When Naomi and her father arrived, the pool lay still in the sunlight, so Samuel established himself close to the edge with his arm about Naomi, and fell into conversation with a professional letter-writer who sat, bearded and grave, with ink-horn fastened at his side.
"Thy little maid has felt the hand of the Lord?" queried the letter-writer, looking compassionately at Naomi who stood picking with nervous fingers at her father's sleeve.
Samuel nodded sadly. In a few words he told the story of Naomi's trouble.
"She is indeed grievously afflicted," observed the letter-writer, shaking his gray head and uttering a sigh. "And my friend here, whom I come to lift into the pool, has lain helpless upon his bed for eight and twenty years. O that the Messiah would come! 'Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened and the ears of the deaf shall be unstopped. Then shall the lame man leap as a hart and the tongue of the dumb shall sing.'"
"Think you the Messiah will come shortly?" inquired Samuel.
This was a burning question of the day. The desire for the coming of the Kingdom of God was a flame that was consuming the Jewish nation.
The letter-writer tapped his forehead thoughtfully with a brown forefinger.
"Thou knowest the saying of the Pharisees, that if all Israel could keep the Law perfectly for a single day, Messiah would come. As for me, I long with a mighty longing to see Israel restored, to be delivered from our enemies, and to have our sins forgiven."
Naomi stirred restlessly. What did all this talk of a Messiah mean to her? Well enough for the grown folk to look forward to the coming of a Saviour. As for her, all she asked of all the world was that the Angel of the Bethesda Pool might come with healing in his wings and lay his cool fingers upon her closed eyes and open them again.