As they were retiring with heavy hearts from performing this last duty to the beloved dead, the sun sank beyond the blue hills of Ajalon in the west in a lake of gold. To enjoy the sunset, and to relieve our emotions of sadness, I walked apart with Mary to the top of the hill, from which I beheld the sun gilding the pinnacle of the Temple, and making it appear like a gigantic spear elevated into the sky. From the Levites at evening sacrifice came, mellowed by distance, the deep chant of the Temple service, uttered by a thousand voices. The cloud from the altar sacrifice ascended slowly into the still air, and catching the splendor of the sun's last beams, shone as if the pillar of cloud and of fire which stood above the tabernacle in the wilderness. The laborers in the harvest were hastening towards the gates, ere they should be shut out for the night by the Roman guards, and dwellers in the village were hurrying forth, lest they should be held in the city over night.
There was a sacred hush in the sleepy atmosphere that seemed in sympathy and touching harmony with the scene in which we had just borne a part. With Mary leaning sobbing upon my shoulder, I sat upon a rock giving my heart up to the sweet influences of the hour. We were alone, save Æmilius, who had ridden after us, anxious for our safety, and who sat upon his horse near by, gazing upon the beauty of the evening scene.
"I am calmer now," said Mary, after a while, raising her head and looking into my face, her splendid eyes glittering brimful with tears. "The peace of the sweet, holy skies seems to have descended and entered my heart. The spirit of Lazarus pervades all and hallows all I see. I will weep no more. He is happy now, very happy, and let us try to be holy and go to him, for he cannot come back to us."
At this moment we heard the tramp of horses' hoofs. Æmilius, startled thereby from his reverie, recovered his seat and laid his hand upon his sword. The next moment, around a rock projecting from the shoulder of Olivet, appeared a horseman in the wild, warlike costume of an Ishmaelite of the desert, brandishing a long spear in the air; then another and another similarly clad and armed, and mounted on superb horses of the desert, dashed in sight. These were immediately followed by a tall, daring-looking young man, in a rich costume, half Grecian, half Arabic, though his dark, handsome features were decidedly Israelitish. He rode a superb Abyssinian charger, and sat upon his back like the heathen centaur I have read of in the Latin books which Æmilius has given me to read. Upon seeing us he drew rein and smiled, and waved his jewelled hand with splendid courtesy; but at the sight of Æmilius his dark eyes flashed, and leaping to his feet in his stirrups he shook his glittering falchion towards him, and rode with a trumpet-like cry full upon him.
The brave Roman soldier received the charge by turning his horse slightly, and catching the point of the weapon upon the blade of his short sword.
"We meet at last, O Roman!" cried this wild, dashing chief, as he wheeled his horse like lightning, and once more rode upon the iron-armed Roman knight.
"Ay, Barabbas, and with joy I hail thee!" responded Æmilius, placing a bugle to his lips.
At hearing the clear voice of the bugle awaking the echoes of Olivet, the dread robber chief said haughtily and with a glance of contempt:
"Thou, a knight of the tribune, and commander of a legion, call for aid, when I offer thee equal battle, hand to hand, and ask not for aid of my own men's spears?"