"There is but one name."
"But one name—and yet a world of women?"
"Mary," he repeated, as if to himself.
"Thy mother's name," and the woman laughed for joy.
"Yea—my mother's name."
For the time of a short walk the light of glad memories shone in the face of the pilgrim. Then the expression that told of a heavy burden came again. "Like sheep without a shepherd are my people scattered," he said wearily, "and there is no Zion. Rome alone is ruling there through the Imperial Legions housed in the Tower of Antonio, over against the city of David. Even the Sanhedrin hath turned wolf-hearted so that for gain the people are fleeced like the ewe lamb, and with none to succor—and my Father's house hath become a den of thieves."
"Even so do I remember," the woman replied sadly. "When thou wert my tiny one close to my breast, I went to the Temple with my offering of a dove. And lo, in the Temple were sellers of doves. One stopped me who said of my offering, 'It hath a blemish.' And forthwith I was sold one thrice blemished. Yea, I remember, for they took from me my last penny for the ill-favored bird and at a dry breast didst thou, my little one, struggle that night unsatisfied. But thy great and wondrous teaching—thy new commandment that is to bring the Kingdom, will it not make all these things right?"
"Nay, woman, nay. New wine in old bottles doth but burst them. So will this new law of love, this new law of justice established in man's heart, burst the old customs that hold men in bondage. Then much fasting, long prayers, much saying of 'Lord! Lord!' will avail nothing, but only man's duty to his fellow man. For how can man love God whom he hath not seen, if he fail in duty to his brother? For this teaching in the Temple did those pious assassins of the Temple take up stones to kill me. Herein is my heart greatly troubled. I preach the gospel of love and of justice; but bran for the belly and stripes for the back beget brute creatures that know not how to love. Neither can he love who withholds all save bran, nor stays the hand that holds the scourge."
"My heart catcheth the sadness in thy face," the woman said softly as the young man looked out into the gathering dusk. "And a fear doth pain me lest my merry child hath gone from me forever. But yesterday thou wert my little one. When first I heard thy cry, e'en though thy cradle were a manger, it was as if angels sang, and the pressure of thy lips against my breast brought to my heart great joy as if the glory of the motherhood of all the ages were mine. When thou didst learn to walk, thy baby feet made sweet music and thy wee hand on my cheek oft drove away heartache. When thou wert older, thou went to the fields with me. Dost thou remember the sloping hillsides red with lilies in which thou didst roll thy body? And at the seashore—rememberest thou the little tracks so soon washed away? And dost thou remember thy first visit to Jerusalem and the valley of weeping where the dark streams issued from the crags and many tombs were hewn from rocks? Here it was we camped and thy father and I did miss thee. And dost thou remember the questions thou wert asking when we found thee in the Temple? Many times had thou asked them to me before. And Nazareth—doth thy heart remember thy playmates—Jael and the others?"
"Jael? Yea, verily I remember Jael."