The porter drew the great bolts with tremulous haste, and with one accord all rushed into the street.
Scarcely knowing how it had befallen, the beggar child found himself on the [pg 167]street with the others, running—running he knew not whither, through empty streets which echoed his light footfalls as in the dead of night.
Somewhere, afar off, there was the tumult of a great multitude. Tor stopped to listen, then ran on, thinking of his Master, who was waiting for him in the fast-gathering darkness.
He reached a gate—which gate he knew not, but it yawned wide and unguarded. Not far away Tor could hear the frightened sobbing of women, the strong curses of terrified men, the wailing of little children, blending with the hurried trampling of myriad feet. Suddenly athwart the darkness flamed a blood-red, silent flash illumining the heavens from east to west. Against this lurid background loomed three crosses, stark and black. And now across the [pg 168]gloomy valleys sounded the sullen crash of rocks, the fall of giant trees, while the sick earth groaned aloud and trembled beneath its terrible burden.
Tor stood stock-still in the midst of the road. In that instant of frozen horror he comprehended what had happened. “Oh, my Father,” he groaned, the foundations of his childish faith reeling with the reeling earth.
And the Omnipotent Love answered this feeble cry of the least of his children, even as it answered that far-reaching, agonized appeal which was sounding forth from Calvary. And so in a moment—or an eternity—the heavens cleared and the April sun shone brightly upon the crosses with their piteous burdens, upon the terror-stricken multitudes returning to doomed Jerusalem, upon riven tombs and shattered moun[pg 169]tains, upon a little child, comforted of his Father, gazing with Christ-touched eyes upon the cross of his King.
They took away the body of Jesus before sunset, wrapping it in fine white linen and odorous spices, and laying it to rest in a garden hard by. Tor watched all, understanding little of the significance of the rock-hewn tomb, of the great stone before its door, of the Roman guard which was shortly stationed before the sealed sepulchre.
“HIS WICKED FACE DISFIGURED WITH RAGE AND PAIN.”
When all was finished the child returned to the city, sustained by some strange expectation which he could have explained to no one. As he would have entered the gate he came upon a woeful figure standing without and beating upon its breast. It was Chelluh, his wicked face disfigured with rage and pain. “My eyes,” he groaned. “The [pg 170]sight of that accursed cross burnt them like a devouring flame.” And so it was. And so will it ever be. He who can look upon that cross of agony without tears of love and pity, henceforth sees only the blackness of darkness. The eyes of his soul are withered.