Naomi

by Mrs. J. B. Webb

CHAPTER XVI.

Theophilus sat lonely and sad in his gloomy cell. Death had not had power to shake his steadfast soul, but the fear that his beloved Claudia was not rooted and grounded in the faith had filled him with sorrow. He now doubly deplored his unhappy fate, which would so soon remove him from her, and leave her perhaps a prey to doubts and repinings. Had he been permitted to remain with her, he felt sure he could have brought her to a better and a more enduring state of mind. But, alas! what is the value of a faith that will not stand the test of trials and afflictions? If Claudia professed to be a follower of the Lord Jesus, because the story of his life and death interested her feelings and touched her heart; and believed she was his disciple because those she loved and esteemed were his devoted servants, would such a faith save her? Theophilus was now sorrowful indeed, and his resource was in prayer. He prayed for Claudia, that the Lord would bring her to himself in sincerity and truth, though it might be with many afflictions. And while he was thus engaged, and deeply absorbed in his own melancholy yet pious and confiding thoughts, a light shone into his dark cell through the iron grating in the door, and a noise was heard of footsteps approaching. The bolts and locks of the heavy door were unfastened, and to his inexpressible surprise and delight he beheld Naomi enter. The door was immediately closed, and she approached him. The greeting of the cousins was silent and very sorrowful; for all those feelings, which they had each hitherto to repress, were called forth at the sight of each other, and the remembrance of all that had occurred since the sad night when they stood together at the deathbed of Mary at Bethany. When they had recovered their composure Theophilus eagerly inquired about his parents and Claudia, and listened with deep interest to the recital of all their grief and all their faith and resignation. Still greater was the interest and the satisfaction which he felt at hearing of poor Claudia's penitence, and the sorrow which her error had occasioned her; and most grateful was he that his worst apprehensions were thus removed, and that he could leave the world in joyful confidence that she would follow him in the path of true religion, and join him in a better world, as one of those who have "washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb."

"Oh that I could once more have seen her!" he exclaimed, "that I might have told her how truly I pardon her for the pain which her well-meant but most mistaken effort to preserve my life has cost me. But as that cannot be, tell her, dear Naomi, that all is forgotten; and that the deep remorse she has felt for her temporary unfaithfulness to her Saviour, proves to me that she will never again forsake his fold or deny his name. She has experienced the bitter consequences of allowing any earthly object to interfere with her entire devotion to Him; and I pray that His grace may never again be taken from her, but keep her steadfast unto the end, even if she should be called to follow me by the same dark and dreadful road which I must so soon traverse."

"I do not fear for her resolution and her perseverance for the future, Theophilus. It is not personal suffering that would have driven her to forget her Lord and Master, and act as she has done this day. It was her fear for you that clouded her reason, and silenced the voice of conscience. To save your life seemed to her the first object; and, alas! she forgot that if she succeeded in tempting you to comply with the blasphemous conditions of your cruel judges, the life thus purchased would be embittered for ever, both to herself and you. Her eyes are opened now; and she sees and feels that it is better to lose you here, and meet you again in that blessed world where you will soon be united to the company of apostles and saints and martyrs. But, poor girl, it is a severe trial for one so young, and whose feelings are so strong as hers. May the Lord be her strength and her consolation!"

"Naomi," said Theophilus, "I love to hear you talk of her; but you must forbear, lest you make life too precious to me. Pray with me, dear cousin, and help me thus to regain the calmness and the courage which I felt until poor Claudia's letter came to disturb my soul, and revive the struggle between the flesh and the spirit. Your ardent piety and perfect trust in God have often been my example and my comfort in other days, less sorrowful than this, and now you are come as an angel to bring peace to my troubled heart. Let us kneel together."

