the demons were abroad. The waters which, when they embarked, were almost without discernible wrinkle, were now furrowed into mighty chasms by the plow of the storm king. Up went the little boat to heaven on the thundering billow; down it went into a hell of waters as thunderous. The watery monsters shook their white manes and lashed their black sides and leaped at and over their prey with open jaws. They laughed to scorn oar and rudder and seamanship. They shouted, and howled and shrieked, and seemed to swear by the Eternal to the helpless crew, “We have you now; nothing can save you; to-morrow your corpses will be drifting silently about; no, nothing can save you, not even the mighty Christ.” Such blaspheming, frantic, frightful madhouse of the elements—who ever saw the like! Not Nathan and his companions. It seemed to them as if hell had emptied itself on the sea of Galilee; and that all the fiends, astride of whirlwinds and crested billows, were fiercely battling together for the privilege of drowning every living thing. They struggled. They prayed. They were in despair. Drenched, rudderless, oarless, they clung to the sides of the fast filling boat in a paroxysm of horror and helplessness. In a few moments all would be over. They commended their souls to God.

What noise was that? Off at their right, hidden in the darkness, evidently was another crew of affrighted and sinking men, crying out in their extremity. Can they be Jesus and his disciples? Are they too in the very jaws of death? Cannot he who has done such great things manage to save his own, to save himself? Or are these raging, howling elements a field to which his power does not extend? Such thoughts flashed through the mind of Nathan even as he seemed on the point of being swallowed up. But just then he distinctly heard (for the boats had neared each other) a distressful voice which he recognized as that of one of the disciples, exclaiming, Lord, save us, we perish!

“Can he do it? If so, why has he not interfered before? Why permit such a horrible fright to his friends? No, he cannot do it. Jesus has at last found his master. There seems the exultation of conscious omnipotence and universal mastery in the leapings and thunderings of this hurricane-tossed sea!”

Such thoughts rushed upon Nathan as fiercely as the tempest itself—as if Satan himself were riding the storm and dashing them into his face with the spray and foam.

Still he was all ear for what might follow that cry for help. Clinging to the side of the boat with both hands, he kept his face set toward where the other boat seemed to be, and almost stilled his heart-beat as he listened. It seemed as if his soul had gone to his ears, and was leaning forth, as men sometimes do from a casement, to catch the faintest word that might come from the Master in answer to the despairing cry of his followers. And there came—a faint ripple of speech, a shadow or ghost of articulate sound almost lost amid the deafening and majestic outcries of the storm? No. A wailing prayer for help to One above the clouds? No. A quavering, hesitating voice as of one doubtful of himself and of the issue? No. The voice that came was so clear, so penetrating, so dominant among the wild noises of the storm, so full of calm decision and unquestionable authority and sovereign forces, that one felt sure in advance of what the result would be.

Peace—be still!

No sooner had these words gone forth on the wrestling, roaring winds than they fell dead in full career. No sooner had these words gone forth on the wrestling, roaring billows that went charging against the sky with their crested battalions than they sank in their places as sinks the ox when smitten on the forehead by the axe of some mighty man. And there was a great calm. Hardly a ripple was left in sea or air. What a sudden silence! In an instant the demons of the storm had not only taken flight, but were already beyond hearing and sight. And, looking up, Nathan and his companions saw that even the clouds had wholly fled, and left the stars looking down on them as peacefully as if nothing had happened, or ever would happen again. And off, a little way, the starlight was softly shimmering on a summer sea, on gently plashing oars, on a boat and boatmen, and in the stern on the eminent form of Him who had now shown himself King of Nature as well as King of men.

