CHAPTER XVII.
The sun approached his meridian height, and as he mounted higher and higher the feelings of the sad and watching group became more intensely excited, until at the sixth hour, when his burning rays fell vertically on the terrace into which the apartment opened, a distant noise of the voices of many people reached their ears. It was a savage shout of joy and exultation; and it sunk into the hearts of the mourners as a death-knell. At that moment the headless bodies of the nine victims were thrown over the prison walls, and suspended there to be the objects of insult and mockery to the barbarous multitude. Javan's order that the executions should take place in the cells of the prison, and not publicly, had occasioned great discontent among the populace, who had expected to indulge their cruel and bloodthirsty inclinations by witnessing the last sufferings of the Nazarenes; and to gratify them the bodies were thus exposed until sunset; while wine and food were liberally distributed among the crowd at the command of Javan and his colleagues, who feared to excite the displeasure of the lawless rabble at such a time of sedition and insubordination.
A servant of Zadok's had been privately sent by him to await the exhibition of the dreadful spectacle, and to bring the intelligence to him when all was over. The man had known Theophilus well, and had loved him; and when he returned to his master's house, and Zadok met him in the vestibule, he was trembling with horror and distress. The heads of the unhappy victims had not been exposed, but he had recognised the body of Theophilus by the garments which he well-remembered, and particularly a vest which Claudia had embroidered, and which he had worn on the evening when he left the house to return no more. Zadok rejoined his family, and they saw too plainly by his agitated countenance that all was over.
"The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away, and blessed be the name of the Lord!" said he solemnly, as he entered the room; and a burst of uncontrollable grief was the only reply. But Amaziah did not long give way to this natural emotion; he knelt down in the midst of the group, who all followed his example; and in a tone of calmness, that astonished Zadok and Salome, he offered up fervent praises and thanksgivings that his dear son had now fought the good fight and finished his course, and had received the crown of glory laid up for him in heaven.
This done, he called his brother aside, and spoke to him on the subject that now weighed heaviest on his heart. The suggestion of Javan that the bodies of the prisoners should be burnt in the fires of Hinnom had been made known to him, and had occasioned additional misery both to him and Judith; and he requested Zadok to use all his influence with Javan and the other members of the council to obtain an order for the body of Theophilus to be restored to them, that they might have the satisfaction of burying it before they left the city. Zadok feared that his efforts to procure this indulgence would not be successful, but he readily promised to make the attempt; and immediately left the house in search of his son, who had not appeared to his family since the fatal sentence had been pronounced on the preceding day. He found him at the house of one of his colleagues; and the air of satisfaction that reigned on his countenance gave a bitter pang to the heart of his father.
"Javan," he said, in a tone which showed his own emotions, "the dreadful scene is over, and I can no longer plead for the life of our kinsman. He has paid the debt which perhaps was due to his offended country and violated religion; and I would to God that he were yet living to forsake his errors and redeem his character. It is passed—and henceforth never let us speak on this subject again. My object in now coming to you is to request, as a favour to myself, that the body of one who is so nearly connected to me may not be exposed to the indignity which forms part of the sentence pronounced upon him. You were the proposer of that additional cruelty, and doubtless you can obtain the reversion of the sentence, if not for all the criminals, yet at least in this single instance."
"My father," replied Javan, "I see that you also wrong me, and attribute to me a wanton cruelty that is not in my nature. I did not wish my cousin's death; it was his restoration to virtue and piety that I desired; and that being hopeless, no course remained but to allow the laws of our holy religion to be executed. I have but discharged my duty in removing the unclean thing from the camp of Israel, and sparing not my own flesh and blood when the honour of Jehovah required the sacrifice. I had expected that you, my revered father, would have applauded my zeal, and joined with me in purging out this dreadful heresy, whatever might be the cost. But since you blame me, I must stand alone, and my conscience bears me witness that I stand guiltless. As to your request for the body of my misguided cousin, it grieves me to deny it; but I have no power to change the sentence. It was passed by the assembled council, as a preventive to sacrilege and profaneness; and I cannot from personal considerations, demand the reversion of so wise and necessary a decree."
