'COME FORTH.'

Evening Star, Issue 8279, 26 July 1890, Page 1 (Supplement)

'COME FORTH.'

[COPYRIGHTED.]

a sroair of the time of Christ.

By Elizabeth Stuart Phelps, Author ot * The Gates Ajar,’ * Beyond the Gate,’ etc. An» tbs Ret. Herbert D. Wars.

CHAPTER XIII. Whan Lazarus came forth from Gethtamane, the Garden of Amos, his heart was sore and tender with remorse and with love. His feeling toward the Nazarene rose into ardent longing, and he made all haste at the first possible moment to meet the generous and forgiving friend whose attitude toward himself was one of such nobility and fidelity, Tho opportunity did not arrive until the evening of tho second day thereafter, when the hour of evening prayer found Lazarus actively searching for Jesus in his usual haunts at Jerusalem. The search was unsuccessful. In the course of it Lazarus happened to come upon John tho fisherman, who informed him quietly, somewhat acidly, Lazarus thought, that hia Master journeyed to Tiberias, whither ho himself should follow with other disciples of the Rabbi upon the succeeding day. It did, indeed, occur to Lazarus that he might go to Tiberias himself; but at that precise time came the order from the High Priest to improve the villa at Capernaum. Looarus responded without a moment’s hesitation.

Thus again had Fate, or that movement of eur own natures to which we are apt to give the comfortable name of Fate, loterpored between the young man and the teacher whom he Idealised and neglected, revered and grieved. Now in this tremendous moment In night, and storm, and wreck, and in the fase of death, the two had met and yet had tnet not. Lasarus had not even seen the countenance of his friend ; it was so dark, and his own eyes so dimmed by those tears that com" o' seaward gazing and straining. Ha had only felt that benignant and wondrous presence as one might feel the passing of aa angel in the darkness. Jesus himself had not spoken an audible word. Lazarus fancied that his breath came quickly, either in agitation or from exhaustion ; but he was so used to associating the Nazarene with the signs of power, achievement, and self-pos-session that it was difficult for him to attribute these indications of effort and pathetic sensitiveness to that mysterions Personality. At any rate, whether aggrieved or rebuking, whether in tenderness or in displeasure, the Nazarene had gone. The first movement of Lazarus, it must be admitted, was toward Zahara. To discover whether she still lived—this instinct dominated everything. He caught her delicate, wet hand in his; it dropped heavily at her side. He bent above her, reverently daring to put his ear upon her sacred breast; her heart beat—weakly, but steadily enough, like the heart of a strong girl whom shook and shipwreck do not easily kill. “ She lives ! ” murmured Lazarus. “She is saved. Zahara lives ! ”

Then, to his credit let us record it of him, before Lazarus made another effort ia behalf of Zahara, ho did m-ike ot>o to recall hia friend. M Master ! ” cried Lizirus, ** Lord, return to me ! Return ! Stay with me but a moment, Rabhoni, that I may worship thee, thou Hope of Israel ! ” But the solemn movement of the oleanders against the dying wind was the only answer which the young man received. Jesus did not return.

The storm was now abated, as suddenly as it had arisen. The wind had sunk like o, whipped hound, Tho waves were restless •till; but that pathway of light upon which the mystical vision of the Nazareno had trodden widened slowly, broadened solemnly, until It lay upon the lake like holy oil, and quelled it. Whatever might be the fate of Sahara’s companions in tho little pleasureboat, Lazarus did not osk ; it must be owned that he had forgotten to care. Zahara breathed. Zahara lay at his feet, a lovely, sobbing, living woman, coming to her senses with all sorts of pretty frights aqd signs of distress that drove every other consciousness from his nature.

It was night. It was solitude. It was Zahara. No hand could snatch her from him now. Neither gods nor men could rob him of that one hour. It was his own. “ Lazarus, ” moaned Zahara, “am I drowned ? Are we dead together, thou and I ?”

