"Yea. On the road to Ajalon there is a place of turning that doth lead over a desert way, and rocky. But when the end is reached, there is a valley of springs giving rise to a stream that at last findeth the Great Sea. And in this hidden and quiet place where the wild gazelle feedeth unharmed because there is no shedding of blood, there is a retreat of the Essenes. Here was I. Neither in the Temple nor out of the Temple cometh At-one-ment with the Father, but in the sanctuary of the heart, Lazarus. And it was in this holy place," and the guest turned toward Mary, "that the air was rich with perfume from a little grove of early oranges and citron. Here I did think of thee and brought thy lulab flowers, though their leaves are faded somewhat."
"Aye, but their fragrance is tenfold, as doth come from broken lilies."
"There is a fragrance that spilleth itself in dying. In this there is a hard lesson thou hast yet to learn, Mary."
"If I learn from thee it is not hard."
"Thou knowest not what thou sayest."
"I go to get thee new wine," Lazarus said.
"And take thou the branches, my brother, except one that I keep on the arbor roof to make the night fragrant like the valley of retreat beyond the way to Ajalon. The others put in the water pot by the cistern that they may be fresh for to-morrow's festival. And hasten thou back with the wine."
"Nay, hasten not," the young Rabbi said. "As I came along the way, travelers did give me figs and wine so that I hunger not. Yet when the moon hath cleared the mountains would I drink with thee thy new wine."
"As thou sayest," Lazarus replied, and taking the guest's cloak and staff he went below.
"I saw thy face as I stood waiting at the door," the guest said to Mary when they were alone. "Thine eyes saw farther than the parapet, and the vision made thy countenance a very pleasant one. Sit thee down and let us look together."