Zadok's brow grew dark. He had condescended to ask a favour from his son, instead of laying on him a command, which would have been more in accordance with Jewish manners, but which in Javan's case had long been found ineffectual. He had thrown off the paternal yoke whenever the obedience which was required was in opposition to his own views and principles; and though he respected and loved his father, he considered himself much more competent than Zadok to judge what line of conduct it was right to adopt. He saw that his father was frequently influenced by his kind and generous feelings to depart from the severe principles of his sect, and to lay aside the narrow views which generally governed the proud Pharisees of that period; while he prided himself on making every feeling and every interest give way to party spirit and religious bigotry. He had therefore learnt to treat his excellent and high-minded father as an equal, instead of looking up to him as the guide and example which in his earlier years it was his highest aim to follow and imitate. Zadok knew and felt all this, and he perceived that his son was now acting from motives which he did not entirely disclose, and which probably he thought his father would neither share nor duly estimate. He was convinced that Javan was not to be shaken by persuasion, and he spared himself the pain of a second refusal; but for Claudia's sake he made another request, which he felt sure could not be denied. He desired that Javan would send for the vest in which the corpse of Theophilus was still attired, and allow him to carry it back to his unhappy young friend, as a last relic of him whom she had loved so fervently. To this Javan readily consented, and requested his father to tarry in the house of his friend until he should return with the embroidered garment, as he imagined that he would not willingly go to gaze on the mangled remains of his beloved nephew. He was not long absent, and when he returned he placed in Zadok's hand the vest, which was stained with the blood of the noble victim. The priest looked at it with deep emotion, and then returned to his own now gloomy dwelling.
Claudia had not been informed of the degradation which was designed for the remains of the heroic band of prisoners, and therefore she knew nothing of the object for which Zadok had gone forth. But when he gave her the well-remembered vest which she had worked with so much delight, and which Theophilus had loved so much to wear, she thanked him with her tears for his kind consideration in procuring it for her, and pressed the sad relic to her heart, with a feeling that all her earthly hopes had flown away with the life-blood that stained it.
Javan did not come home that day. He knew from Reuben of everything that was going on in his father's house; but to the surprise of that artful and cold-blooded villain, he took no steps to prevent the departure of his uncle, and secure another victim to tyranny and fanaticism. Reuben marvelled at his employer's apathy; and had not Javan read his countenance, and suspected designs, he would have hurried away and betrayed Amaziah's movements to others of the council, who would not have scrupled to take advantage of such information, and perhaps to waylay and apprehend him. His destruction and that of his family had long been determined on by these men, who were so zealous for the law; and they hoped to execute their purpose at an early opportunity, never suspecting that Amaziah would leave the city so immediately after the catastrophe which had befallen him. Javan was, of course, not ignorant of these intentions; and he secretly rejoiced that they would be frustrated. Indeed it was owing to his contrivances that the warnings had been given to his uncle to lose no time; and he had said enough in his father's hearing to make him urge the instant departure of his relatives; and to prevent the possibility of Reuben's busy and intriguing spirit being exerted to thwart his private wishes for his uncle's escape, he kept him in his sight the whole of the day, and did not suffer him to speak to any person out of his hearing.
Thus, though Amaziah and his family knew it not, the same Javan who had caused all their anguish and woe was now engaged in securing their safety; and it was owing to his precautions, that when the last rays of the sun were gleaming on the summit of Mount Olivet, they passed quietly and undisturbed through the water-gate, and entered the valley of Jehosaphat, that ran along the eastern wall of the city, watered by the brook of Kedron, and filled with blooming gardens and fruitful orchards. This was not the way by which the travellers would naturally have quitted Jerusalem to proceed towards Joppa, as that city lay to the north-west; but they were unwilling to traverse the streets in order to reach the gate of the Upper Fountain, for they feared to expose themselves to observation. Therefore they passed along the valley until they came to the Tower of the Corner, when they took the road to Rama and Emmaus. They were a sad and silent party, and all were deeply absorbed in their own melancholy reflections. Even the servants and armed attendants felt so much respect and sympathy for their sorrow, that they spoke not, save in a whisper; and no sound was heard to break the stillness of the evening, except the measured tread of the mules that carried the litters and the baggage, and the horses on which Zadok and Amaziah rode. Naomi and Claudia travelled in the same conveyance; but Judith preferred being alone, that she might lift up her soul to God in freedom, and pour her griefs into the compassionate bosom of her Redeemer. It had been a severe trial to her, as well as to her husband and Claudia, to leave the place where all that remained of their beloved Theophilus yet rested; and when she found herself enclosed in the curtains of the litter, and hidden from every eye but that of her Heavenly Father, she gave a vent to her sorrow, which relieved her bursting heart. Salome had offered to accompany her to Joppa, with Zadok and Naomi, but Judith would not allow her to do so. Her health was delicate, and the late trying scenes had so powerfully affected her, that she was not equal to the journey, and she therefore remained at home with Mary and her lovely little boy, who were to abide in her house until the return of Zadok and her daughter. Javan too would be her protector and occasional companion, though his presence had ceased to give his mother the pleasure that once it did, since he had been the means of changing her happy home into a scene of anxious care and sorrow.