Nathan and his companions reached the shore very soon after Jesus. They had scarcely landed and joined him when, from one of the cave-tombs that skirt the shore, there rushed toward them a figure that seemed scarcely human. He came as if driven by the tempest that had just maddened the lake. He was himself a tempest of the most frightful kind—as appeared when he drew near. He was quite naked. His face and body were covered with scars and filth and fresh blood. In his hands he carried sharp stones, with which he beat and cut himself as he shrieked and ran. His long hair streamed in the wind and seemed like a cluster of flying serpents biting at his brain. And when he came near—ah, what an expression in those fiery eyes and tormented features! It was as if hell itself, with all its fiendishness and misery, had been condensed into that awful face. Nathan had seen not a few demoniacs before, but never such a specimen as this. The very recollection made him shudder. The possibility of such suffering and such wickedness as were pictured in that face had never before entered his mind.

The man came directly toward Jesus with frantic leaps and cries, as if to destroy him—as he seemed well able to do; such were the wonderful activity and strength he displayed. But Jesus, standing a little in advance of his disciples, calmly awaited the coming. His face was another wonder to see. It was sublime—it was divine. Such unutterable calm, such boundless pity, such inexhaustible resources of force and authority and sovereignty spoke in every feature that Nathan could not but say to himself, Lo, God is here.

The monster sank on his knees under the spell of that divine gaze—uttering a fearful cry as of many voices crushed into one.

“What is thy name?” said Jesus.

And through the parted but unmoving lips of the madman, and as if from deep within, came a mystery of speech that said:

“My name is Legion, for we are many. What have we to do with thee, thou Son of God most High? Art thou come hither to torment us before the time? If thou cast us out, suffer us to go into yonder herd of swine.”

Jesus said, Go!

Promptly at the word, the crowd of evil spirits that had captured that body, bound its inhabitant, and seized the reins of power, fled headlong. Nathan knew it from the mighty change that at once flashed over the demoniac. The monster became a man. The face just now terrible with the lightnings of hellish passions, more terrible than the storm on the Sea of Galilee or any other sea, suddenly became a new face—transformed almost beyond recognition into repose, sanity, sweetness, joy. Nathan was astonished at the transfiguration. He could not help crying out, Glory to God! and his heart cried louder than his lips. He had seen dispossessions before; and they were delightful things to see. But he had never before seen a man delivered from an entire synagogue of devils, from the Nemesis of a whole army of evil spirits. That was a deliverance past speech. That was an exodus to bring out the sun in the face of a man.

The man was saved, but the swine were lost. For the whole herd of about two thousand, just now stolidly feeding along the steep bank, pricked up their ears, stood snuffing the air, and then, as if possessed by as many whirlwinds, rushed headlong down the steep into the lake and perished. The disciples understood the judgment as well as the mercy. Those swine, kept contrary to the law, and serving as a standing defiance of the law through all that region, were felt to have been justly confiscated. But the owners were naturally sore at the loss of their property, and others were afraid of like losses; and so they persuaded the people of the district to go in a body to Jesus and beg him to leave. The people did it—though they saw the man who had been the terror of the whole country-side sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind. Strange infatuation! The people themselves were possessed. The evil spirits that had forsaken the man, and forsaken the swine, had entered into them—as a legion of fools. Jesus did not refuse their suicidal request. So the two boats immediately returned to Capernaum.

This ended Nathan’s visit to Jesus. He left the same day for Egypt—left with stronger faith than ever in Jesus as the Messiah. The absence of all the usual magical preparations for his wonders, the exceeding magnitude and variety of them, the magnificent ease with which they were performed, the fearless manner in which they were exposed to the blaze of public observation, the universal consent to their reality on the part of even his worst enemies, the plain antagonism of his whole teaching to the idea that they were of Satanic origin, together with the sovereign and divine expression that reigned in his mien while doing them, seemed conclusive. It seemed impossible for any fair-minded man to look into that face and watch its expressions without getting the impression of unutterable genuineness and goodness. He could doubt neither the reality nor the divine origin of the miracles of Jesus.