Naomi with great difficulty commanded her emotion, and complied with the request of Theophilus. They prayed to that Father who is never slow to hear and answer the supplications of his children; and when they rose from their knees it was with feelings of entire resignation, and almost of joy. Their discourse was soon interrupted by the entrance of the keeper of the prison, who desired Naomi to accompany him immediately, as the gates were about to be closed. A few parting words were all that could be uttered; and Naomi followed her guide through the long and gloomy passages that led to the entrance of the prison, while the tears which she had struggled to repress while in the presence of her cousin, now flowed unchecked. Her admiration of his faith and his humility, his tender regard for the feelings of his friends, and his heroic resolution to bear the cross which was laid upon him, only made her regret still more deeply that he should be thus cut off in the flower of his days, and taken away from those who loved him so dearly, and to whom his life was in every way so valuable. It was one of those mysterious dispensations of an All-wise Providence which our understandings cannot fathom, and in which it becomes us in humble faith to say with the Psalmist, "I was dumb, I opened not my mouth, for it was thy doing."

Zadok had accompanied his daughter to the prison, and with several of his attendants he now waited for her in the porch. The state of the city was not such as to admit of any person traversing the streets alone and unprotected, after the shades of night had spread a veil over the sin and violence that continually defiled that once holy place; and Zadok also felt a vague apprehension that the same persons who had so successfully conspired against Theophilus, might also seek to rob him of his beloved child. He therefore had watched and guarded her with redoubled care ever since her conversion to Christianity had become more generally known; and both he and Salome lived in constant dread of a calamity which they felt would be the death-blow to all their earthly happiness.

Naomi leaned on her father's arm, and they slowly descended the steep and narrow street that led from the eminence on which the prison stood. From that situation they had an extended view of the lower city, now clearly visible in the moonlight, and looking so calm and so beautiful, that it was difficult to believe how much of vice and misery and crime was lurking amid the silent streets beneath them. The sight of a vast assemblage of human habitations without the sounds of human life has always something in it that is melancholy, and Naomi especially felt it so on this occasion, when her own spirits depressed and exhausted by the effort which she had made to sustain them during her trying interview with Theophilus. The city of Zion seemed sunk in sleep; and she thought with sadness how profoundly her inhabitants were also buried in the sleep of sin and false security, and how, by their impiety and hardness of heart, and by the oppression and murder of the innocent they were daily filling up the measure of their guilt, and provoking their long-suffering God to bring upon them the fierceness of his threatened wrath. Her father did not interrupt her reflections, for he sympathised in her feelings at parting with Theophilus; and his own mind was occupied with sad thoughts also, though they differed greatly from those of his daughter, and were unmixed with the holy consolations and triumphant hopes that cheered her while she contemplated her cousin's approaching fate.

The silence was broken suddenly and fearfully. The wild deep voice of the son of Ananus made Naomi start, and a sensation of terror ran through her frame as she saw his unearthly form approaching with his usual rapid strides, and heard his yet more unearthly cry, "Woe, woe to the city! woe to Jerusalem!"

She shrunk back, and would have drawn her father into the shade of a deep archway by which they were passing; but the mysterious prophet had fixed his glaring eye upon them, and came directly towards the spot where they stood.

"Woe to thee, Zadok, thou son of Aaron!" he cried. "Woe to all thine house! and woe to thee also gentle maid of Zion. Thy star shall set—but it shall rise again." He turned away, and would have passed on, but Zadok caught him by his loose and tattered garment, and addressed him in a voice of kindness:

"Come home with me, thou son of Ananus; and let me give thee clothes and food. You utter unceasing woes against our city and our families; but I will return thy curses with blessings, for it pains my heart to behold a fellow creature so desolate and so miserable. Hunger and fatigue have made you mad. Come home with me, and cease to terrify the women and children, and scare away their sleep by night with such doleful sounds."

The prophet looked at Zadok, and his haggard countenance relaxed from its usual severity and abstraction; but it was pity for him who offered him kindness and shelter that made him pause, and not a thought of relaxing his almost miraculous exertions, or giving repose to his worn-out frame.

"Seek not to detain me," he exclaimed; "I have yet more woes to proclaim. I must tell it in the ears of every inhabitant of Zion that woe is coming! I see the gathering clouds—I hear the distant thunders of Jehovah's wrath—and I must forewarn my countrymen of the coming storm. Save yourselves, oh ye that be wise! But it is too late—the decree is gone forth! I hear it now—A voice from the east! A voice from the west! A voice from the four winds—crying, Woe, woe, to Jerusalem!"

