Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Cover]
[Illustration: Florence Morse Kingsley]
STEPHEN
A SOLDIER OF THE CROSS
By
FLORENCE MORSE KINGSLEY
Author of Titus
TORONTO:
WILLIAM BRIGGS, WESLEY BUILDINGS.
C. W. COATES, MONTREAL, QUE.
S. F. HUESTIS, HALIFAX, N.S.
Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one
thousand eight hundred and ninety-six, by WILLIAM BRIGGS, at the
Department of Agriculture.
PREFACE.
There are those who have asked me to write this book. There may be
others who shall question me because I have written it. "Assuredly,"
these will cry out, "it is justly forbidden to ascribe words and deeds
of one's own devising to them which have been set forever apart in the
pages of the Book of books. The pen of inspiration has written of
Stephen all that God wills us to know of him, therefore let us be
content."
It is true that the story of Stephen is little known; scarcely for a
single day does the light shine clearly upon him, and that day the last
of his mortal life. A tale is told of ancient alchemists, how that they
possessed the power of resurrecting from the ashes of a perished flower
a dim ghost of the flower itself. In like manner, may not one gather
the fragrant dust of this vanished life from out the writings and
legends of past ages, and from it build anew some faint image of its
forgotten beauty?
Surely in these days, when the imagination hurries to and fro on the
earth, delving amid all that is low and evil and noisome for some new
panacea wherewith to deaden, if only for a moment, the feverish pain in
the hearts of men, it were a good thing to lift up the eyes of the soul
to the contemplation of those days when the memory of the living Jesus
was yet fresh in the hearts of His followers; when His voice still
echoed in their ears; when the glory of the cloud which had received Him
out of their sight lingered with transfiguring splendor on all the
commonplace happenings of their daily lives; when the words, "Lo, I am
with you alway, even unto the end," meant a living presence all
comforting, all powerful.
We are wont to look longingly back through the dark mists of the ages
and sigh, "Oh, that I had known Him as they knew Him! But in these
hard, grey days there is no glory that shines, no voice that speaks, no
ecstatic vision of the Son of Man standing at the right hand of power."
Yet had we lived in those days the life which many of us live to-day,
going to church and to prayer because such attendance is a Christian
duty; giving of our abundance to the poor because our neighbors will
marvel if we withhold; and for the rest, living as those before the
flood, and since also--eating and drinking, and making such poor
merriment as we are able in a life which was given us for another
purpose--had we lived thus in those far-off days, would the Pentecostal
flames have descended upon us? Could the crucified One have said unto
us, "Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end?" Would we not rather
have cried out in terror and fled away from the light of those sad eyes
into darkness, even as did Peter after that he had denied with curses.
There is an Apostolic Church in the world to-day. To-day Christ is on
earth and walks with men. To-day the Spirit works mightily as of old;
the blind see, the deaf hear, and the dead are raised up. But it is not
alone in splendid temple, nor amid the solemn pomp of churchly
magnificence that these things are being accomplished, but in the humble
upper rooms where the good soldiers of the Salvation Army, and the
workers in Rescue Missions, labor unceasingly for them that are lost.
In these places, and in the silence of repentant hearts also, one may
yet touch the borders of that seamless robe; and lo, every one that
touches is made whole.
CONTENTS.
Preface
CHAPTER
I. The Blind Singer
II. Good Tidings out of the Desert
III. At the Palace of the High Priest
IV. In Place of Judas
V. In the Abode of Kings
VI. The Lord of the South-Land
VII. The Pharisee from Tarsus
VIII. A Believer in the Nazarene
IX. In the Desert Encampment
X. The White Dromedary
XI. At the Gate Beautiful
XII. In the Council Chamber
XIII. At the Feet of the Apostles
XIV. A Cup of Cold Water
XV. In Pursuit of the Fugitives
XVI. A Roll of Parchment
XVII. In the Prison House
XVIII. "Whose we Are and Whom we Serve"
XIX. In the Shadow of the Wall
XX. Without the Jaffa Gate
XXI. "Not a Sparrow Falleth"
XXII. By the Thorny Ways of His Sin
XXIII. In the Synagogue of the Nazarenes
XXIV. The Warning
XXV. The Wrath of Man
XXVI. Until the Day Break
XXVII. In the Valley of the Shadow
XXVIII. The Lifted Veil
XXIX. The Watchful Love
XXX. A Flask of Crystal
XXXI. A Scarlet Thread
XXXII. Ben Hesed in Jerusalem
XXXIII. The Mercy of Israel
XXXIV. At the Third Hour
XXXV. On the Road to Damascus
XXXVI. The Amulet
CHAPTER I.
