[CHAPTER XIV.]
JERUSALEM.
THERE are some moments in our lives which it is impossible for us to describe. We never forget them, and the impression which they leave behind never fades from our memories; but still when we try to speak of them to others, even to those whom we love best, words fail us, and seem too weak to express what we mean.
I will not, therefore, attempt to describe what was the rush of feeling which passed through my heart when, for the first time, I came in sight of Jerusalem. Others who have had a like privilege will understand what I felt, as Mr. Stanley made us pull up our horses on the top of a hill, about half a mile from the city gate, and said to us, "Well, what do you think of Jerusalem?"
Neither Evelyn nor I could answer him. Sir William had many questions to ask about the houses and buildings on the road leading to the Jaffa Gate, but we scarcely heard what they were saying. At that moment, it seemed to us a matter of very small importance which was the Austrian consul's house; which was the Pacha's country residence; which was the German deaconesses' school; and which were the Russian church and convent. All these details interested us afterwards, when we were more familiar with Jerusalem; but at that moment, when we were able, for the first time in our lives, to say "This is Jerusalem!" we had neither time nor thought to spare for any interest in the modern buildings of the city.
We rode on in silence, seeing, as if in a dream, the crowds of people taking their evening walk on the Jaffa road—people of numerous nations, and from every quarter of the globe, dressed in costumes as varied as the colours of the rainbow.
Mr. Stanley rode up close beside me as we went through the Jaffa Gate, and said, in a low voice, "I know just how you are feeling, Miss Lindsay; it is, indeed, a wonderful moment in one's life!"