From her eyes the perils had passed, but the splendors remained, accentuated now by vistas visible only to herself. The antimony, too, with which she darkened them had gone, and with it the alkanet she had used on her cheeks. Her dress was olive, and, contrary to custom, her head uncovered.
“You are not strong, perhaps?”
As Judas spoke, he thought of the [pg 132]episode in the synagogue, and wished her again unconscious in his arms.
“I have been so weak,” she murmured. And after a moment she added: “I am tired; let me sit awhile.”
The carpet of flowers and of green invited, and presently Judas dropped at her side. About his waist a linen girdle had been wound many times; from it a bag of lynx-skin hung. The white garments, the ample turban that he wore, were those of ordinary life, but in his bearing was just that evanescent charm which now and then the Oriental possesses—the subtlety that subjugates and does not last.
“But you must be strong; we need your strength.”
Mary turned to him wonderingly.
“Yes,” he repeated, “we need your strength. Johanna has joined us, as you know. Susannah too. They do what they can; but we need others—we need you.”
“Do you mean——”
Something had tapped at her heart, [pg 133]something which was both joy and dread, and she hesitated, fearing that the possibility which Judas suggested was unreal, that she had not heard his words aright.