“Mean them? Why they’ll make the ancients groan if they go to the crossways with their enthusiastic singing. ‘Black-frowns!’ if they disturb the Passover solemnities, won’t there be trouble?
“And Bozrah will never understand the meaning of the ceremonial, the phantom of which meaning some to-day are pursuing, until it beholds sweet charity sincerely applied, rising with healing and life in its wings to pass over savingly where humanity has pains and death.”
The old priest looked away toward Jerusalem, as he spoke—his voice meanwhile becoming very tender, almost tremulous. Had one been able to enter his heart, there would have been seen a memory picture of Calvary. Miriamne was awed for a few moments; the old man was lost in thought; presently she recalled his attention: “Father, the band is just at hand. Shall I introduce you?”
“It is needless; I formed that Band of Charity, though I gave them not the name; most all except the recruits of to-day know me.”
The singers went by, saluting the priest as they passed; obeying his signal to them not to tarry.
Miriamne turned to her comrade with quickened confidence, and with her usual impetuosity exclaimed:
“I want to be what you like. Make me a Balsamite!”
“Thou hast a mother who might object.”
“Oh, no, no; not if she knew all, as do I.”