But Ethne had seen the world and the old man and woman from a very different point of view that day, and was full of pity and hope.
She must have found her Latin vocabulary more extensive than she thought, or the hostess must have had some secret stock of Celtic,—she had lived amongst well-nigh every tribe and kindred and nation, and there were Celts, she said, in Asia,—for by some means these two had come to a marvellous amount of comprehension of each other’s histories and characters.
“He is not only a miser, Baithene,” she replied, in refutation of his dark apprehensions, “he was of a princely house like our own, even more ancient it would almost seem, if that could be,” she added, with a loyal faith in her Irish pedigree; “for,” she concluded in a low voice, “I have found out who they are. You remember Patrick always called the sacred books ‘the Testaments of God.’ There are two Testaments of God. There is the Old, and there is the New, which has much better and more glorious things in it because it has the Christ. But these people belong to the Old, which is also from God, and has also certainly excellent things in it; it was this they were reading yesterday in the great roll with the black letters. I remember Patrick’s people told us that our Lord Christ Himself read wonderful things out of it, about healing the broken-hearted, and setting at liberty those that were bound. Perhaps, brother,” she exclaimed, with a sudden flash as of discovery, “it was that they were reading! Certainly my heart was rather broken, and she has been very healing to me. His name is Eleazar; her name is Mariam, or Miriam, like the very best name of all, the name of the Blessed Mother. Perhaps it is the very same,” and her voice lowered, “for they are indeed of a very ancient and honourable race; perhaps, if that were possible, more honourable as well as more ancient than our own. They are of the very nation and people of the Lord Christ Himself.”
“The people of the Lord Christ crucified Him!” replied Baithene, not easily able to believe much good of his bargaining host, “and one of them betrayed and sold Him.”
“Patrick said it was the Romans who crucified Him,” said Ethne.
“Perhaps,” he replied; “but His own people sold Him to the Romans, that they might crucify Him, which was baser still, and just what this Eleazar might have done—sold Him for thirty pieces of silver. I can fancy now how Judas counted them out, and rang them on the floor to be sure it was good money.”
“Ah, but, Baithene,” she said, “I know much more about Eleazar. He did not always love money best. They had one dear little girl; Miriam says I remind her of the child. Her eyes were dark, but she says, though mine are grey, they look at her with a look just like her Rachel’s. She was very young when she was taken from them, only twelve years old.”
“But what has that to do with Eleazar’s love of money?” asked Baithene. “If their only child is dead, what is the good of money to these two?”
“That is the point of the whole,” replied Ethne. “Rachel is not dead. That is to say, they are quite sure she is not dead, they have prayed so much for her, that they may meet her again on earth. And Miriam has had visions and dreams of seeing her, has felt the child’s kiss on her lips, and been waked by it more than once. There was a massacre of their people at some city far away in Asia, and Rachel was torn from them and sold into bondage, like ourselves, brother. And they are always travelling all over the world to try and find her. And they are quite sure they will one day, and it is this that makes Miriam so kind to captive maidens, especially to me.”