He broke from Zadok's grasp with the unnatural strength of a maniac, and wildly fled up the street till he reached the prison walls, when again he took up his fearful note, and woke the inmates of the gloomy pile from their temporary forgetfulness of care and sorrow. This encounter did not cheer the spirits of Naomi: she remembered the denunciations which the son of Ananus had addressed so pointedly to Claudia, and felt how the woes which he had prophesied had been fulfilled; and she could not banish from her mind the impression that further sorrows were hanging over her father and her family. Claudia was anxiously waiting to receive her on her return, and with Amaziah and Judith she was cheered, though deeply affected, at the account of Theophilus's peace and resignation. His message of forgiveness and love to poor Claudia awoke all her sorrow, though it relieved her heart of a heavy burden, and animated her to resolutions of future devotion to the cause for which Theophilus was about to resign his life.

The morning dawned, and found the anxious party still assembled together and still conversing on the same deeply interesting subject. The final appearance of the prisoner before his hard-hearted judges was to take place at noon; and long before that hour Amaziah left the house, telling Judith that he was going to make the last effort for the preservation of their son, but warning her to cherish no hopes of his success. Zadok also went forth with Javan and Isaac, to be present at the meeting of the council, which was to be held in a large hall adjoining the prison; and Mary once more declared to her affianced husband, privately and solemnly, that if he did not return to announce the acquittal of Theophilus, she would never see him more. She had lately begun to doubt the sincerity of his affection, and she resolved that he should give her this proof of his devotion to her wishes, or lose the prize he so eagerly coveted.

The council assembled, and having gone through the preliminary forms which they had themselves instituted, the president commanded the Nazarene prisoner to be brought forth. Zadok almost regretted that he had entered the hall when he saw his noble and undaunted kinsman appear, for his feelings of pity and admiration were painfully excited; and he knew that it was all in vain to raise his single voice in his favour. Isaac demanded of the prisoner whether the mercy of the court in allowing him time for repentance had been effectual: and whether he was now prepared to abjure his errors, and publicly to acknowledge that Jesus of Nazareth was an impostor, who had suffered the due reward of his crimes and seditions.

A holy indignation sparkled in the eyes of Theophilus at this blasphemous question. He paused a moment to subdue his rising spirit; and then, with a calmness and dignity that impressed even his enemies who thirsted for his blood, he replied:—

"Isaac, may God forgive you and your accomplices in this day's guilt, for the insult you have dared to utter. By his grace I declare that Jesus of Nazareth is the Son of the Most High God, the expected Messiah, and the Saviour of the world. His death was the sacrifice appointed by his Father before the foundation of the world, to expiate the sins of all mankind: and it was brought about by the pride, cruelty, and unbelief of the Jews, who with wicked hands did crucify and slay him. I have given myself to Him who died for me, to be saved and pardoned and glorified by his grace; and shall death affright me from him? Oh no; his love is present with me now, and dearer is that love to me than all this world can offer!"

"Is this your final declaration, Theophilus?" asked Javan, with a look of great anxiety: "are you so resolved to perish both in body and soul, and to be cut off eternally from the portion of Israel?"

"O Javan!" replied the prisoner, "I will say to you, are you still thus hardened against the truth, and determined to despise the salvation of the Lord? The drowning man, who has grasped a powerful arm to save him from destruction, does not wantonly abandon his hope; and I have found an Almighty arm, to which I cling for salvation from my sins, and from their eternal punishment. Shall I idly loose my hold, and fall back into the billows and deep waters out of which I have been rescued? No, Javan, no! heaven is before me and I will not look back. The final step is fearful to flesh and blood; but His rod and His staff shall comfort me. All the favour that I now crave at your hands is, that I may be disturbed no more by questions or arguments, but left alone with my God and Saviour, until ye come to liberate my soul, and send it forth to meet Him in a purer state. From my heart I forgive you all; and my farewell to you is a prayer, that when you come to face death as nearly as I now do, you may have found the same all-powerful and all-merciful Guide who now leads me on, and gives me strength and victory."

A murmur ran round the court, and some voices were heard expressing pity and admiration for the young and ardent prisoner. Zadok boldly pleaded for his release, and Isaac leaned strongly to the side of mercy; but they could urge nothing to change the stern decree of the council, that every convicted follower of Jesus should be put to death. The very eloquence and bold confession of Theophilus only spoke his own condemnation, and proved how dangerous and zealous a disciple of the Nazarene they had it in their power to destroy.