But, somehow, the people at large were not impressed as he was. They were getting used to the wonderful works. And the leaders of the people were industriously encouraging the idea of a Satanic agency in them—and with growing success. About the Sea of Galilee, where most of his mighty works are done, Jesus has very few who believe in him. He does not conform to the current notion of what the Messiah should be. He gives no encouragement to political unrest; he makes no attempt to form a political party, collects no military stores, gathers no army, assumes no state. He seems to aim at no worldly grandeur for himself or nation. He has even been understood to say that rejection and suffering and even death await him—that, in short, his kingdom is not of this world. This is very unsatisfactory to the people at large. If he would only proclaim a temporal kingdom, set up the standard of revolt against Rome, and summon the people to rally about it, no doubt they would rush to him at once. But as it is, they will go from him. So it seemed to Nathan as he watched the people; and so it seemed to him it would be as he read the prophets. The more he studied them the more inclined was he to think that they had been misunderstood.

“I think very much as you do,” said Aleph, “and shall not be at all surprised if Jesus the Messiah should prove a Sacrifice as well as a king. King he certainly is—king of devils, king of diseases, king of the elements, king of teachers——”

Here he was interrupted by the door-keeper, who came to say that through the eyelet of the door he could see Antis approaching with what seemed a police force.

“Oh, do not let him enter,” exclaimed Miriam in great distress; “if he enters I shall die. You do not know all I know.” And she raised herself in the bed and wrung her hands in an agony of apprehension.

“Do not disturb yourself,” said Aleph calmly. “Though we do not know all, we know enough. But Jesus knew it all, and you have his promise. Trust it and reserve such strength as you have till it is needed. We will not desert you.”

A violent blow on the street-door was now heard.

“I will go to the door,” said Aleph, “and if I need any help you will discover it, as I will leave the passage open so that you can hear what is passing.”

Taking his cane, he proceeded to the door; and, bidding the door-keeper undo the fastenings, he suddenly set the door widely open and stood in its place.

This was unexpected. Antis was just in the act of repeating his blow on the door, but suddenly finding himself confronted by a formidable looking man instead of a door, he stepped hastily backward.

“What do you seek,” demanded Aleph, fixing on the man a stern eye, “that you knock in so unbecoming a manner?”

“I seek the possession of my own house,” said the fellow sullenly.

“Are you the owner of this house? I think you will hardly venture to claim that.”

“I claim that I have purchased the right of an owner, so far as occupying this house is concerned, for one month, and that it is the will of the owner that I have possession at once.”

“Show me that such is the will of the owner.”

Antis produced a paper and handed it to Aleph.

After reading it, Aleph said, “It seems that this house belongs to Malus, and that he wishes it transferred to you, and that he has sent this police force which I see behind you to enforce his wishes, if necessary.—Are you the captain of this force?” he added, looking at a man who stood a few steps behind Antis.

“I am,” he said.

“In ordinary cases,” said Aleph slowly, as he surveyed the man—“in ordinary cases we should be warranted in putting you in immediate possession; but this case is extraordinary—so extraordinary that we have a right to presume that neither Malus nor the chief of the police understood the circumstances when they gave the order just shown me.”

“We have no discretion,” said the captain. “We are sent here to put this man in possession, not to judge of the righteousness of it.”

“Do you mean to say that if you should see reason to believe that your force of some six men is quite insufficient to accomplish your object, you would not be at liberty to return to your superiors for further instructions? Are you not expected to use discretion in judging whether such is the case?”

“Certainly: but such does not appear to be the present case,” said the officer with a chuckle.

Without noticing the manner of the man, Aleph went on, “Do you mean to say that if you should see grave reason to fear that this man in whose behalf you are interfering would use the house to waylay and murder Malus and your chief, you would not be warranted in at least returning for further instructions?”

“Well—in such a case as you suppose, I should of course return: but this is not such a case, nor anything like it,” said the man doggedly.

“Very considerably like it: for I shall show you grave reason to fear that this man” (he pointed his finger at Antis) “is capable of doing all that and worse—that he is a desperado of the worst sort, and——”

Here Antis broke in, screaming out, “It is false! It is false!”

