At the bedside the sisters hovered, making frequent appeals to the physician for help. "His hands are getting cold!" Mary suddenly exclaimed. "And the cold creepeth upon him," and she rubbed his arms.
"He groweth cold?" asked the physician. "Then did not the iron knife cut off the way of the evil spirits. Hath there been a sign?"
"A red sky," Martha answered, fear showing on her face.
"When?" and there was eager interest in the physician's voice.
"This morning," replied Martha.
"Thou shouldst have told me," he said sternly, "that my oil I might have saved."
"Now do I send for the Master," Mary announced with decision. Turning to the door filled with neighbors and mourners she said, "A messenger! Is there among you one fleet of foot?" A lithe youth pushed his way to the front. "My blessings on thee, and a purse of gold if thou make thy tracks like that of a roe before a beast of prey. Fly thou to Peraea. Take thou the road by the upper ford and follow on past Bethabara. As thou goest inquire for the Galilean Prophet and when thou hast found him, this say, 'Him whom thou lovest lies sick unto death!' And when he shall ask who sent thee, naught say save 'Mary.' Hasten thee! And God give thy feet wings like the eagle!"
"Thy brother will be dead before thy messenger gets beyond the brow of
Olive," the physician announced.
Throwing herself by the couch Mary cried, "Brother—my brother! Speak thou to me—just once more speak thou thy sister's name!"
"No more shall his lips be opened till the Judgment Day," the steady voice of the physician replied.