"These are meant for my wear," said the maiden; "but I will not touch them. The Gentiles would allure me, as the serpent allured Eve our mother, by the lust of the eyes and the pride of life. Embroidered robes are not for the prisoner, nor silver zone for the martyr. This simple blue garment, spun and woven by my own hands, is good enough to die in."
Zarah watched the sun as it sank beneath the western horizon, its last beams lingering on the pinnacles of the Temple.
"Perhaps this will be my last evening on earth," thought the prisoner. "Ere the sun set again, I may have entered into eternal rest." A deep sense of holy peace stole into the maiden's heart, though the expression of her beautiful countenance was pensive as she meditated on the future. "I shall no more join in worship with my brethren below; but perhaps, while they gather together in secret, with perils around them, my eyes shall see the King in His beauty, shall behold the land that is very far off. And will not He for whom I die hear now my feeble prayers for those whom I leave behind? Never have I felt that I could plead with such child-like confidence before Him as I do now; praying not only for myself, but for those who are dearer than self. Oh, may the Lord hear, and graciously answer, the supplications of His child!"
Zarah knelt down, and poured out her simple Prayer. First, she besought God for Hadassah; that He would comfort the bereaved one, grant her rest from her tribulation, and give her the desire of her heart. Tears mingled with this prayer, as Zarah thought of the desolation to which the aged widow was left. "Let her not weep long for me," murmured the maiden; "and oh, never let her want a loving one to tend her in sickness and comfort her in sorrow, better than I could have done." The Hebrew girl then prayed for her country, and for those who were fighting for its freedom; especially for Judas Maccabeus, that God would be his shield and defender, and cover his head in the day of battle. Zarah forgot not her unknown father. She now pleaded for him more fervently than she had ever pleaded before; and, by some mysterious connection in her mind, thoughts of her lost parent linked themselves to remembrance of the generous courtier to whose intercession she had owed her present respite from torture and death. The young prisoner implored her Lord not to let the Syrian suffer for his kindness to a stranger, but to requite it sevenfold into his own bosom.
Zarah did not yet rise from her knees. Her supplications became yet more fervent as she prayed for another, dearest of all. No fear of displeasing God now marred the comfort which the maiden found in supplication for a Gentile. It was not sinful, she thought, for the dying to love. Her misery might be the means which God would deign to employ in winning Lycidas from the errors of idolatrous worship. She might be permitted, as it were to beckon to her beloved from the other side of the grave.
Zarah arose from her devotions feeling almost happy. It seemed to her as if the worst bitterness of death were already passed. She again partook, with a thankful spirit, of needful refreshment, and afterwards laid herself down to rest. The prisoner had had no refreshing sleep during the preceding terrible night, and now her eyelids were heavy. Soft slumber stole over Zarah, as the Psalmist's words were on her lips, I will both lay me down in peace and sleep, for Thou, Lord, only makest me dwell in safety.
CHAPTER XXIII.
FOUND AT LAST.
So profound was the slumber of the weary girl that she heard not the sound of opening the door, nor a step on the marble floor, and lay unconscious of the yearning, anxious, mournful gaze that was fixed upon her she slept.
"Lovely, most lovely—fairer even than her mother!" murmured Pollux, as he stood beside the couch of Zarah, upon whose slumbering form softly fell the light from a silver lamp. "Even so beautiful and so pure lay my Naomi, when the angel of death had in mercy called her soul away, and bereft me of a gift of which I was so unworthy."