THE BLIND SINGER.
"Bounteous Nile! Father of all living! Garlanded with lotus blooms,
rosy as Horus!"
As these words rang out over the rocky hillside in a clear sweet voice,
two men who were climbing the steep declivity paused a moment and looked
at each other.
"That is the voice," said one of them in a tone of deep satisfaction.
"A voice of gold truly, if only breathed forth into royal ears."
"There are two of them," said his companion, wiping his hot face. "The
other is a boy, a water-carrier.'
"Good! He also will bring a fair price. Valuable property both, and
going to waste like water spilled in the desert. Why buy slaves for
gold, when they grow wild in the desert?" And the speaker laughed under
his breath.
"Thou art a favorite of the gods," said the other with a venomous gleam
in his narrow black eyes. "In thy heaven-bestowed wisdom forget not that
it was I who came upon the two nesting in a corner of yonder old tomb
like a pair of swallows."
"Thou shalt have the boy."
"And who gave thee leave to say, friend?"
"Canst thou sell them then? Is it of thee that the princess will buy
slaves? Half the price of the two shall be thine; if that pleaseth thee
not, why then----"
"Look at me! I am thy sister that loveth thee,
Do not stay far from me, heavenly one!
Come to thine abode with haste, with haste
I see thee no more. I see thee no more--"
trilled the unseen singer.
"Ha! The song of Isis! The little one is religious," continued the
speaker, who had stopped in the midst of his bargaining. "Come! What
sayest thou?" he added persuasively. "Half the price--and it will be a
good one--no one can do better in such a matter than----"
"No one better than Besa," interrupted the other rudely. "Be it so; but
lie to me about the price and thou shalt regret it."
The two had reached the top of the hill by this time.
"Hist! Do not let her see thee."
"Nay, rather, do not let her hear thee; she is blind."
"Blind?"
"Ay! Stone blind; but what matters it when she carries a singing bird
in her throat. Do they not blind the nightingale?"
Both men now advanced cautiously, their sandaled feet making little
sound on the shelf-like plateau upon which yawned several recesses cut
deep into the solid rock. In the door of one of these recesses sat, or
rather crouched, the figure of a young girl. Her blue-black hair,
gathered away from her forehead and plaited in several thick braids,
revealed a thin face, delicately featured, the smooth brown cheeks
faintly flushed with a warmth, which in the drooping mouth deepened to
scarlet. Her eyes were large and black, but curiously expressionless,
like the eyes of the great god Ptah in the temple below. For the rest,
she was dressed in the shapeless blue linen robe of an Egyptian peasant
woman, about her neck hung a string of shining coins, and upon the
slender ankles tinkled hoops of wrought silver.
At the sound of the stealthy feet upon the rock, the blind girl bent her
head anxiously.
"Is it you, Seth?" she said doubtfully.
"Nay, little one," said one of the men, advancing boldly, "it is only a
wayfarer who heard a goddess chanting to herself in a nook of the
mountain. Didst thou also hear it?"
The girl shrank back into the narrow recess, upon whose rocky walls was
pictured gaudily the long-since-ended career of its former occupant. She
made no reply.