A division took place, and loud and angry words were heard, while Theophilus looked calmly on, for he saw that his fate was decided. Suddenly the doors of the hall were thrown open with violence, and Amaziah appeared at the head of a numerous and well-armed band: he looked eagerly round the apartment, and instantly broke through every obstacle, and springing to the spot where his beloved son was standing, caught him in his arms, crying, "I will save you or die, my son!"

The tumult became general, for Isaac, without openly joining the party of Amaziah, used every effort to increase the confusion, and give him a better chance of success. Zadok forgot his priestly character, and all his former prejudices against the Nazarenes, in the hope of rescuing his nephew; and he with his arm and his voice encouraged those who surrounded and defended him. It was a moment of intense feeling for Theophilus; all the ties of nature and affection resumed their hold on his heart, and hope once more revived that life and liberty might be granted.

Before Javan left his home that morning, one of Mary's servants had requested to speak with him in private. It was Reuben, the same who had revealed to Isaac the conversation which he had overheard in the garden between Naomi and Claudia, and which had led to much sin and sorrow, he had now come on a similar errand of treachery, to betray to Javan the plans that were in agitation for the rescue of his cousin: he told him that Isaac had conferred with Amaziah several days ago, and had promised to befriend his son in every way that was consistent with his own character, though he found it hopeless to persuade his coadjutors to pronounce hie pardon. Trusting to his promises, which were secured by self-interest, Amaziah eagerly concerted with him a scheme, which appeared to give the only chance of saving Theophilus, though at the same time it involved considerable danger to his father. Several of his friends were induced to lend their aid; and though fear for their own safety prevented their joining in the enterprise, yet they placed their domestics and armed retainers at the disposal of Amaziah, and he entered the hall with a force quite sufficient to effect his purpose.

But treason had counteracted all his plans. Javan had taken advantage of the information which Reuben had deceitfully obtained, and had placed a strong body of troops in ambush among the walls of the prison, ready to rush in and attack Amaziah and his followers in the rear. Reuben was at hand to summon them, and when Javan saw that all his uncle's men had entered the hall, he made a sign to him, and in a few moments the troops were at the door. Their numbers were greatly superior to those of Amaziah's party, and the contest was soon ended. The prisoner was secured, and borne away again by a private entrance to his dungeon, before his distracted father was aware that all hope was gone. His indignation and grief then broke forth with violence, and he reproached the council with their injustice and cruelty, in language that was not likely to pass unnoticed or unrevenged. Zadok feared for his brother's safety; and as nothing further could now be hoped for the unfortunate Theophilus, he led, or rather forced him from the hall, while the exasperated members of the council regarded him with looks of rage, which they were only deterred from openly demonstrating by respect for Zadok, and fear of offending Javan. When the brothers had left the hall, followed by all the band who had accompanied Amaziah, Isaac desired that the business of the day might be resumed, and that the rest of the Nazarene prisoners (whose fate had been delayed until Theophilus could be added to their number) might be brought up for final condemnation. The President had been astonished at the sudden and unexpected appearance of the troops, whose services Javan had so promptly obtained, and having also observed the dark countenance of Reuben among the servants who kept the door, he began to suspect that the enterprise of Amaziah had been betrayed, and that his own share in it might also be known by his brethren in the council. Such a discovery would infallibly destroy all his political power, and deprive him of the confidence and esteem of Javan, which was founded on his character for religious zeal and firmness of purpose. To obviate all injurious impressions which might have been made by the reports of Reuben, he now resolved to show a determined severity towards the ill-fated prisoners who were to hear their condemnation from his lips; and rather to risk the loss of Mary's favour than subject himself to the suspicion of being a friend to Theophilus, or any convicted Nazarene.

