“But that is our Lord Christ, surely?” said Margaret.
“You call Him so,” was Belasez’s reply. “But He did come!” said Margaret, in a puzzled tone.
“A man came, undoubtedly, who claimed to be the Man who was to come. But was the claim a true one?”
“I have always been told that it was!”
“And I have always been told that it was not.”
“Then how are we to find out which is true?” Belasez spread her hands out with a semi-Eastern gesture, which indicated hopeless incapacity, of some sort.
“Damsel, do not ask me. The holy prophets told our fathers of old time that so long as Israel walked contrary to the Holy One, so long should they wander over the earth, forsaken exiles, and be punished seven times for their sins. Are we not exiles? Is He not punishing us? Our holy and beautiful house is a desolation; our land is overthrown by strangers. Yet we are no idolaters; we are no Sabbath-breakers; we do not profane the name of the Blessed. Do you think I never ask myself for what sin it is that we are thus cast away from the presence of our King? In old days it was always for such sins as I have named: it cannot be that now. Is it—O Abraham our father! can it be?—that He has come, the King of Israel, and we have not known Him? Damsel, there are thousands of the sons of Israel that have asked that question! And then—”
Belasez stopped suddenly.
“Go on!” urged Margaret. “What then?”
“I shall say what my damsel will not wish to hear, if I do go on.”