Aleph fixed on him eyes that blazed calmly into his for a moment, and then said sternly, “You know it is true, you ruffian. It is written in your face for everybody to see. And everybody sees it. If you want to be taken for anything less than a desperado, wear a mask over your tell-tale face. So do not interrupt me again;” and he gave him another look so full of insight and authority and menace, and at the same time of a certain pitying wonder (as the man who walks easily finds it hard to realize that anybody else is lame, so the good man finds it hard to understand how anybody can be a villain), that he dropped his eyes, grew pale and red by turns, and made no further attempt to speak.

Aleph resumed, turning again to the captain: “I was saying that I would show you grave reason for thinking this man a desperado of the worst kind; that he is a robber and murderer by profession; that if put in possession of this house he will make it a den of thieves and murderers. He is strongly suspected of designs on the life of his sick wife, who for some days has been in a critical condition, and whom he has long abused. It is for such reasons that her friends have excluded him from the house. Do you suppose that your principals, if responsibly informed of these facts, would persist in wishing you to hand over these premises and the sick woman to such a man?”

“I admit,” answered the officer, “that if you can show that he is such a dangerous character, and that putting him in possession will endanger the public as well as the sick woman, or even can show that this is so in the opinion of responsible parties, I ought to return and report the fact to my superiors. Who are the persons who make these charges?”

“His wife, supported by Seti, the Egyptian high-priest, the lady Rachel, daughter of the Alabarch, and myself, a member of the University.”

The captain had for some time appeared uneasy. He now folded his arms, shifted repeatedly from one foot to another, fumbled aimlessly with the short sword at his side. Aleph watched him narrowly; and at length said with a grave irony of tone:

“Perhaps you do not consider Seti and the Alabarch as responsible parties!”

But immediately changing his tone and raising his voice, he added, “I call to witness both those before me in the street and those behind me in the house” (half turning as he spoke, he became aware that he had already been followed into the passage by all his friends), “that I have repeatedly informed this officer that this house has been occupied by parties whose responsibility it were absurd to question, for the sole purpose of preventing its becoming a danger to life and a public nuisance, and that if he puts it into the possession of this man he will, in their opinion, imperil the lives and property of the people of Alexandria. I wish you all to distinctly notice this. Take notice, also, that we do not propose to resist the law—only to retain possession till the law can be properly informed of facts that were unknown to it at the time its order was given. And so our very moderate request is that this officer return to headquarters, report what he has heard, and ask for new instructions. If the officials then repeat their order, it will be with full knowledge of the responsibility they are incurring, and they can properly be held to account for all the consequences: and this must be a very serious account unless the laws and public opinion of Alexandria differ very considerably from those of Heaven.”

“It is he of the Diapleuston!” cried a voice from the street. “Give him a cheer!”

And a great cheer there was; for though the street was a retired one, quite a body of spectators had gathered one by one behind the police and were watching the conference with lively interest. They now showed audibly on which side their partialities had settled. That cry, It is he of the Diapleuston, opened their mouths, and opened them widely. But, long before they had chosen their side, Antis made a very sorry appearance over against Aleph; and as the citizens watched the lofty composure of the young man and his princely bearing, and caught a glimpse of Shaphan and Nathan and the womanly star in the background, they thought the house was well occupied as it was. And they proceeded to say so. They became very free in expressing their minds.

One cried out scornfully, “Turning out such to put in such!”

“Go away!” cried a second, as he shook his fist energetically at the police.

“Off with you!” shouted a third, with both hands in the air, and with the air of one driving away a flock of geese.

“Go!” screamed a fourth, “and you may confidentially tell those who sent you that you were not mean enough, as well as not strong enough, to do the work set you!”

And so the cries went on in a very amusing (to the citizens) and significant variety—went on growing in strength and urgency.