The entrances to the prison and the hall were carefully closed and guarded before the prisoners were summoned, to prevent the possibility of a rescue being again attempted; and the officers and keepers of the prison soon appeared leading the unoffending victims, bound with chains and fetters. They were eight in number, besides Theophilus, of different ages, both male and female,—some in the bloom of youth and some bowed down with age and infirmity and suffering, but all inspired with one feeling and strengthened by one hope. They had already declared their firm and unalterable belief in the divinity of Jesus of Nazareth, and no further examination now took place, except a formal offer of pardon if they would renounce this belief, which was decidedly rejected by each in turn. The sentence of death was pronounced by Isaac; and the prisoners were informed that no delay would be allowed, and that they must prepare for execution at the dawn of day on the morrow. They were condemned to be beheaded in prison; and at the suggestion of Javan a clause was added that their bodies should be exposed on the walls of the building, and then carried to the valley of Hinnom, and burnt in the fires which were kept constantly burning there to consume the filth and rubbish of the city.

This appeared a wanton indignity; but Javan urged that it was necessary, in order to prevent the friends of the criminals obtaining possession of their carcasses and performing their idolatrous rites at their burial. A shudder of disgust and dread might have been perceived to run through the line of prisoners as they heard their hasty doom announced, and thought of the loathsome place to which their bodies would so soon be consigned; but they spoke not to plead for a reversal of this cruel decree. They knew that their fate was decided, and they did not wish their crown of martyrdom to be delayed, or to be kept longer from the place of their rest. Theophilus turned his calm and steadfast eye on Javan when he heard him propose that one of his own kinsmen should be treated with an indignity which would not have been offered to the meanest Jewish beggar; and he met the gaze of his cousin fixed on him with an expression of concern and interest that only surprised him the more. Javan had attained the object for which he had been labouring and intriguing so long; and now that Theophilus was in his power, he almost regretted that his principles compelled him to complete his revenge. He hastily desired that the prisoners might be removed, and all placed in separate cells. No sooner was this order obeyed, than the fierceness of his countenance returned; and rising from his seat he began to denounce Isaac as a traitor to his religion and his party, and proceeded to state all the particulars which he had heard from Reuben of his double-dealing and his conspiracy with Amaziah for the rescue of an accursed apostate. Javan spoke with violence, as if to work up his own feelings of anger against Theophilus and all who wished to save his life; and he succeeded in exciting those of his colleagues. Isaac would have denied the charge brought against him; but Javan compelled his informer unwillingly to appear and swear to the truth of his statement, when he detailed so minutely the conversation which he had overheard between Amaziah and the President, and also the orders which he had himself received from Isaac to procure the services of some men on whom he could depend, and conduct them to Amaziah on the appointed morning, that no doubt remained of his guilt. He saw that his reputation and influence were gone, and after a sharp altercation with Javan, he left his seat and hurried from the hall. A short time he was shut up in a private room in his own house, while his servants guarded the door, and then he delivered a letter to his most confidential attendant, and gave orders for the removal of all his valuable goods to a place of security which he pointed out. This done, he armed himself completely, and, followed by such of his domestics as had consented to accompany him, he left the house, and pursued the most obscure and unfrequented paths that led to the temple. In this holy edifice the Zealots and Idumeans were still established and fortified, and at the outer gate he presented himself, and demanded to speak with John of Gischala, the valiant leader of the party.

He was speedily admitted to the presence of the wily John, but his attendants were detained in an outer court until the will of the chief should be made known. Isaac's story was listened to with great satisfaction by John; and his offers of alliance were gladly received, for he was known to be a man of power and abilities, and his desertion of the popular party, as it was then called, was an event of considerable importance. The bitterness with which he spoke of his former friends was a guarantee to John that an impassable gulf had now separated them, and his quick discernment enabled him to discover and profit by the irritated feelings of his new ally. He had brought with him all the portable wealth which he possessed, and which was very considerable; so that in all respects he was a most welcome ally.

His desertion to the opposing party was soon known to Javan and his colleagues, and they immediately pronounced him a traitor, and confiscated his house and property to the use of the state—as they styled their own self-constituted authority—but they found little of value remaining in the building. The servants had removed everything that they could carry, not to place it in security for their master, but to appropriate to their own use; and the house was left desolate and empty. The letter which Isaac had entrusted to his favourite domestic was faithfully delivered to Mary, his affianced bride, but it failed to produce the effect which he had designed. It contained a vehement entreaty that she would follow him to the temple, and in that sacred place unite herself to him for ever. He urged that his love for her, and desire to comply with her wishes, had been the sole cause of his present distress; but that if she would keep her plighted faith and join him with all her riches, he doubted not they could find means to escape together from Jerusalem, and enjoy wealth and happiness in some more favoured clime.