“By the shade of Abraham, thou livest, and we are together,” cried Lazarus. "And which is tho greater miracle I cannot tell thee, for I know not. . . . Tell me, Zahara, art thou hurt ? Dost thou suffer pain ? How can I comfort thee ?” “I am very wet,” said Zahara, “ and it was terrible, and I suffer such fright as might kill a woman ; but I will be stronger than my fright. I shall arise and get me to my father.” She struggled to her feet and stood before the young man for an instant, full in the starlight. Her superb form shone through her wet drapery, which clung to her from neck to ankles. Lazarus looked up at her from the sands where he knelt at her feet. His brain whirled. Beautiful creature ! . . . He hold up his arms to her. Zahara

tottered. 44 Help me, Lazarus,” she said faintly, 44 1 cannot walk alone. Help me homeward, for I would fain ” What would Zahara fain have done ? She never told him. Lazarus never asked. Still kneeling, he lifted his appealing arms ; and Zahara, like a princess, stooped to them. Ho caught her and drew her gently down. She did not struggle with him. She came right royally—a strong surrender, womanly and wise. It was rs if Zahara scorned to be eoy and to play with a love which was great enough to conquer her. 44 Lazarus !” she murmured, 44 1 am alive and I love thee !” 44 And we are alone, and I love thee ! Como to mo, Zahara, for I would shelter thee.” . Zahara came. He gathered her to his arms, to his shoulder, to his breast, slowly, delicately, afraid, not of men or of angels, bnt of his own passion and of the maiden's holy nature. The queenly girl crept to him as gently as the meekest woman of them all. Dark as it was, ho closed his eyes instinctively, that he might for that supreme moment see nothing, not even the dim outline of her yielding form and drooping faoo that he might only feel the timid motion of her round arm as it stole around his neck, the approach of her velvet cheek to his own, her fragrant breath upon his beard, the delicate pressure of her pure heart—the ecstasy of her surrendered lips. Presently he would look at her. One sense at a time was enough ; how could man bear too manifold a joy ? To touch her that was Eden. That first embrace he chose in sacred darkness, 44 Now would I behold thee, now would I look upon thy face. I would gaze into thine eyes, for they are mine. I would feed my sight upon thy lips, for I have kissed them with the kisses of my mouth and made them mine, and mine I make them 1 ” He held the maiden away from his heart and snatched her back again ; he clasped her till she was fain to cry out for sweet pain, and then to nestle to him as if she would be clasped and hurt again. 44 A blight upon the night, that it is too dark to see the glory of thy face, my own.” 44 Were it not dark, then were not we together, oh, my lover. Curse not the gloom that gives me to thine arms. Why, Lazarus, lam happy to he here ! Dear, my lord. I love thee. ” , ~ _ 44 1 bless the night, I bless the storm, I bless the wreck, I bless the dark—and thee, I bless, Zahara. I clasp thee. I kiss thee —I enfold thee—and I worship thee.”

“Lazarus?” “ Zahara!” T “ I must depart. I must return. I must get me to my father——” “ Zahara, thou must stay, thou must remain, thou must rest upon my heart." “ How long, my lord ?" “ Till I release thee.” . “ That must be immediately, sweet sir. “ That shall be when 1 elect, fair lady.” “ Thou art a Herod. Thou playest tyrant with • maiden." . . . . “ If theta art not happy of sueh Vraany

—thou art aa free as the bird that flioth above the tree top. Zahara ?” “ What would'st thou, Lazarus ?”

“Thou answerest me not. Wouldst thou bo free of me ? Rebellest thou against thy Herod ? Then leave me. Go, Zanara. By the oath of Isaac, who did honor and love Rebecca, I stay thee not if thou mislikest thy tyrant. Wouldst depart, Zahara ? Wouldst thou go from me f “ Nay, then, Lazarus. For 1 cannot.” “I constrain thee not. See! My arms release thee. Why dost thou not escape them ?” “Dear, my lord. I have said it. Igo not, because I cannot. A power greater than the force of a man’s arm oonstraineth me. Nay, 1 escape not.” “Name the name of this power, Zahara.” “ Behold, I know not, Lazarus, Perhaps men call it love.” “Zahara! Princess! Bright one ! Shining t Thou dearest I Thou divinest! I clasp thee. I control thee. Thou nestlest to my heart like a little slave.” “ Behold me ! lam the slave of my love, and thou art its lord and mine. Lazarus ! . . , Be unto me as thou witt, and what thou wiliest that I am to thee. ... I love thee t” With kisses that blotted out life and death, and heaven and earth, and law and consciousness, he sealed those womanly words upon her warm uplifted lips. When from the hindrance of ecstasy his breath returned to him, and the voice thereof, he sought to try the maiden, what should be the moaning of her soul to him. “ Zahara, thou knoweat me what I am— Lazarus the builder, an honorable man ; but thou art the daughter of the High Priest, Thine am I utterly and always. What art thou to me and to the desire of my heart, for it Is mighty ? Man and woman born of one rank and unhindered of their will—these wed; but that thou wouldst not. Thou couldst not—stoop to—me.” “I have said it,” whispered Zahara, timidly, “ What hast thou said ? The ears of my soul are deaf—l am stunned with joy, Lovest thon me, Zahara . . . enough for that."

