A BELIEVER IN THE NAZARENE.
"If only I had been there, perchance upon even me might a little of the
blessing have fallen. And yet, was it not by the mercy of the all-seeing
One that I was chained to the side of him who slew Jesus? We are one
flesh, as it is written in the law; if he is accursed, I also am
accursed."
"Knowest thou our Lord so little that thou dost believe what thou hast
said?" said Stephen, a smile dawning in his dark eyes.
The wife of Caiaphas wiped away one or two slow tears. "How can I know
him?" she asked bitterly.
"Once when Jesus was upon earth," said Stephen, looking away towards
Calvary, which they could see plainly from their breezy nook on the
terrace, "he said this--I did not hear it--but John, whom Jesus called
the beloved; one of the disciples, had asked the Master how they should
pray, and he told them the very words they might use acceptably; but he
also said, If thou hast desires bring them to the Father. He will give
to thee even as an earthly father, and much more; if a child should come
to his father and ask for bread will that father offer him a stone? or
if he crave fish, will he thrust a deadly scorpion into his hand? How
much more then will your heavenly Father give his spirit to them that
ask him. It was because we asked that it was given. Thou also shalt
ask and shalt receive."
"Wilt thou tell me about it?" said Anna, in a low voice, fixing her eyes
wistfully upon the speaker.
He was no longer a lad, she could see it; the awful experiences through
which his soul had passed had swept him suddenly and forever away from
childhood. His child nature had been crucified with those whom he
loved, and upon his face there had come a look such as the strong young
angels wear who wait in the presence of the Almighty to do his pleasure.
"We were together in the upper room," said Stephen, after a little
silence, "the disciples, the mother of Jesus, and all the others. After
we had eaten of the bread and drunken of the wine--also he commanded to
do in remembrance of his death--we continued in prayer, sometimes
spoken, sometimes in silence--for there is no need to speak aloud to
reach him who is 'with us alway even unto the end of the world.' He was
there, though we could not see him. All of us knew it; and we asked him
for the fulfilment of his last promise--the Spirit, that we being weak,
might receive power to be his witnesses before men. John the beloved
spoke to him, after that there was silence for a brief space, then on a
sudden there came a sound, faint at first, but growing louder by degrees
till it filled all the place. It was like nothing I have heard upon
earth, and yet was it most like the sound of the viewless wind when it
rushes through the thick forest. But it was not wind. I knelt at the
side of the Lord's mother, my eyes were upon her at the moment, and the
light tresses that fell about her forehead did not so much as stir."
"Was that all?" whispered Anna, leaning forward and clasping her hands.
"As I kept my eyes fixed upon Mary," continued Stephen--"for it seemed
to me that she was looking at Him--I saw form in the air above her head
a tremulous light, it wavered and brightened till it had the look of a
cloven tongue of flame. As I feared and trembled greatly at the sight,
on a sudden a voice cried out, 'The promise hath been fulfilled unto
us!' Then did I see that upon every head hovered the heavenly fire."
"And then?"
"And then," cried the young man, a great joy in the solemn tones of his
voice, "all things were made clear to us. We knew what the Lord meant
when he said 'Ye shall be witnesses unto me both in Jerusalem, and in
all Judea, and in Samaria, and unto the uttermost parts of the earth.'
We were no longer filled with fear, thinking only how to escape the
hands of them that had murdered our Lord--nay, rather, that in the
infinite and unsearchable knowledge and wisdom of the Father had lifted
him up upon the cross to be a light unto the world. We rushed out into
the street, and the Spirit also drew together out of all the city devout
men from every nation under heaven. They gathered in a great multitude
that they might hear of the Saviour, not of the Jews only, but of the
world."
"How, then, could they understand?" asked Anna, her worn face reflecting
the glow upon the face of the young man, as the mountain top clad in its
pallor of eternal snow reflects the radiance of the dawn.
"What is the weakness of mortal understanding when the eternal God sheds
upon it his spirit of might? Did he not make the tongue of the Asiatic
as well as the tongue of the Greek; the tongues of the Parthians, Medes,
and Elamites also, as well as the tongue of the Hebrews? Are not all
languages understood by him? He spake through us, and behold, every man
heard the message in his own language. After that did Peter speak unto
the people, and he mightily convinced them, so that many cried out,
'What shall we do?' 'Repent and be baptized,' he answered them, 'every
one of you, in the name of Jesus, the Christ, for the remission of sins,
and ye shall receive the gift of the Holy Ghost. For the promise is
unto you, and to your children, and to all that are afar off."
