"Be gone from him!" commanded Andrew, as though speaking to an evil spirit in the boy. A shiver ran through his body, but then he lay still again.
Scornful smiles curled the lips of the people who watched. A great healer, this man! He tells the devil to leave and the boy is worse off than before!
Andrew flamed scarlet—but he was not thinking of the bystanders. In his heart he knew he was powerless to help the boy. The father bent over his son and then suddenly stood up. "You cannot help him! You have no power!"
Andrew was stunned. For a moment he stood stock-still. Then he turned and walked away.
"A fine proof of the power of the Nazarene!" remarked a man sarcastically. The people recognized him as a priest who had stopped a few minutes before to watch. The father of the boy looked around at the people, desperately seeking someone else to help him.
"Where is your Master?" cried the father desperately.
"Yes, where is your Master?" echoed the priest in derision. "You had better go and find him!"
"He left a couple hours ago with three others," said the innkeeper, in a very matter-of-fact way. "He went up there." He waved toward the great mountain. The people looked where he pointed.
"There he is!" cried a man in the crowd. Distant figures were moving down the mountainside.
"Now we shall see if this Nazarene can do better than his followers," remarked the priest bitingly.