"You have never been unkind, Zadok, even when most displeased with us," said Judith; "and this is a proof of your affection which I gratefully accept. Your society and that of our dear Naomi will be the greatest consolation that we can enjoy during our melancholy journey. I will make the best return that is in my power for your kindness, by remaining beneath your roof no longer than until the sun has set to-morrow. Oh! how that word to-morrow makes my heart sink away and fail within me! But I will be strong in the help of the Lord, and try to conquer such faithless fear and dread. I will promise to be ready to leave this most melancholy and yet most beloved place when to-morrow's light is fading away, and we may then reach Joppa the following evening. I will go now and give orders to our servants, that everything may be prepared, for I may not be so well able to exert myself to-morrow. Come, dear sister Salome, and give me your aid and your kind sympathy."
The necessity for exertion was useful to Judith and to Salome, who called up unwonted firmness, and commanded her feelings, that she might be able to assist those whose sorrow was so much deeper than her own. When Claudia was informed of the determination to leave Jerusalem on the morrow, she seemed to be overwhelmed with fresh grief, and earnestly besought that she might not be torn away so soon, and even that she might remain altogether with Naomi, and enjoy the melancholy pleasure of recalling all her past happiness, and dwelling in the same place where she had conversed with him, and learned from his lips the way of everlasting life. Kindly and gently Naomi reasoned with her, and showed her the danger and impropriety of her wish being gratified. She spoke of Judith's solitude when deprived of her son, and also of her whom she already looked upon as a daughter, and that argument made its way to Claudia's affectionate heart, and changed her inclinations. She resolved to follow her adopted mother wherever she and Amaziah should go, and to devote herself to the task of cheering them, and supplying the place of their only child: and this resolution roused and supported her, and gave her an object for which she felt content to live and to bear her sorrow, so long as the Lord should appoint her days on earth.
The hours passed away, though slowly and sadly. Even Mary of Bethezob, whose spirits were usually unfailing, was buried in silence and sorrow: and little David, the life and amusement of all the house in happier days, was unnoticed and neglected. Night brought no cessation of the misery of that family, for sleep did not visit them, and they met on the fatal morning with countenances that showed deep traces of watchfulness and tears.
Tombs of the Kings
CHAPTER XVII.
The sun approached his meridian height, and as he mounted higher and higher the feelings of the sad and watching group became more intensely excited, until at the sixth hour, when his burning rays fell vertically on the terrace into which the apartment opened, a distant noise of the voices of many people reached their ears. It was a savage shout of joy and exultation; and it sunk into the hearts of the mourners as a death-knell. At that moment the headless bodies of the nine victims were thrown over the prison walls, and suspended there to be the objects of insult and mockery to the barbarous multitude. Javan's order that the executions should take place in the cells of the prison, and not publicly, had occasioned great discontent among the populace, who had expected to indulge their cruel and bloodthirsty inclinations by witnessing the last sufferings of the Nazarenes; and to gratify them the bodies were thus exposed until sunset; while wine and food were liberally distributed among the crowd at the command of Javan and his colleagues, who feared to excite the displeasure of the lawless rabble at such a time of sedition and insubordination.
A servant of Zadok's had been privately sent by him to await the exhibition of the dreadful spectacle, and to bring the intelligence to him when all was over. The man had known Theophilus well, and had loved him; and when he returned to his master's house, and Zadok met him in the vestibule, he was trembling with horror and distress. The heads of the unhappy victims had not been exposed, but he had recognised the body of Theophilus by the garments which he well-remembered, and particularly a vest which Claudia had embroidered, and which he had worn on the evening when he left the house to return no more. Zadok rejoined his family, and they saw too plainly by his agitated countenance that all was over.