"Said he this to the Gentiles?" asked Anna, in amaze.
Stephen looked troubled. "Nay," he said, "I know not if they were
Gentiles, they had by inheritance a part in the blessing, even as I had
through my mother; but of a surety God created all men. It will be made
plain to us," he added, after a pause, a smile of heavenly sweetness
touching his lips.
"And who is it that the wife of the High Priest honors thus with her
hospitality?" broke in a sneering voice.
Anna started up with a faint cry, her eyes fixed with manifest terror on
the gaunt figure that stood before them.
"Ah! thou dost not answer. Didst thou think, then, that I should remain
chained to my couch forever? I am minded to see what is passing in my
house. It is time."
"Do not stand," gasped Anna. "Thou art not strong. I thought that thou
wast asleep."
"Time hasteneth with rapid foot when a lady entertains so comely a young
man," said the High Priest with a terrible gentleness. "Once more I ask
of thee, who is thy guest?"
Stephen had risen to his feet and was looking with troubled eyes into
the face of her whom he had learned to love almost as a mother. He
waited for her to speak. Her lips moved, but no sound came from them.
He turned and fixed his eyes upon the man. "I know not who thou art,"
he said in a clear voice, "nor why thou dost question this beloved lady
so harshly, but I can answer for myself. My name is Stephen."
The High Priest took a step forward; he did not speak, but death looked
out from his eyes.
"Go! Go!" whispered Anna, turning her white face upon the young man.
"Thou dost not understand, but go!--I beseech thee."
"Nay, I will not go till I am assured of thy safety. Who, and what
manner of man is this?"
The smouldering fire in the eyes of Caiaphas leapt up into a lurid
blaze. "Dost thou, the murderer of my son, defy me in mine own house?"
he cried in a choked voice. "Because thou art in mine house, I will not
kill thee, but--" and his voice died away into a silence more terrible
than speech.
"Go!" repeated Anna imploringly.
But Stephen did not appear to have heard. "What dost thou mean?" he
said, his voice full of horror. "Thou hast called me a murderer!"
The High Priest looked at him contemptuously. "Son of a malefactor, dost
thou not know that upon thy head rests the blood-guilt of thy father?"
"No!" thundered Stephen, his eyes blazing. "The fire of God could not
rest upon a head whereon is also blood-guilt. I am innocent; God hath
witnessed it."
"Accursed murderer and blasphemer!" hissed Caiaphas. "Get thee hence,
or not even the sacred law of hospitality shall refrain my hand from thy
throat." Then he sank trembling onto a bench.
True to her wifely instincts, Anna sprang to help him, but he put her
away roughly. "Stand before me, woman," he said, fixing his savage eyes
upon her. "Thou shalt answer me somewhat that I shall ask of thee. Now
that the murderer of thy son hath rid us of his presence thou canst
perhaps attend to what I shall say." Anna stood before him, motionless
and rigid, her eyes wide with an unnatural calm fixed upon his face.
"Hast thou known who and what this young man is before to-day?"
"Yes."
"Hast thou before received him into my house?"
"Yes."
"Is he a follower of the accursed Nazarene?"
"Yes."
"Art--thou--also one of his believers?"
A change swept over the marble features of the woman, she lifted her
face, a mysterious light from above seemed to shine upon it.
"I am," she said simply, but in those two words there sounded a very
pean of triumph.
"Flesh of my flesh and bone of my bone," said Caiaphas in a low measured
voice, "thou art anathema. As I would cut off my right hand should it
become polluted beyond cleansing, so also will I sever thee from my
life. Get thee hence unto thine own; thou hast no longer part nor lot
with me from henceforth and even forever. And so let it be."
The woman looked dumbly into the pitiless face of the man before her;
her slight figure swayed a little, then noiselessly as a snow wreath she
fell forward and lay prone upon the marble pavement at his feet.
The man stared at the silent figure; he did not touch it. After a time
he arose and walked heavily away without once looking behind him.