“My lord, behold thins handmaid, fie it unto me as thou eleotost.” So said Zahara, not inaudibly, but in a strong, sweet voice. She lifted her face from the breast of her lover, and threw her tine head back, that she might regard him, or try to regard him, threngh the dark. For a moment silence, sweeter than speech, succeeded to her incredible words. Delirious with delight, Lazarus leaned towards her. She drew away from him a little in a kind of sudden terror, whether of him or herself or of the thing which she had said; then, slowly, she thrust back her bead, till it sank low and lower still upon the palm of bis outstretched hand. Thus she lay, with her trembling face uplifted humbly ; and thus he, bending over, kissed her on the mouth, eyes, cheeks, throat, arms, and throbbing heart. “Neither Annas nor any man shall say mo nay,” vowed Lazarus ; “but I will have thee to wife." A few men and women know for one hour in their lives—and only one, and most of us at no time —moments such as came that night to this youth and maiden, cast by accident into that precious solitude which they wrested from Fate as his treasure. In an ago and state of society where honorable . men a.n<l womca may converse without a witness, the rarity and value of that meeting between Lazarus and Zahara can hardly be appreciated. Who can blame them that they forgot all else but each other, saving the reverence of their great love ? Tho storm, tho shipwreck, the rescue, the rescuer, the poor serfs floated to who knows what fate ?—the old man agonised on the distant shore ; these were as if they were not to tho lovers. Was not Zahara drenched through all her pretty, flimsy clothes ? She thought not, knew not, cared not. Was she not chilled to the heart and shivering with cold ? “ Nay, my love, thou warmest me. Thine arms are robes and cover mo. Thy lips are flames of fire, and 1 do shelter me thereat. Thou commandest, and lam at ease. Thou broathest upon me and I am strong.” “Thou lovest me, and I am defied!” cried Lazarus.

Ah, then, arms meet and lips linger, and tows were breathed and longing whispered, and hope, and desire, and reverence, and rapture sway and control tho loving, to whom this snatch of joy may be the first, the last, the only concession that they can wrest from fate. How long they stayed in that desolate, storm-swept spot neither of those two lovers ever knew. Zahara came to herself first, and drawing—one might say wrenching—her lips away from his that pressed them almost too long, almost too madly, she gently unclasped his fingers from her yielding arms and staggered to her feet.

“ This time,” said Zahara, “ I shall go.’’ “One more,” pleaded the lover, “one little moment more.”

41 My poor old father,” said Zahara. 44 Wouldat thou lore ms better, Lazarus, if I forget him altogether. All this time, while we have been so happy, he moarneth for me as among the dead. Shall Ibo the better wife to thee, my lord, for being so poor a daughter ?” Lazarus, at these dear words, yielded utterly. Without further protest he took Zahara home at once, as he should have done hours ago. The walk was long, blessedly long. The maiden smiled thereat. Though now, exposed to the night wind, she did begin to feel the effect of her shipwreck, she made no complaint. Lazarus wrapped her in his talith and shielded her and held her to his heart, half lifting her and half supporting her over the rough way. As they walked they discoursed more quietly, as the mood fell on them ; and it now seemed to Lazarns that be must, if ever, make known to the maiden the mystical manner of her rescue. With some hesitation he inquired of her what she remembered of the sbipwreok. 44 The boat overturned—and Rebecca screamed—and the slaves cried out. Poor Rebecca ! I forgot Rebecca. I hope the fellows saved her. She did cling upon the boat. But I fell over into the water—and it was colder than death—and I prayed Jehovah to save me. And then I began to sink ; and some person caught me—and that is all I know. ”

