Your sad but loving daughter,
Adina.
[LETTER XXX.]
My Dear Father:
I know not how to write—I know not what to say! Dismay and sorrow fill my heart! I feel as if life were a burden too heavy to hear! They have crucified him!
Verily fear and a snare are come upon us—desolation and destruction, O my father! We know not which way to turn. He in whom we trusted has proved as one of us, weak and impotent, and has suffered death without power to save himself. He that saved others could not escape the death of the Roman cross! While I write, I hear the priest Abner, in the court below, mocking my Uncle Amos in a loud voice:
"Your Messias is dead! A famous great prophet, surely, you Nazarenes have chosen—born in a manger and crucified as a thief! Said I not that he who could speak against the Temple and the priesthood was of Beelzebub?"
Rabbi Amos makes no reply. Shame and despair seal his lips. Thus our enemies triumph over us, and we answer only with confusion of face.
This unexpected, this unlooked-for, startling result has stupefied me, and not only me but all who have been so led by fascination as to trust in him. Even John, the beloved disciple, I hear now pacing the floor of the adjoining room, sobbing as if his noble heart would burst. Mary, my cousin's sweet voice, I catch from time to time trying to soothe him, although she is stricken like us all to the very earth. The unhappy John I hear despairingly answer her: