“So three days wore away—carrying with them what little was left of the light in their eyes and the color in their cheeks. On the fourth day, while I was sitting with them, some one came in and whispered to Martha. She at once rose and hastened out. But Mary sat still—not even appearing to notice the departure of her sister. So we continued sitting. But it was not long before Martha returned with flurried haste, and with an expression on her face that seemed like the first faint gray of dawn on the edge of a black bank of clouds. Mary started up at a whisper from her, and with something of the same expression on her face followed her out. We followed, too; for we thought that our sympathetic presence at the grave where we supposed they were going might still be helpful to the stricken sisters.
“And now, my dear daughter, prepare to read something wonderful. My hand trembles as I proceed to write it; and sometimes when I have thought of it such an awe has come over me that I could not have then written at all. But my nerves are now steadier. Behold what happened!
“As we neared the cave where Lazarus had been laid away, we saw a group of men. Mary darted forward and threw herself at the feet of one of them. Then I understood it all. Jesus and his disciples had at last come. I did not need to hear her say, ‘Lord, if thou hadst been here my brother had not died;’ for, as I looked with all my eyes of both body and mind, on the face that was looking down so compassionately on the weeping woman, I saw at once the original of the picture that his mother had made for me. I never had seen such a face. I do not expect ever to see another like it. I do not speak of its beauty, though beauty was not wanting; nor of its majesty, though majesty was not wanting; but of a mysterious something that seemed to lie back of and shine dimly through the comeliness and the kingliness—a power behind the throne greater than the throne itself; more beautiful than the beauty, more majestic than the majesty; a certain something so pure, so wise, so mighty, and yet so loving and pitiful, that Divinity himself seemed looking through the windows of flesh. This was how he seemed to me. It may be that he does not make the same impression on all; indeed, I know that he does not. And even to me, while I looked, there was a sensible coming and going of the Divine expression—like a rapid flowing and ebbing on the strand of a boundless sea of mingled fire and foam. Nay, while I was absorbed in watching him the Infinite seemed to sweep back and back, and at last disappeared altogether—leaving nothing but the purely human. But oh, what a human! The sands laid bare were pure gold. So gentle, so tender, so sympathetic as his tearful eyes rested on the tearful people—a frightened dove or hind would have taken refuge in his bosom. Mary evidently took refuge there.
“‘Where have you laid him?’ said the most sympathetic voice in the world.
“‘Come and see,’ said the sisters; and led the way to one of the tombs close by. The cave was wrought into the brow of a hill, and was closed by a door against which rested a large stone.
“‘Take away the stone,’ said Jesus; and as he spake I seemed to see the Infinite coming back into his face with a mighty rush and completely covering the merely human out of sight.
“We were breathless with expectation.
“He stood for a moment with eyes uplifted and lips that moved—as if communing with the sky. Then, in a voice that had in it such a commanding quality, such a tone of unquestioned and unquestionable supremacy as I had never before noticed in any voice, and which seemed able to speak a world out of nothing, he cried:
“‘Lazarus, come forth!’