44 Who dost thou suppose saved thee, my own ?” asked Lazarus tenderly. 44 And how thickest thou such a deed was done ? ” 44 Verily I know not,” answered Zahara, carelessly. 44 But who brought thee from the wreck unto tho shore, Zahara ? It is a long spacetwo stadia at least, I think.” Zahara shook her head perplexedly. 44 Was it thou ! ” 44 Alas, Zahara, I swam about a boat’s length to thee. The waters beat me back. I could do no more for thee than tby silken sail.” 44 1t is singular,” said Zahara; 44 was it ne of the slaves f ” 44 It was tho King of Kings!” cried Lazarus abruptly. Zahara lifted her large, warm eyes. They looked a little critically at him through the gloom. Was Lazarus subject to mania ? Had tho shipwreck disordered his intellect ? There was nothing less to do, and Lazarus told her the amazing facts. Ho expected them to overwhelm Zahara, perhaps to convert her to his own faith in the wonderful Rabbi, To his perplexity, Zahara received the story coolly. 44 Thou madest some mistake, my love,” she answered. 44 Thy fright and the darkness did deceive thee. Some of the slaves swam ashore with me,” 44 Impossible !” cried Lazarus, 44 He whom I name did walk the sea and carry thee, and lay thee at my feet and disappear. Sawest then ever a slave do that f” 44 Some of these fellows have wonderful art,” said Zahara incredulously. 44 They do extraordinary things.” Zahara’s beautifnl face lifted to Lazarus bore the high-bred, sceptical expression of the cultivated doubter. Lazarus was terribly pained by it for the moment. Then she smiled, and he kissod her and forgot it; for the light of Capernaum gleamed through the night, suddenly at a curve in the shore ; and yonder was the villa, and they must part—who knew when ? who knew how, to meet again ? CHAPTER XIV. When Lazarus and Zahara reached the town the last trace of the atom) had. ceased, life stars wtfre out and thsir «eld light

glanced upon the subsiding waves unsympathetically. The lake wore her commonplace face. Danger was gone, aa suddenly as it had come. Boats were out in search of the shipwrecked party. The streets were nearly vacant, for all who conld leave their homes were crowded on the beach. Laearus and Zahara entered the town unnoticed, as separate and safe as two ghosts. Had they, in fact, gone down in the lake that wild night, and had their spirits returned from their drownod bodies to mingle with the living, they could not have met a more quiet reception. This, under the circumstances, was delightful. They clung to each other aa they trod the open roads, and in the shadow of houses they lingered to exchange the maddening kisses of love and separation. The young man lifted the maiden and helped her wearied feet along; and she had clung to him—haughty Zabara !—and nestled to him, as he bad said, “ like a little slave.” She was so wet, and now began to be so chilly, that he hurried as fast as might be with her towards her father’s villa, staying for nothing, not even to search for the High Priest upon the shore ; for Lazarus felt that the more quickly and quietly the maiden should be restored to her home the better pleased the old man would be. Within tho walls of her own garden Zahara took hor last touch from her lover’s lips. When could there bo another moment like this ! She clung to him, delaying V agony and ecstasy, and had well-nigh manned him by her emotion. “Oh, my lord,” murmured Zahan., “I am the happiest woman, and I am the saddest woman in all Judea.”

“And I am the proudest man, and the moat wretched in all the world,” “Farewell, my own, sweet, my lord, farewell, I give thee my face and my lips. I give thee for the last time ! ” “Then shall there be a thousand last times ! ” vowed Lazarus, “ for I will take nothing less of earth or heaven than thee, Zahara.” “ Bat bow, fair sir, wilt thou get me ? Verily, I know the High Priest, my father. His will standeth like an open tomb between us.” “Then into it I step!” cried the lover, “but I will have thee. The man who ioveth as I love, Zahara, becometb aa a god. He taketh power into hia soul and into hia body that other men know not. He oreatetb and he dcstroyeth, and means and hindrances are not to him as unto common men. Thou crowncst him with thy love, and he is a king. Thou glvest him the treasure of thy life, and he bath divinity. Leave the way to me, Zahara, but mine thou shalt be. Nor will 1 he contented with the least of thee, nor a portion of thee, but I will have all, Sahara, as Heaven hears me ! ” Zahara made him no answer in so far as the answer of words connteth, but she lifted to him Ups that a man might have died for, and clasped him with arms that a king might have lived for; and Lazarns spoke no more ; but trembling with their love and grief they passed on silently across the deserted gardens, and so Lazarus bore her to her father’s house.