The captain plainly saw that but one course was open to him. He must make a virtue of necessity, and withdraw for the present with as good grace as he could. So he said that perhaps it would be well for him to report at headquarters what had been told him, and see what his principals thought of it. Of course, they did not intend to establish a den of thieves and murderers. So off he marched with his detachment—Antis closely following with a face in which fear and mortification and rage were contending for the mastery, and greeted as he passed with many a See the hangdog and other like complimentary expressions.

Aleph bowed to the friendly citizens with a smile, got another hearty cheer in return, and closed the door.

Shaphan and Nathan were warm in their congratulations. As for Rachel—her eyes were more lustrous than ever, and a richer color was in her cheek, but she said nothing. She did not even look at him.

The two brothers, however, were by no means sure that Malus would give over his effort. It was not his way. He made it a point to carry his point on all occasions. To be sure, the case as Aleph had presented it seemed wholly true and reasonable; it even seemed unsafe to Malus personally to proceed; but then he was a man of many resources, had grown venturesome by the habit of success. So they were afraid that it was only a brief respite that had been obtained.

Aleph was inclined to the same view. He had little doubt but that Malus would recognize his antagonist, and would find in the fact additional motive to persevere. So he expressed his regret that it was not possible to remove Miriam at once to some other house.

This brought back Rachel from her abstraction. She went at once to the bedside of Miriam, who clasped her hands and looked up piteously into the loving eyes that beamed inquiringly upon her.

“Do you think that you could bear to be carried home now?” they asked.

“Right away! right away!” broke out the poor woman with unexpected strength of voice. “It is better to die on the way than to stay here. I should die of fear. Let him not leave me”—and she turned her eyes beseechingly toward Aleph.

He approached, took her hand gently, and said a few soothing words while he watched her. She grew quiet and peaceful as her eyes rested on his face.

“It seems to me,” he at length said, “that she can better go than stay. She can summon resolution for the one, but not for the other. The effort may even reinforce her vitality.”

“Then let it be done,” said Rachel. “My sedan is large, and I can take her in my arms, and ease all the motions, and the bearers will move very carefully. Shall we do it?”—she bent to the ear of the sick woman.

Miriam looked at her gratefully, and said with some hesitation:

“If he will go.”

“Certainly he will go,” cried Rachel, “and will walk by the side of the chair, and will steady it with his hand, and will every now and then look in upon us through the curtains to see that we are all right; and when we reach home he will take you out all carefully and tenderly and carry you in his strong arms up to your own room and lay you on your own bed—of course he will. He shall not have my approbation for what he has done to-day till he sees us both safe at home”—and the great dewy eyes flashed half merrily and half timidly on Aleph.

Aleph bowed. “The approbation of the lady Rachel is very far from being a matter of indifference to me. So I will do as she says. We will all go—our friends of the khans, the leech, and all the servants, save the janitor, who on demand shall put Malus in possession. Do you approve?”—he had turned toward Shaphan and his brother.

“We do,” said Shaphan, “but before we go into the street, I wish to mention a fact which perhaps may concern you. We saw Malus to-day in close talk with Simon, the famous magician; and later in the day, on going to your khan, we found that Simon and the beautiful Helena, whom he sometimes calls his daughter and sometimes his sister, had established themselves there and had placarded the neighborhood with invitations to the public to come and witness his wonderful performances at a stater a head. For as much more fee he promises to put the resources of his art at the service of any visitor; whether he wishes to have his fortune told, or to consult spirits, or to prosper in love, or in war, or in money-getting.”

“Have I not heard,” said Rachel anxiously, “that this magician is an agent of Malus and is suspected of aiding him in his undertakings by the magical art?”

“As much is said,” answered the Jew. “The two men are cousins, though not often seen together. It is supposed, however, by some that there is much secret intercourse between them, and that the great success of Malus in his affairs is largely due to his being in league with evil spirits. This, of course, he stoutly denies. He laughs at the idea. At the same time he speaks highly of his cousin, the sorcerer, and does not a little to give him patronage.”

