"Why did He not save him then?" was the mocking answer.
"They say He has the power to open the eyes of the blind, and even to raise the dead. Let Him show it in this case!"
It was a curious crowd that followed Him to the door of the tomb: men who hated Him for the scorching fire-brands of rebuke He had thrown into their corrupt lives; men who feared Him as a dangerous teacher of false doctrines; men who knew His good works, but hesitated either to accept or refuse; and men who loved Him better than life,—all waiting, wondering what He would do.
"Roll the stone away!" He commanded; a dozen strong shoulders bent to do His bidding. Then He looked up and spoke in a low tone, but so distinctly that no one lost a word.
"Father," He said,—He seemed to be speaking to some one just beside Him,—"I thank Thee that Thou hast heard me, and I knew that Thou hearest me always: but because of the people which stand by I said it, that they may believe that Thou hast sent me."
A cold shiver of expectancy ran over those who heard. Then He cried, in a loud voice, "Lazarus, come forth!" There was a dreadful pause. Some of the women clutched each other with frightened shrieks; even strong men fell back, as out of the dark grave walked a tall figure wrapped in white grave-clothes.
His face was hidden in a napkin. "Loose him, and let him go," said the Master, calmly.
Phineas stepped forward and loosened the outer bands. When the napkin fell from his face, they saw he was deathly white; but in an instant a warm, healthful glow took the place of the corpse-like pallor.
Not till he spoke, however, could the frightened people believe that it was Lazarus, and not a ghost they saw.
Never had there been such a sight since the world began: the man who had lain four days in the tomb, walking side by side with the man who had called him back to life.