Great agitation prevailed in tho villa. The officers and servants hurried to and fro, going on fruitless errands, and ordered wildly about by a distracted old man, whom someone had been discreet enough and powerful enough to lead homo. He was said to have become quite useless on the shore ; having gone frantic with grief when the storm shut the lake from sight; and the persistent refusals of the bystanders to man a relief boat in the height of the gale emphasized the desperatsness of the situation to his mind. The High Priest was accustomed to being obeyed, to controlling masses of people, to achieving tho difficult or apparently impossible, and it took him longer than it would an ordinary man to understand that his daughter was probably drowning, and that nobody could save her. Tho house was lighted abundantly for an Eastern house of those times ; the old mau ordered candles and lamps scattered everywhere ; he seemed to believe that the boat might perceive tho light—the house standing so high and being visible from tho lake —and cheated himsolf with this pitiful ex podient, while his messengers were running to and fro between the lake and the villa with commands and reports. At the moment when Zahara arrived, the news had preceded her that the pleasure boat bad been found capsized, with one of its occupants clinging thereto. This was Rebecca, tho handmaid, who accidentally had been caught in one of the ropes of the boat, and so had been rescued and brought ashore. Of her mistress, who was pitching violently in the raging sea, nothing could be found. The oarsmen were gone. The two slaves whom the High Priest had ordered off from shore in a rescuing boat had been swamped and drowned ; but this incident scarcely excited any remark. Human life at best was cheap in those days, and slave life a cipher in the sum.

Annas stood in his brightly - lighted portico, a trembling, weakened old man, as pale as any of his drowned slaves at that moment—tossing in the lake. The messengers from the beach had torches, and their wild flare shot over the High Priest’s face and figure. He presented a piteous picture. When someone from the rear of the group pushed forward the drenched and weeping Rebecca, the excitement of the wretched father culminated in an outcry which shook the souls cf those who heard it:

“ You and not she ! Tour miserable life ; of less value than the least tassel that tossed upon the silken fringes of her garments ! How dare you show your paltry face above the waters that have overwhelmed hers ? The least you could have done were to have gone to your doom beside her. It was the last act of service you could render to your mistress. Shame upon you that you did it not! A curse upon the miserable crew of yon that had the impertinence to live when death selected Zahara ! ”

44 Father,” said a rich deep voice from the shadow of the garden, 44 do not scold poor little Rebecca. It was no fault of hers, and I am quite safe.” Zahara stepped forward in her stately way. She stood as calmly as a Greek statue in a heathen temple, and with a very similar grace. In the outcry and confusion that followed her sadden appearance Zahara maintained a supreme quiet, which acted powerfully upon the excited scene. In point of fact, she was elevated above it by excitement beside which this looked small to her. The experience of the last hoar seemed to the girl to belittle all others. What was this fret and chatter about human life compared to the existence of such a love as she and he who loved her knew ?

The pare face of Zahara, pale with emotion, shone brilliantly ; her dripping white robes caught the glare of the torches, and flung it back. She seemed to scintillate as she stood there, like a great gem, manyfaceted and nobly set. A weaker woman, or a leas royally-builded one, would have sunk with exhaustion by this time, fainted in her father's arms or sobbed—like Rebecca the slave.

Zahara had never felt so strong in her life. The kisses of her lover burned yet upon her rich lips. Her chilled blood tingled with bis last caress. His firm, imperious hand had but just now released her own, as he helped her forward boldly into the group and stood reverently but insistently beside her, that he might lead her to her father’s breast. His presence was fire, light, warmth, food, strength, life. Zahara felt lifted above everything, She feared no one. The High Priest was no more formidable than any common father. She ran into his arms like any plebeian daughter, and fondled him girlishly; and Annas, like any nnimportont parent, broke down and wept, and clasped the girl and blessed her, and blessed the God of bis Priesthood and of bis people for her dear life. “And behold,” cried Zahara, “him who did save the life of thy daughter, O my father 1” Lazarus uttered an involuntary protest. This movement of Zahara’s was totally unexpected to him. Who could count upon Zahara * What was Lazarus to do ? Words sprang to his lips, he knew not what; honest, manly, mad denial. But Zahara turned her high head and gave him one look. That look sealed his lips. ;It said more than man could battle against; or more than he could fight against at that exhausted moment, 0t the two the young

man seemed more exhausted than 'the woman.

