The dog whined uneasily, and flattened his lean body against the stones. The man’s angry eyes cut him like a lash.
“Out of my way, companion of a pariah,” said the Galilean, with profound disgust. “What hast thou to do with the Master?”
He strode forward, shaking off with a shudder of loathing the small imploring [pg 124]hand of the beggar child. “They will kill him,” cried Tor. “The man said so. They hate him!”
The dog sprang forward with a low growl of anger and fastened his white teeth in the garments of the fisherman. That wail of anguish in his master’s voice had roused him to a frenzy.
The Galilean raised his stout oaken staff and smote the animal twice—thrice with all his strength. The gaunt body quivered, dropped, rolled over once, and was still.
The Jew hurried away, breathing deep in his anger and disgust. “I am defiled,” he muttered, “for the breath of an unclean beast hath polluted my garments.” He glanced back over his shoulder and beheld the beggar kneeling by the body of the dog. And his indig[pg 125]nation found vent in deep-mouthed, muttered curses.
That same night the passover was sacrificed, and all Jerusalem feasted with solemn rites and decorous rejoicings. But Tor crouched on the stones outside one of the low, dark houses within the third wall of the city. He had followed the Galilean afar off, had seen him at length with his Master and the eleven enter this house. The child drowsed between whiles as the hours passed, and the white moon looked down at him between the houses. He had forgiven Peter, the Galilean, for the death of Baladan, even as his Master had commanded, and that singular peace which the world neither gives nor takes away filled his soul.
He could have told no man why he was so strangely content, when, in the old [pg 126]days, fury would have scorched him. For the moment he had forgotten the evil words of Chelluh and the disciple called Judas; and, remembering them, he murmured a simple prayer to the mysterious, unseen Father, in whom he was coming to believe with all the strength of his childish being. “Our Father will take care of my Master,” he said aloud, and smiled alone in the darkness.
Within the house, in a large upper chamber, Jesus sat at his last meal upon earth with the few whom he had chosen, knowing all things that should shortly come to pass, and understanding to the full the pitiful ignorance and darkness in the hearts of the disciples.
Again they disputed among themselves as to which of them should be accounted greatest in that coming kingdom of glory which the Master now told [pg 127]them plainly had been appointed unto him. To sit upon twelve thrones judging the twelve tribes of Israel was, indeed, a glorious future; they accepted the idea with complaisance, but one must be greater than his fellows in any kingdom, and each of them coveted the supreme crown of power.