While Amaziah and his company were passing forth from Zadok's house, and descending the steep street that led to the water-gate, they heard the distant sound of rumbling wheels on the bridge that crossed the brook of Siloam above the pool, and led to the road that opened into the valley of Hinnom. Zadok and Amaziah turned a quick and anxious gaze behind them, and saw afar off two heavy carts, attended by armed guards, and followed by a vast concourse of persons. The distance and the fading light prevented their distinguishing what burden the vehicles bore, but they knew that they contained the relics of the good, the brave, and the dearly-loved, and they shuddered as they thought of their destination.
The valley of Hinnom lay to the south of the city, between Solomon's Pool and the Potter's Field. A stream ran through it, which flowed into the Kedron, and by the side of this rapid stream the smoke of constant fires was ever rising, and a hot and sickly vapour filled the air and rose to the hills on which the southern wall of Zion was built. In the shadow of that wall Javan was pacing to and fro, followed by Reuben, whom he still retained near him, until he could feel certain that his uncle was beyond the reach of his enemies. It would be difficult to say why Javan had chosen to resort to that spot at such a time. The loathsome valley was generally shunned by all who were not compelled by necessity to pass that way; and Javan had seldom visited the elevated terrace that overlooked it, and which but for this circumstance would have been a favourite and frequented walk. The view which this site commanded was noble and extensive, reaching over the varied and fertile plain to the Dead Sea and the mountains of Arabia Petræa, which form its eastern boundary, and embracing also the Hills of Judgment and Mount Olivet to the left. But it was not the beauty of this prospect that drew Javan thither on the present occasion. It was rather a strange desire to see the conclusion of a scene of horror and of woe, which had occupied his mind and filled him with gloomy and anxious thoughts for so many days and weeks. He had accomplished all his schemes against his unhappy cousin; but he was not happy—for with all his efforts he could not stifle his natural feelings so entirely as to be insensible to the sorrow which he had brought upon his family. He dreaded returning home to encounter the silent reproach of their tears; and almost unconsciously he wandered towards the valley of Hinnom, to excite still more his feelings of horror, by witnessing the last indignity that could be offered to the remains of the victims of fanaticism.
The heavy carts rolled slowly along the valley, and paused as they reached each smouldering fire. The filth and rubbish which composed the daily fuel of these fires were nearly exhausted: but fresh combustibles were cast on them to make the funeral-piles of the martyrs, and then the bodies were flung, naked and headless, to be reduced to ashes. Javan watched them one by one, and by the light of the lurid flames he saw nine livid corpses thrown from the carts. His heart sickened, but he could not leave the spot, and there he stood, gazing down on the dreadful spectacle until all was over. The forms of the degraded criminals whose loathsome office it was to attend to these fires, were seen moving about amid the smoke and vapour, and appeared fitting inhabitants of this Gehenna, or place of Hell-fire, as it was commonly called. To Javan's excited imagination the altars once erected on this spot to Chemosh, Moloch, and Ashtaroth, were present again, reeking with their human sacrifices; and the cries of the innocent children who were offered up by hundreds to the gods of cruelty and murder sounded in his ears. The savage mob that had followed the dead-carts stood round to enjoy the spectacle, and as the flames burst forth afresh, and the bodies consumed away, they expressed their exultation and joy by loud discordant shouts, that only added to the infernal character of the scene. Among this rabble were some who came from other motives, and who trembled with stifled emotion, while to escape observation they endeavoured to join in the cries of the surrounding crowd. These were the friends and relatives of the martyred Nazarenes, and they came to wait until vengeance had been satiated on the bodies of those they loved, and the valley should be abandoned to the dogs and the vultures that lurked around to snatch their horrid meal.