“ The lady doth overestimate my alight assistance,” murmured Lazarus, bowing before the High Priest, “but 1 was fortunate as to be able to help her across a difficult portion of the shore, which 1 did to the best of my poor ability.” At this instant something tingled at the young man’s feet. Stupidly he stood staring down. A brilliant bauble shone on the wet pavement; his foot all but crushed it as he moved to examine the thing. “Pray, sir,” said Zahara imperiously, “be so courteous as to pick up for me the bracelet which has fallen from my arm.” As Lazarus stooped to do this the lady bent a little above him or toward him that she might receive the trinket—a glittering band of emerald and jacinth—from his hand. In doing so she contrived to breathe a few words, inaudible to any ear bat that of the maddest love or the wildest jealousy, but perfectly distinct to the bewildered and perplexed young man. “ Contradict mo not. Who saveth the daughter, serveth the father. For love’s sake, leave the matter to me.” “Father,” added Zahara, “I hare been thanking the young man for my own part, for my debt to him is ra'ghty. See thou to it for thine own part now, that his high ; deed is well regarded ; for 1 om wet and r "vy, and would get me among my .aidens and seek rest. Thy daughter would have been tossing yonder in the lake, with thy doomed slaves, 0 my father, bat for his valor and his strength who baa returned me to thine arms. I know not how he did the deed,” added Zahara with an apparent simplicity which was none the less effective because it happened to be the truest thing she said. “I cannot tell thee how I am saved ; but saved I am, and by his hand whom I do honor for the doing of it, lam restored to thee. If he swam for me,” concluded Zahara, prettily, “he is a mighty man. At all events, Ido know him for a brave one, and an honorable, and I do bless him in thy bearing and that of all thy household, and now, farewell, good sir. A woman’s gratitude go with you. My father, sir, will entertain you for my sake and for that of the service you have done to the house of the High Priest in the salvation of my poor life.” With these words Zahara departed very gracefully and sweetly, with her maidens, leaving the astounded Lazarus to his conscience and bis perplexity—and the High Priest. Annas advanced to him with outstretched arms. His venerable countenance stirred with powerful emotions ; these contradicted each other and made a battle-ground of bis eyes and lips. The two men regarded each other with the mingled impressions usual to their meetings. Each attracted to each, midway of his attraction met repulsion ; or perhaps it were truer to call it distrust or racoil. Annas could not explain why he held such reserved opinions of the young man to whom he felt consciously drawn, fiat Lazarus knew quite well why he shrank from the High Priest, the powerful enemy of the religious movement dear to so many of the middle and lower classes of Jewish society ; and yet, why he could have loved Annas, the father of Zahara. On that night the two camo together swiftly and heartily. The tide of the occasion swept distrust away. Father-love and lover’s love united them instinctively. The High Priest overwhelmed tho young man with expressions o£ gratitude for the rescue of his daughter. “ Nay, but I deserve not oucb tribute of the High Priest,” protested Lazarus ia embarrassment. “ What I have done was but a trifle. You do overrate my share in the salvation of the lady.” “ You speak courteously, sir,” replied the High Priest, waving the protest away with a magnificent hand, “ but tho word of mj * daughter suffices, I recognise in you saviour of her life, and I pray you to allow mo to regard you in accordance with the facts.”

Lazarus was silent from sheer perplexity. How should he contradict tho testimony oi Zahara—and to her father ? What shoula he—what could he do ?

“ By your leave,” he answered with some awkwardness, “ I will now return to my Khan. I had forgotten the circumstances —but, verily, I believe I am wet also, as to my garments. I should seek shelter and rest.”

“ And by your leave,” returned the Higl, Priest with great courtliness of manners, " you will seek no shelter while you remain at Capernaum save the roof of the High Priest, father to Zahara, whose life you have preeerved.” fTo he continued.)