Mary of Bethezob had agreed to unite herself to Isaac when he was in power and a high station, but she had no regard for him that was strong enough to tempt her to take such a step as he proposed. She replied to his letter with a decided rejection of all his plans, and a declaration that she should adhere to her resolution of seeing him no more, since he had failed to procure the liberty of Theophilus. Her letter was delivered to his servant, who immediately followed his master to the temple, and attached himself to the party which he had espoused. Javan's indignation at the conduct of Isaac was very great: he had placed considerable confidence in him; and had revealed to him many particulars of his secret intercourse with Simon, and his intentions of inviting him into the city as soon as he could sufficiently prepare the way for his reception by the popular party. All these designs he knew would now be disclosed to his bitter enemy, John of Gischala, who might, by his craft or his power, be enabled to frustrate them; and he resolved to hasten their execution as much as possible, that he might bring Simon and his forces within the walls of the city before the wily and intriguing John could have time to concert any plans of opposition. But he wished that Amaziah should depart from Jerusalem before the son of Gioras was raised to the sovereign command. His bigotry and his revenge were sated by the capture and condemnation of Theophilus; and the conduct of his cousin had convinced him that threats and sufferings were ineffectual to make the Nazarenes forsake their opinions. He did not therefore wish to apprehend his uncle, and have to witness the same exhibition of fortitude and faith which had excited his admiration in Theophilus, and the same grief and horror which his exertions for the honour of Judaism had already caused to his parents and relatives. What a strange mixture of good and evil was Javan! and how entirely did his narrow and prejudiced views of religion mar his own happiness, and extinguish all the better feelings and more noble propensities of his heart!

Zadok and his unhappy brother had returned to their home, after the fruitless effort for the preservation of the prisoner. A crowd of persons were assembled round the door of the prison, and the cause of the disturbance which was heard within the walls soon reached them, and excited a great feeling of indignation against Amaziah. The Nazarenes were held in entire abhorrence by the populace; and the rumour that an attempt had been made to rescue a convicted heretic and others, to deprive them of the savage joy with which they always hailed the execution of such victims, filled them with rage. But when they beheld Amaziah come forth from the porch leaning on the arm of the holy and respected Zadok, the tide of feeling was divided. Some of those who knew and esteemed the character of the afflicted father, were touched by his profound but manly grief; while others loudly assailed him with insulting epithets, as the father of an apostate, and even as being suspected of sharing the guilt of his son. The presence and protection of Zadok, and the commanding manner in which by his voice and gestures he forbade the approach of the angry multitude, were hardly sufficient to prevent their rushing on Amaziah, and inflicting summary vengeance on this unoffending and almost broken-hearted man But those who pitied his sorrow united with his own attendants and followers, and formed a strong guard around the noble brothers, and in this manner conducted them safely to their own dwelling, amidst the cries and insults and curses of the infuriated mob.

The anxious inmates of Zadok's house, who sat trembling and weeping while expecting the return of their relatives from the trial, were startled by the shouts of the approaching multitude; and for a moment their hopes were excited that these might be cries of joy and triumph, to announce the acquittal of the prisoner. But as the crowd came nearer, they heard the curses and blasphemies that were uttered in a loud and threatening tone; and while they felt that no hope remained of Theophilus being free, they also feared for the safety of those who were equally dear to them. They hastened to the housetop, from whence they could look down on the street below, and they were terrified at the tumult they beheld, and at the danger which seemed to menace both Amaziah and Zadok; for the priest himself had become an object of temporary wrath, from his connexion with the denounced and hated Nazarenes, and his determined efforts to protect his brother.

