"No—no—not dead! Oh, Lycidas!—Lycidas!" exclaimed Zarah in horror, intuitively appealing to the Athenian to relieve her from the terrible fear which Anna had raised.
"It is too true," said Lycidas sadly; for he could not look upon the countenance of Pollux and doubt that life was extinct. "We must gently separate the son from the arms of his mother."
But they who had been so long separated in life could not be separated in death; man had now no power to divide them. Often had Hadassah thought that her heart would break with grief;—it had burst with joy! Her day of sorrow was over; her long Sabbath rest had begun. The happy smile which had lately played on her lips in sleep, now rested upon them in that last peaceful slumber from which she should never again awake to weep. She had been given her heart's desire, and so had departed in peace. Blessed death; most joyful departure!
CHAPTER XXVIII.
UNITED IN THE GRAVE.
Lycidas dared not at first break to Zarah the mournful truth that one blow had bereft her of both her protectors, that she was now indeed an orphan, and alone in the world. Zarah saw that her father was dead, but believed that Hadassah had swooned. The subdued wail of Anne over the corpse of her mistress, first revealed to the bereaved girl the full extent of her loss. Its greatness, its suddenness, almost stunned her; it was a paralyzing grief.
But this was no time for lamentation or wail. Lycidas remembered—though Zarah herself for the moment entirely forgot it—her imminent personal peril should she be discovered and arrested by the Syrians. To save her precious life, was now the Greek's most anxious care. He tried to persuade her to fly; but even his entreaties could not draw the mourner from the dead bodies of Hadassah and Pollux. It seemed as if Zarah could understand nothing but the greatness of her bereavements. A terrible fear arose in the mind of the Greek that all that the maiden had undergone during the last two days had unsettled her reason.
"What can be done!" exclaimed Lycidas, almost in despair; "if the Syrians find her here, she is lost. The city will soon be astir; already I hear the sound of hoofs!"
A man, leading a large mule with two empty panniers, appeared, trudging on his solitary way. As he approached the spot, Lycidas to his inexpressible relief recognized in him Joab, a man whose countenance was never likely to be forgotten by him—being connected with one of the most exciting passages in the life of the young Athenian.
"Ha! the lady Hadassah!" exclaimed the muleteer, in a tone of surprise and regret, as his eye fell on the lifeless body, round which Zarah was clinging, with her face buried in the folds of its garments.