One by one the fires went out, and darkness overspread the valley. The crowd dispersed, and the criminals left their daily employment to seek a short repose in some wretched huts at a little distance from the place of their appointed labours. Then, when all was silent, Javan saw a number of men and women approach one of the fires which yet continued smouldering, and light their torches at the embers. Carefully they searched among the ashes for the bones of their relatives which yet were unconsumed, and having collected them from every fire, they enclosed the precious relics altogether in a casket, and noiselessly moved away down the valley toward Solomon's Pool.
"Shall I follow them?" whispered Reuben; and Javan started at the sound of his harsh voice, for he had forgotten that the menial was still waiting near him, and watching all that occurred in the valley with an interest equal to his own, but of a different nature. "Shall I follow them?" he repeated, "for they must surely be some of those accursed Nazarenes, who thus came to seek the remains of the malefactors. They cannot enter the city to-night, and I can watch where they hide. And then if your guards are let out on them in their lurking-place, we shall easily secure the prey, and ere long we shall have another such day as this!"
"Silence, villain!" cried Javan, disgusted at the coarse brutality of the menial, who believed that his employer shared his own feelings of gratification in the actual cruelties of that day, and thought that, like him, he would rejoice in the prospect of a repetition of them.
"Follow me to the city," he continued, "and you shall receive to-morrow the reward of your services. When I require them again I shall summon you; and meanwhile I command you to exert your powers of observation, and inform me if anything occurs which way be of consequence to my affairs; but see that you confide in no one else at your peril. Especially keep watch whether Isaac or any of his emissaries attempt to hold intercourse with your noble mistress, for we must preserve her and her property from his hands."
Reuben obeyed, and followed Javan, wondering at his apathy in neglecting so good an opportunity of replenishing the prison with fresh Nazarene captives, and regretting the reward which he might have received for his information from others of the Pharisees or chief-priests. But he did not dare to dispute Javan's commands, and accompanied him to the gate, where they were readily admitted, as the young Pharisee was well known to the officer on guard there. They proceeded to the house of one of Javan's friends, and passed the night there; and in the morning returned to the dwelling of Zadok, where they soon learnt from Deborah that the priest, with his brother and all his family, had left the city on the preceding evening. Hannah had also accompanied them, with several others of their domestics who were suspected of partaking in their heretical opinions; and none remained who could be objects of persecution on account of their faith.
This was satisfactory news to Javan, and he immediately dismissed Reuben with a liberal present; and having paid his mother a short visit, which was equally painful to them both, he occupied himself in prosecuting his political plans, and forwarding his arrangements for the reception of Simon.
Meanwhile the travellers had proceeded without interruption through Rama to Emmaus, where they paused to rest and refresh themselves, and then resumed their journey. At Lydda, where they arrived at an early hour the following day, they made inquiries, and found that a band of Roman soldiers had come thither from Joppa for several days preceding, and had diligently sought for a party of travellers from Jerusalem, but had returned each evening greatly disappointed at not meeting them. It was hardly safe for Amaziah's company to advance further on their way, without a stronger guard than his own and Zadok's armed servants. They were about to leave the province of Judea, and enter that of Samaria, which was almost entirely in the hands of the Romans; and without being under the protection of some of the conquerors, they might be exposed to insult and danger. But it was uncertain whether Rufus would send his men again to meet them; and it was even possible that he might not wait any longer at Joppa, but return to the Roman army at Cæsarea, under the impression that his daughter's plans were changed, and that she would not now join him there. These considerations induced Zadok and Amaziah to decide on proceeding to Joppa without delay. They had traversed more than half the distance which divided the two cities, when they saw a band of soldiers approaching towards them, whose martial bearing and well-appointed accoutrements declared them to belong to the invincible army of Rome. Whether they came as friends or foes could not be discovered, and therefore Amaziah marshalled his men, and prepared for resistance if necessary.