“And yet,” said Aleph, “the Law is severe against sorcerers.”

“But Malus denies that Simon is a sorcerer in the sense used in our Scriptures. He does not deal with evil spirits. He is only a man of great skill and learning, who has studied nature profoundly and so found out many scientific means of doing many wonderful things, and even of subjecting the elemental spirits that inhabit water and fire and lightnings and stars to his will and the public service. His spirits are not devils. His sorcery is only science. And God forbid that the Law should denounce science. So Malus presents the case. The two men certainly uphold each other and play into each other’s hands. I wonder what mischief they are brewing now between them!”

“I thank you for this information,” said Aleph. “It may prove of service to me. But now let us proceed to the work before us.”

Under the direction of Rachel, the servants in a few moments collected the various articles of furniture and comfort that had been sent from the mansion of Alexander. She then placed herself in the sedan: and, the nurse having wrapped Miriam in the bed-coverings, Aleph carefully took the light burden in his arms and placed it in the arms of Rachel. As carefully the porters lifted the chair and made their way into the street—preceded by the two brothers, accompanied by Aleph, and followed by the remaining servants. In a few moments the house was in the solitary charge of the janitor, with instructions to wait a while and, if no one should appear, to lock the door and carry the key to the police headquarters for the district.

The escort stopped at the private family entrance. Here the two brothers took leave; and Aleph, receiving the sick woman into his arms, followed Rachel into the mansion, along halls and courts and flights of steps, to the room the nurse had formerly occupied. When he had laid his light burden on the bed and had satisfied himself that she had borne the transfer without serious harm, though much wearied and needing to be left in profound quiet, he turned to depart.

The sick woman beckoned feebly to Rachel—more with her eye than with her hand. The young lady drew near and bent to listen to the faint whispers.

“She wishes me to thank you for what you have done for her,” said the maiden after a moment, “and to beg that you will not forsake her now that she is safe among friends.”

Aleph looked inquiringly at the lovely interpreter—not knowing exactly how to interpret the interpretation.

She suddenly turned to Miriam. “Of course he will not forsake you. He is coming here often to see you—to see how you get on. No good physician neglects his patient till she is well; and not even then if he is wise. Besides, he wants to talk more with you about Jesus the Messiah as soon as you are able to hear it. Yes, of course he is coming, coming often, coming to-morrow. He will suffer in our good opinion if he does not. So now close your eyes and rest in peace.”

Instead of doing this, Miriam burst into a flood of tears and nervous sobbing. Up to this time she could not fully realize that the dreadful nightmare of her life was over. But now that she found herself in her own room, and looking about on the familiar objects, and recognizing one thing after another that she used to call hers, and saw only kind faces beaming upon her—all at once a sense of absolute safety came surging in upon her like a mighty billow. Ah, what a relief—Heaven in place of Hell! Then all the flood-gates of feeling gave way. It was some time before she could control herself enough to articulate. But at last the words came—though very faintly:

“Home at last! Thank God, who has fulfilled the words of Jesus and sent me the deliverer whom he promised!”

The great sea went down as suddenly as it had risen. In a few moments the exhausted woman closed her eyes and was sleeping peacefully.

Aleph and Rachel stood together for a little, watching the peaceful slumber.

“The experiment seems more successful than I feared,” said Aleph at length; “I am glad that we made it.”

Her voice trembled a little, and her color came, as she said, without turning toward him and with downcast eyes, “And he to whom the success is due, and who is doubtless the friend whom Jesus promised to Miriam, has now the express and warm approbation that I promised him, and which I have found it hard to keep back till now.”

Aleph answered, “Your compensation is large—I fear much too large for doing what to me has been a pleasure and an education. And yet I cannot decline to accept an approval which my heart values so highly.”

In parting he extended his hand. She placed her own within it. He carried the snowy prisoner in grave and reverent courtesy to his lips. Was she offended?

IX.
THE MAGICIAN.