FELICIA
Stronger even than the cords of love are the cords of habit. If a man has
shaken a brazen cup and bellowed for alms for more than a score of years,
the cup and the cry will have become a part of himself, not lightly to be
shaken off. Chelluh, with eyes, hungered as before, and as before he
coveted money for his few and evil pleasures. So it came to pass that
after a day spent in sight‐seeing, he was again squatting comfortably in
his familiar corner by the Damascus gate, his eyes closed, his horny
knuckles beating a monotonous accompaniment to the familiar mendicant’s
whine: “Have mercy, kind lords of Jerusalem! Have mercy on the sorrows of
one born blind! Kind lords, beautiful ladies, only a denarius, I beseech
of you!”
Tor, searching anxiously for his new Master in every corner of the city,
came upon the beggar unawares, and stopped short in indignant amaze. “Did
not the King, my Master, give thee sight but yesterday?” he demanded.
Chelluh opened his eyes with a muttered malediction. “Who art thou,” he
snarled, “to question me? How else shall I live?”
Tor looked hard at the man’s great bulk. “There are many laborers working
in the great quarries yonder,” he answered slowly. “The Romans pay every
man of them a silver penny.”
Chelluh replied to this suggestion with a string of curses spoken in three
languages. He ended by hurling a great stone at the lad’s head. Badly
aimed, the missile crashed over the wall of a garden hard by.
There was a moment of silence, during which Chelluh scuttled rapidly away.
Then a small door in the wall was suddenly thrown open and two men darted
out. They looked up and down the narrow street, and seeing no one but Tor,
who stood staring in stupefied silence after the beggar, they seized the
boy and dragged him into the enclosure, locking and barring the door
behind them.
“’Tis an evil offspring of beggars that hath done this mischief,”
exclaimed one of the men angrily. “Did I not say it?”
The other man fixed his eyes on Tor. “Didst thou throw the stone that
broke the great vase yonder?” he asked.
Tor’s wild, bright eyes followed the man’s accusing finger to the spot
where an urn carven from costly marble lay in ruins amid a tangle of
bright flowers. “I did not throw the stone,” he said.
“Lies!” cried the first man, stamping his foot. “Why question a dog? Give
the fellow to me; I will scourge him soundly and thrust him forth. His
bleeding back will, perchance, warn others of his sort to keep their
distance from the palace.”
“I am not a dog,” said Tor boldly. “I am the servant of a King. I was
looking for my Master, and another hurled the stone at me. But because the
man was lately healed of blindness he could not throw a stone with ease,
and, therefore, it came over the wall.”
One of the men shook with laughter at this speech. “Nay, but thou art a
pretty liar,” he said at last. “The servant of a King! aye, thou dost look
the part rarely! May I ask thee the name of thy royal Master?”
“His name is Jesus,” said Tor. “I was blind, and he gave me eyes.
Therefore, I serve him.”
The faces of both men had grown suddenly serious. They exchanged
significant glances. “Better hold the boy till my lord’s return; he will,
perchance, wish to question him of the matter,” said one. And the other
nodding, gripped the child roughly by the shoulder, and presently thrust
him into an empty scullery of an inner court.
Tor flung himself against the heavy door in a sudden fury of despair. “Let
me out!” he screamed. “Let me out! I must find my Master.”
Then, as no one paid the slightest heed to his outcries, he began to look
about him for some means of escape. The one window high in the wall was
heavily barred, and there was no opening in the small, dark chamber save
the door by which he had entered, and this was fast locked on the outside.
The boy tore at his rags like a trapped animal. Then spying a great sealed
jar in one corner he began to scratch savagely at its cover. “If it be
wine,” he muttered, “I will drink my fill for once. Nay, I will do more. I
will spill upon the earth all that I cannot drink. I hate the men who have
thrust me into this place! Also, I hate Chelluh; some day I will kill
him.”
“Forgive, if ye have aught against any one; that your Father may forgive
you.”
Who had spoken? The beggar child ceased his beast‐like clawing at the
sealed lid of the jar; his flushed face paled slowly. “Forgive—forgive!”
The words rang clearly in his bewildered ears. He sank slowly to the
floor, and dropped his head to his lean knees in an effort to remember.
“It was my Master who said it,” he muttered at last. “He said ‘Forgive,
that your Father may forgive.’ Father—my Father!”
The child’s face lighted with sudden joy. “He said whosoever asks shall
have. I will ask, for I want to get out of this place that I may follow my
Master.” Then in a loud, clear voice, after the fashion of the Pharisees
he had heard praying in the temple and on the corners of the streets, he
cried aloud: “Father, I want to get out of this place! My Father! I want
to get out—Father! Father!”
There was a soft fumbling sound at the door. “Who is calling?” asked a
sweet, imperious voice.
“I am calling,” answered Tor expectantly. “I want to get out.”
“I can’t unlock the door,” answered the voice, “but Oonah can. Be quiet
till I fetch her.”
A moment later the sunshine streamed in through the open door, revealing
the figure of a very beautiful child on its threshold. Behind the child
stood a young girl attired like a servant. She was smiling broadly. “How
didst thou come in here, boy?” she asked, staring curiously at the
beggar’s tear‐stained face and scant rags.
“The fat man with the red tunic put me here,” said Tor. “He said I broke
the vase with a stone, but I did not.”