The fears of his party were however speedily removed, by seeing the officer who commanded the troop put his horse into a gallop and advance alone to meet them. It was Marcellus; and though so many years had elapsed since Zadok and Amaziah had seen him, they immediately recognised his noble, ingenuous expression of countenance; and the warmth of feeling that beamed in his bright eye when he extended his hand to greet them, showed them that his long absence had not deadened his affections or obliterated the remembrance of early friendship.
His own eagerness prevented him at the first moment from observing that his friends did not receive him with the same joyful feelings that filled his own heart, and he was going to hurry past them towards the litters that followed at some distance, exclaiming,—
"Where is my dear sister, and where is Naomi? Theophilus, too, I do not see him; but no doubt he is in close attendance on Claudia. He is a happy man! I wish my prospects in life were as smiling as his."
Amaziah turned away in anguish at this playful observation; and Zadok caught the hand of Marcellus, who now perceived that all was not so full of happiness as he supposed.
"Is anything the matter?" he cried. "Is Naomi safe and well?" his fears making him recur first to her who was uppermost in his thoughts and affections.
"It is not for her, my son," replied Zadok, "that your sympathy will be excited; our poor Claudia will want all your affectionate consolations."
"What has befallen my own dear sister?" interrupted Marcellus hastily, yet with a feeling of relief that his fears for Naomi were groundless.
"All her hopes and all her happiness are blighted," said Zadok. "Theophilus is no more, and Claudia's heart is widowed."
"The Lord have pity on her!" ejaculated Marcellus fervently. "What disease has carried him off so quickly? But I will go to her, poor girl! She has yet a brother to love and to cherish her, and to mourn with her over what she has lost."
He dismounted, and giving his horse to a servant, he approached the litter in which his sister and Naomi were seated. The curtains were partially withdrawn, and they had seen him conversing with Zadok, and knew that the sorrowful truth was now made known to him. Claudia sprang from the litter, and threw herself wildly into his arms, while tears of bitter grief prevented her utterance. It is needless to dwell on such a meeting. All that was kind and affectionate Marcellus expressed; and then he gently replaced his sister in the litter, and in a voice faltering with emotion of various kinds, addressed himself to Naomi. She tried to hide her feelings of deep interest, and to meet him with the easy freedom of an old friend; but she was not very successful, and Marcellus saw with secret delight the embarrassment of her manner, and the deep flush that rose on her pale cheek. He did not however forget the affliction of his friends in his own happy feelings. He hastened to Judith's litter, and greeted her with a kindness that only reminded her more forcibly of the son she had lost, and who had been a friend and companion to Marcellus when she remembered him in former happy days.
During the rest of the journey Marcellus rode by the side of his sister, and tried to cheer her with such pious suggestions as he believed she could receive and understand; but he did not utter the name of the Redeemer—of him who has promised rest to the weary and the heavy-laden, and is especially the consolation and support of His people under all their trials and all their sorrows. Both Claudia and Naomi felt how ineffectual must be every consolation that is not derived from Him, and more than ever they regretted that Marcellus should still, as they supposed, be ignorant of His mercies and His power; while both resolved to lose no opportunity of endeavouring to give him that knowledge which they found so precious to their own souls. But this was not the time for entering on such discussions; and they reached Joppa under the mutual impression that both parties were yet in ignorance of the only true way to peace, and to eternal life.
Rufus received the whole party with kindness and cordiality. His feelings were not so acute as those of his son, but he entered into the affliction of his daughter as much as he considered that the loss of a Jewish lover could demand; and endeavoured to console her with the hope of finding a more suitable husband among her own countrymen. This was not an effectual source of comfort to poor Claudia; and as it also implied that her father expected she should now return with him to the camp, who entreated Judith, when she was alone with her and Naomi, to request that she might still be permitted to remain with her; and though she could now no longer hope to become her daughter indeed, yet that she might act a daughter's part, and dwell with her, at least until her father had a home to take her to. Judith would have been deeply grieved if Claudia had been taken from her, and she hastened to make her request known to Rufus, who kindly consented that she should accompany her friends to Ephesus, and remain there until he was able to return in peace to Rome. He was delighted with the improvement which had taken place in her since he had last seen her, and with the sweetness and gentleness that was apparent in her manner, in the midst of her deep affliction. She exerted herself to please her father, and to show the pleasure which she felt at seeing him, by repressing her own grief as much as possible in his presence. But when she found herself alone with Marcellus and Naomi, she indulged the feelings of her heart by expatiating on the many virtues and amiable qualities of him who occupied all her thoughts; and then it was that her brother first learned the cause of Theophilus's death.
