"Is it indeed you, my dear young master?" the old man said, falling on John's neck. "This is unlooked-for joy, indeed. The Lord be praised for his mercies! What will your parents say, they who have wept for you for months, as dead?"
"They are well, I hope, Isaac?"
"They are shaken, greatly shaken," old Isaac said. "The tempest has passed over them; the destruction of Jerusalem, the woes of our people, and your loss have smitten them to the ground but, now that you have returned, it will give them new life."
"And Mary, she is well, I hope, too?" John asked.
"The maiden is not ill, though I cannot say that she is well," Isaac said. "Long after your father and mother, and all of us, had given up hope, she refused to believe that you were dead; even when the others put on mourning, she would not do so--but of late I know that, though she has never said so, hope has died in her, too. Her cheeks have grown pale, and her eyes heavy; but she still keeps up, for the sake of your parents; and we often look, and wonder how she can bear herself so bravely."
"And how are we to break it to the old people?" John asked.
Isaac shook his head. The matter was beyond him.
"I should think," Jonas suggested, "that Isaac should go back, and break it to them, first, that I have returned; that I have been a slave among the Romans, and have escaped from them. He might say that he has questioned me, and that I said that you certainly did not fall at the siege of Jerusalem; and that I believe that you, like me, were sold as a slave by the Romans.
"Then you can take me in, and let them question me. I will stick to that story, for a time, raising some hopes in their breasts; till at last I can signify to Mary that you are alive, and leave it to her to break it to the others."
"That will be the best way, by far," John said. "Yes, that will do excellently well.