"This dismal spirit-haunted tomb is no place for thee," continued the
speaker in honeyed tones, "for it is thou and no other who hast the
voice of Isis herself. Thou shouldst sing in the abode of princes, and
be crowned with perfumed garlands, and all this shall shortly happen if
thou wilt but come with me. Listen!" he added imperatively in the Greek
tongue, addressing his companion. "I will take the girl with me, her
pretty face adds to her value by half, the blindness is no matter. But
do thou wait for the boy and bring him to the city, to the place whereof
thou knowest. To-morrow they shall both be sold."
He was standing as he spoke perilously near the edge of the rocky
declivity up which he had just clambered, his black snaky eyes fixed
upon the maiden, his hand already extended to grasp her, when with the
lithe swiftness of a tigress she sprang to her feet, and with a sudden
powerful push of her strong young arms sent the unfortunate man flying
backward over the verge. Then with a loud scream she turned, and,
eluding the outstretched arms of the other, fled away and disappeared in
some hidden nook among the tombs. The man who remained behind stared
after her a moment in silence, then he broke into a short sneering
laugh.
"By the seven great gods! It appears that a nightingale is not easy to
cage. And what then has become of our bargaining Besa? By Anubis! I
care not if he be dead."
Peering over the edge of the precipice he presently descried a
motionless mass of dingy red drapery, lodged against the side of a great
boulder, and thither, grumbling morosely to himself, he slowly and
deliberately made his way.
In the meantime the young girl was cowering breathless in a narrow
crevice of the rocks; she listened intensely, her hands upon her heart,
as though she feared that its loud beating might betray her
hiding-place. But after a few moments the silence reassured her and she
began to weep and moan softly to herself.
"O Isis, tender-hearted one, what is it that hath befallen me? O God of
the Sun in thy shining chariot! why dost thou not smite such wickedness?
What then if I have killed him. Nay, I care not! It is just."
"Anat! Anat!" shouted a voice. "Where art thou?"
"Ah! it is Seth," said the girl, rising to her feet. "Hist! Here am I."
"Why art thou here?" said the newcomer anxiously. "What hath happened?"
By way of answer the girl burst into a passion of sobbing, rocking
herself to and fro and tearing at her black braids. The lad stared at
her in amazement and fear, then hastily casting aside the skin
water-bottle with its tinkling brass cups, which he carried upon his
back, he knelt down by the convulsed little figure, and throwing one arm
about it began to speak in low soothing tones.
"Anat, little sister, come, tell me what hath happened. Thou must
indeed, little one. I should not have left thee alone; thou hast been
frightened, is it not so?"
Thus encouraged the blind girl finally managed to tell her story, albeit
in disjointed, half intelligible words.
"He heard thee singing, little one," said her brother, knitting his
black brows angrily, "and would have carried thee away like a bird."
"Yes," said the girl fiercely. "But that is not all, he said that
to-morrow we should both be sold; yet it may be that he will not care
for buying and selling on the morrow. I know not how I could have done
it, but of a sudden I felt a great strength come upon me. I pushed him
over the ledge--I heard him fall--" and she caught her breath with a
quick shudder.
"And thou didst well, little one!" said the boy. "It matters not what
hath befallen him, the gods helped thee. But the other--there were two,
saidst thou? He will return. We must get us away from here and at
once."
"Where shall we go?" said Anat plaintively. "We are even as the birds
that flee before the hunter, only to fall at last into his hand."
"Not so, little one; the pursued eaglets flee away into the desert. So
also will we. I know of a secure resting-place, and thou shalt not
again stay alone."
"Shall we go now?"
"Yes, now. When I shall have gathered together our possessions; but
they be few, it will not take long."
The lad rose to his feet with a sigh, and looked out and away from their
lofty eyrie. Far below them lay a floor of shining blue-green, the
fertile plains of the Nile, shadowed here and there with groups of
clustered palm trees. Through the midst of these plains rolled the
sacred river, like a flood of gold. On either side of it rose the white
walls and strange many-colored towers of the city of Memphis, all
transfigured in the shining mist of the setting sun. And beyond trooped
the grim procession of the pyramids, solemn sentinels on the borders of
a desert which the Egyptians thought to be boundless, behind whose
golden rim, they believed, lay the regions of the departed.