"O Marcellus," said his sister, "how you would have esteemed and loved him if the Lord had spared him to meet you as a brother! But you could not have valued him as he deserved, for that very constancy and faith which led him to brave death, would have appeared madness and folly in your eyes."
"What can you mean, Claudia?" exclaimed Marcellus, eagerly. "Did not Theophilus die a natural death? I have heard no particulars, for I have been unable to speak to Zadok in private."
"Then you have not heard that he perished a martyr to the name of Jesus of Nazareth! and you do not know that your unhappy sister had learned the way of salvation from him, and now finds all her consolation and all her hope in that faith, which you, alas! despise."
"My dearest sister," cried Marcellus, embracing her with the warmest expressions of joy and affection, "this is a discovery which I had not even hoped for. Then we are united by a tie even stronger and more sacred than that of our own near relationship. I too may glory in the name of Christian; and doubly do I now regret the untimely end of our poor Theophilus, since a union with him would only have strengthened you in this most holy faith, and not have tended, as I feared, to close your heart against the admission of the truth."
Tears of surprise and delight sprang to Naomi's eyes at this unexpected confession on the part of Marcellus; and when he turned a look of anxious inquiry towards her, and read the expression of her lovely and animated countenance, he could not doubt that all for which he had hoped and prayed was already fulfilled, and that the great obstacle which he feared might for ever have separated them, was already removed.
"Naomi," he said, "am I right in indulging the hope that you also share the feelings and the sentiments of my sister? It would be happiness indeed to hear your lips confess the name of Jesus the Messiah."
"Blessed be that name for ever!" replied Naomi with fervour. "I know that there is none other name under heaven whereby we may be saved."
"How merciful has the Lord been to us," said Claudia, "in thus leading us by various methods into the same way of salvation! When, my brother, did you hear of Jesus? and who opened to you the treasures of the Gospel?"
Marcellus related to his attentive auditors all the particulars of his conversion at Rome, and the various events which had since that time strengthened and confirmed his faith. And from Claudia and Naomi he learned the interesting story of their spiritual birth and admission into the church of Christ. Naomi did not dwell on what she had suffered, or the trials to which her faith had once been subjected; but Claudia was eloquent in describing the piety and the firmness of her friend, and the benefit which she herself had derived from her consistent character and holy life and conversation. All this was music to the ears of Marcellus. He had loved Naomi when he was a mere boy, and as he grew to manhood he loved her more and more. And after he had left Jerusalem, and entered into the gaieties and business of life, he still looked back with fond remembrance to the time when she was his constant companion; and her image was ever present to his heart and his memory. Never during his residence at Rome, or his subsequent wanderings, had he seen a being who could compare with the Jewish maiden, and all his hopes of future happiness were connected with her. Many were the fruitless schemes which he had at various times devised for getting admission into Jerusalem and seeing her again, and when he found that he was to have the happiness of meeting her at Joppa, his anxiety and impatience knew no bounds. But still there was one ever-recurring thought that damped his hopes and checked his desire of seeing her. He believed that Naomi was a Jewess in religion as well as by birth. She was the daughter of Zadok, the zealous Pharisee, the sister of the fanatical Javan; and could he ever hope that she would return the affection of a Gentile, and still worse, of a Nazarene? and even if she should yet remember him with the same feelings that she entertained for him in former days, was it probable that her father would consent to bestow her on a Roman soldier; or would his own conscience allow him to seek a union with one who could not share his most sacred feelings, and who would despise what he held most dear and holy? All these reflections rose strongly to his mind when he did again behold her, and almost made him regret that she appeared yet more lovely and more interesting than his memory had depicted her. But now to find that all his worst fears were unfounded, and that Naomi was like himself, a Christian, was greater happiness than he had ever dared to hope.