“It was Marcus who shut him up,” said the maid, pursing up her lips
knowingly. “I must shut him in again, and make fast the door before Marcus
finds out that I have opened it. Come, princess, we—”
“Be silent, Oonah, I wish to speak to the boy,” said the child with a
gesture of command. “Where is thy father?” she continued, fixing her blue
eyes on Tor. “I heard thee calling him. I thought it was Set, the slave
boy; he is always getting into trouble.”
Tor pointed upward vaguely. “I called my Father who is in heaven,” he
said. “I have not seen him, but he causes what one asks to be done; my
Master said it.”
“Who said it?”
“My Master. His Name is Jesus. He is a King. He made me see. I was blind.”
“Thou wast blind?” cried the serving‐maid, laughing incredulously. “Nay,
but thine eyes are bright as stars.”
“They were not bright,” said Tor soberly. “They were smitten into
darkness. The Roman did it with his chariot‐whip. But the King, my Master,
touched them. So I see. I must find him. I pray thee let me go!”
“Let him go,” said the child imperiously. “Dost thou hear me, Oonah? And,
stay, I will give the boy my gold bracelet that father gave me yesterday.
Nay, I have said it!”
The maid clasped her hands. “But, princess,” she entreated, “what would
the honorable lady, thy mother, do with me if the bracelet be missing? And
to a beggar lad—for thou seest that he is nothing more. The boy would be
scourged or stoned if found with such a jewel in his hand.”
The child glanced doubtfully at Tor from under the curling gold of her
hair. “What shall I give thee, boy?” she asked. “For I will give thee
something; thou hast amused me, and Oonah here is so stupid. I am quite
weary of her.”
“I am hungry,” said Tor promptly. “Also, I am thirsty. Also, I want to get
out of this place.”
The little princess burst into a silvery laugh. “Come with me,” she said
imperiously. And, before the maid could stop her, she seized the beggar
child by the hand and drew him away up the steps of a marble terrace.
Oonah followed in terrified silence.
Beneath the shadow of a silken canopy, on a couch of ivory and silver
cushioned with rose‐colored damask reclined a lady. The most beautiful
lady, thought Tor, that the sun ever shone upon. The beggar’s brilliant
eyes sparkled with amazement and pleasure; his white teeth glimmered
through his scarlet lips in an innocent smile, which faded before the look
of haughty displeasure on the lady’s fair face.
“What is this, Felicia?” she demanded, raising her head from the pillow to
a white hand loaded with gems.
“Oh, my worshipful lady,” began Oonah, trembling under the cold,
questioning eyes which were bent upon her. “I beseech of thee to listen to
me, while I—”
“Be silent, Oonah,” said Felicia, stamping her small foot. “I will
explain. I was trying to amuse myself in the gardens, as usual, with this
foolish Oonah,” she went on rapidly, “and I heard some one call. It was
this boy. That ugly, meddlesome Marcus had shut him into the cellar
without food or drink. He has done nothing at all, and more than that he
is the servant of a King. I wished to give him my bracelet and let him go.
But Oonah disputed the matter with me, as I have forbidden her to do. May
I not do as I will with my own?”
“Stay, my child, I will call Marcus,” said the lady, smiling. “He will
explain.”
“Nay, he shall not interfere,” cried the spoiled child. “The boy hath
amused me, and Marcus shall not have him. Heigho! this Jerusalem is so
dull. I am weary of it.” The child threw back her head with an exaggerated
gesture of lassitude which brought another smile to the lady’s lips.
“How hath the boy amused thee, little one?” she asked languidly. “If there
is anything diverting about this place I would fain hear of it.”
“The boy was blind, mother, and the King, his Master, touched his eyes and
they became bright, as thou seest them. Is not that an amusing story?”
“What King in Jerusalem can heal blind eyes?” asked the lady, turning with
some curiosity to Tor.
“His name is Jesus,” said Tor simply.
The lady drew her delicate brows together. “I have heard of the man,” she
said coldly. “He is arousing sedition among the turbulent Jews, as hath
many a one before him. He will shortly be dealt with after his kind, I
doubt not.”
“He will not be hurt,” said Tor positively. “My Father will not permit
anything to befall him.”
“Thy Father?” repeated the lady. “And who, pray, is thy Father?”
“He is in heaven,” explained Tor. “He listens to me, and to any one who
calls. It was because I prayed to him, as my Master said, that the door
was opened. And now, let me go. I must find my Master.”
“Stay,” said the lady frowning, “I will be further amused. Wast thou
always blind—before the King, thy Master, touched thee?”
“No,” said Tor. “I had my eyes as now. Then one day I pursued the Roman
Pilate, as he rode in his chariot, and asked for denarii. He struck me
with his whip, and the lash blinded me. I cursed the man many times in my
blindness with strong curses that blight like a flame. But now I have
forgiven him, because my Master commands me to forgive if I have aught
against any one. For this saying I have forgiven the cruel Gentile, who is
hated of all Jerusalem; also, I have forgiven—”
[Illustration: “‘TAKE HIM AWAY!’ SHE COMMANDED.”]
Tor was interrupted by a smothered exclamation from the lady. Her blue
eyes were blazing with sudden anger. “Take him away,” she commanded.
“Thrust him into the street—at once. Dost thou hear, Oonah!”
The child, Felicia, stood as if rooted to the ground in amazement, her
large eyes brimming over with tears, while Oonah, roused to action by the
wrath in her mistress’s face, seized Tor by the shoulder and hurried him
through the garden, pausing only to unlock a small door in the wall. “Run,
now, beggar, for thy wretched life,” whispered the girl, as she pushed the
boy into the street. “This is the house of Pilate, and yonder was his wife
and child.”