“The uncertainty. Because I should ask the priest.”
“The priest!—where is he?”
Doucebelle looked up in surprise at the tone, and saw that Belasez was in tears.
“We had priests,” said the young Jewess. “We had sons of Aaron, and a temple, and an altar, and a holy oracle, whereby the Blessed One made known His will in all matters of doubt and perplexity to His people. But where are they now? The mountains of Zion are desolate, and the foxes walk upon them. The light has died out of the sacred gems, even if they themselves were to be found. We have walked contrary to Him,—ah! where is the unerring prophet that shall tell us how we did it?—and He walks contrary to us, and is punishing us seven times for our sins. We are in the desert, in the dark. And the pillar of fire has gone back into Heaven, and the Angel of the Covenant leadeth us no more.”
Doucebelle was almost afraid to speak, lest she should say something which might do more harm than good. She only ventured after a pause to remark—
“Still there are priests.”
“Yours? I know what they would tell me.” Belasez’s fervent voice had grown constrained all at once.
“Yes, thou dost not believe them, I suppose,” said Doucebelle, with a baffled feeling.
“I want a prophet, Doucebelle, not a priest. Nay, He knows, the Holy One, that we want a priest most bitterly; that we have no sacrifice wherewith to stand before Him,—no blood to make atonement. But we want the prophet to point us to the priest. Let us know, by revelation from Heaven, that this man, or that man, is the accepted Priest of the Most High, and trust us to bring our fairest lambs in sacrifice.”
“Belasez, I believe that the Lamb was offered, twelve hundred years ago, and the sacrifice which alone God will accept for the sins of men is over for ever, and is of everlasting efficacy.”