It was not long before Marcellus had ascertained that his affection for Naomi was returned, and that during his long absence he had been remembered with all the constancy that he could have wished; and he readily obtained a promise that if Zadok's concurrence could be obtained she would consent to be united to him as soon as the war had terminated. Until that period they must be again separated, for Naomi would not hear of leaving her mother under the present circumstances; and indeed she greatly feared that a more insurmountable obstacle would be presented in the opposition of Zadok to their wishes. Marcellus sought an interview with the priest immediately after his conversation with Naomi, and frankly declared to him his attachment to his daughter, and his happiness in knowing that she was not insensible to his love and constancy; and then he requested that all his long-cherished hopes might be crowned by a promise that she should be united to him in marriage as soon as the state of the country would permit him to enter Jerusalem and claim her. Zadok listened to his young and ardent friend with calmness, though with a clouded brow. Once he would have spurned his offers with disdain, and have declared that he would rather consign his child to the grave than bestow her on a Gentile and a Roman; but since her renunciation of her early faith, all his high hopes for her future destiny had faded away. He knew that she would never consent to become the wife of a Jew; and if he were to seek a partner and protector for her out of the pale of that religion which he regarded as the only way to heaven, where could he find one to whom he could confide her with more satisfaction than to Marcellus? All his ancient prejudices rose up to oppose the plan but esteem for the private character of the suppliant, and consideration for Naomi's own wishes on the subject prevailed. He consented, though unwillingly, that if at any future time Marcellus should come to demand his daughter, and be enabled to offer her a happy and peaceful home, he should be rewarded for his constancy by receiving her hand, and the rich dowry which was always intended to be her marriage portion.
Joyfully did Marcellus hasten to communicate this unhoped-for acquiescence to Naomi; and but for the sorrow that weighed so heavily on the heart of Claudia and her friends, and cast a gloom over all their own happiness, the few days that they passed together at Joppa would have been the brightest of their lives.
Judith and Amaziah rejoiced sincerely at the prospect of Naomi's being removed from Jerusalem, and thenceforth permitted to exercise her religion without opposition; and Claudia tried to offer her congratulations; but tears prevented her words of joy from being audible, for her heart recurred with a feeling of desolation to the time so lately past, when all the happiness that now seemed to be presented to Naomi had been so suddenly snatched from her own grasp, and buried for ever in the grave of Theophilus.
Nearly a week had elapsed since the arrival of the travellers, and the vessel that was to sail from Joppa to Ephesus had received her cargo, when a notice was given to Amaziah that she would weigh anchor the following morning, and that he and his party must go on board at sunrise. All his baggage was taken to the ship that same evening; and at the dawn of day Naomi took leave of the friends she loved so well, and stood on the shore to watch with weeping eyes the boat that carried them out to the vessel. It was a sorrowful parting for them all; but Naomi had not time for a long indulgence of her grief, as Zadok announced to her that it would be necessary for him to leave Joppa that same day, and that she must be in readiness to start in a few hours. Letters had just reached him from Javan, to desire his speedy return to the city, as important political arrangements demanded his presence, and therefore, as their friends had departed, there was nothing to detain them any longer from home.
Marcellus and Naomi thought differently, but they did not venture to plead for a further delay; and in the afternoon they left Joppa with Zadok and Rufus, who accompanied his friends as far as Lydda. From thence the priest and his daughter proceeded towards Jerusalem, and Rufus and his son turned their steps in the opposite direction, to join their comrades at Cæsarea. Then did the rough but kind-hearted soldier give vent to all his feelings of indignation at the conduct of Javan, which he had hitherto restrained out of respect for Zadok. He vowed vengeance against the treacherous Jew, who had thus escaped from the Roman army to blast the happiness of his own family, and reduce Claudia to sorrow and desolation. Marcellus sought to check his rage; but he could not wonder that an idolater should thus feel towards one who professed to be guided by a pure religion, and yet disgraced his profession by cruelty and treachery, such as the heathen would have scorned to commit.
Tombs of the Kings