"How knoweth thou this, my brother?"
"He is a man. I am a man. Hungry he sitteth at meat as a man. Weary he resteth his limbs as a man. Merry he looketh upon the fair arms and flying garments of dancers at the wedding as a man. Sad doth he grow, and troubled, as a man. With a child held to his bosom the tenderness of fatherhood sounds in his voice and with thee at his side the mightiest love with which the Creator hath blessed man, toucheth his soul. Did not the Creator so make man that it is not good for him to be alone? None but the heathen teach contrary to the Law."
"Thy words are to my heart as a song of Zion to the captives in
Babylon. Yet would I have a sign from him."
"So do women always want signs," Lazarus laughed.
Mary rested her head against the myrtle twined support of the bower and looked away to the sky of the setting sun—nor did Lazarus disturb her thoughts by speaking. The hush of evening was brooding over the distant valleys soon to be enfolded in the twilight and there was no sound on the housetop when, a few moments later, Mary heard her name spoken just behind her. A man had come quietly up the steps and stopped where they opened on the roof. He wore a travel-stained garment, carried a staff and held against one shoulder some branches of flowering green. "Behold, I stand at the door and knock," he said, as Mary and Lazarus with a glad cry, sprang up to greet him.
CHAPTER XIII
ORANGE BRANCHES
"The hem of thy garment is heavy with dust and thy feet are torn by thorns," Mary said with concern. "Rest thee. I will unloose thy shoes' latchet and Lazarus will bring thee drink. Thou art weary."
"Yea, footsore and weary. But take thou the branches of orange blossoms. All the way from Ajalon have I carried them to make thee thy festival lulab," [1] and he held the branches to her.
"The Day of Atonement did not find thee in the Temple. From Ajalon hast thou come?" Lazarus asked.