Salome and her companions watched the still increasing crowd, until the objects of their anxiety had reached the strong gates that gave entrance into the court of the house; and when they were assured that they had passed through, and were safe from the assaults of their pursuers, they descended to meet them in the vestibule, and to hear all their apprehensions most fatally confirmed with regard to their beloved Theophilus. They had persuaded themselves that they were prepared for this result; but yet the shock was so severe, that it proved how much more of hope had lingered in every breast than had been acknowledged to each other, or even to themselves. Claudia was entirely unable to command herself, and she retired with Naomi to indulge her grief, and listen to the consolations which her pious and highly-gifted friend was enabled to bestow. When they had left the apartment, Zadok endeavoured to change the sad current of his own thoughts and those of his family, by urging on Amaziah the necessity for his immediately quitting the city. He represented to him the extreme danger to which he exposed himself, and those who were dearest to him, by remaining any longer in a place where he had become the object of so much resentment, both among the higher and lower classes; and as his further stay could now be of no advantage to his unhappy son, he earnestly entreated him to commence his journey on the following morning, and thus escape from impending destruction, and remove himself and his family to a distance from the cruel scene which would take place at noon on that day. The feelings of Amaziah were harrowed by this appeal; and yet consideration for his family would have induced him to comply with his brother's advice, however painful it would be to him to leave the city while his son was yet alive, to suffer shame and death; but Judith would not listen to the proposal.

"No," she exclaimed, "nothing shall tear me hence until I know that my child is dead. If danger is to be encountered, I will not flee from it, till he is set free for ever from all pain and all peril. Then, when his ransomed and purified spirit is in the mansions of peace and joy, I will go forth with my husband, and seek a shelter in some spot where virtue and piety are not the mark for insult and murder."

"Dear Judith," replied Zadok, "I feel for your sorrow; and I would to God that I could have power to remove it. Your errors and those of my brother have not destroyed my love for you, deeply as I deplore them; and anxiety for your safety is my only motive for urging you to leave my house. While you remain, which must be as short a time as possible, I will protect you even with my own life; and when you consent to seek a safer refuge, I will go with you and guard you on your way as far as Joppa. Though we have now, alas! no longer the same object in attending you there which first induced me to consent to take the journey, yet I feel that I can be a protection to you; and also that our poor afflicted Claudia will be soothed and supported by Naomi's presence."

"You have never been unkind, Zadok, even when most displeased with us," said Judith; "and this is a proof of your affection which I gratefully accept. Your society and that of our dear Naomi will be the greatest consolation that we can enjoy during our melancholy journey. I will make the best return that is in my power for your kindness, by remaining beneath your roof no longer than until the sun has set to-morrow. Oh! how that word to-morrow makes my heart sink away and fail within me! But I will be strong in the help of the Lord, and try to conquer such faithless fear and dread. I will promise to be ready to leave this most melancholy and yet most beloved place when to-morrow's light is fading away, and we may then reach Joppa the following evening. I will go now and give orders to our servants, that everything may be prepared, for I may not be so well able to exert myself to-morrow. Come, dear sister Salome, and give me your aid and your kind sympathy."

The necessity for exertion was useful to Judith and to Salome, who called up unwonted firmness, and commanded her feelings, that she might be able to assist those whose sorrow was so much deeper than her own. When Claudia was informed of the determination to leave Jerusalem on the morrow, she seemed to be overwhelmed with fresh grief, and earnestly besought that she might not be torn away so soon, and even that she might remain altogether with Naomi, and enjoy the melancholy pleasure of recalling all her past happiness, and dwelling in the same place where she had conversed with him, and learned from his lips the way of everlasting life. Kindly and gently Naomi reasoned with her, and showed her the danger and impropriety of her wish being gratified. She spoke of Judith's solitude when deprived of her son, and also of her whom she already looked upon as a daughter, and that argument made its way to Claudia's affectionate heart, and changed her inclinations. She resolved to follow her adopted mother wherever she and Amaziah should go, and to devote herself to the task of cheering them, and supplying the place of their only child: and this resolution roused and supported her, and gave her an object for which she felt content to live and to bear her sorrow, so long as the Lord should appoint her days on earth.

The hours passed away, though slowly and sadly. Even Mary of Bethezob, whose spirits were usually unfailing, was buried in silence and sorrow: and little David, the life and amusement of all the house in happier days, was unnoticed and neglected. Night brought no cessation of the misery of that family, for sleep did not visit them, and they met on the fatal morning with countenances that showed deep traces of watchfulness and tears.

Tombs of the Kings