“Our poor deluded, suffering people will see Him, as our own prophets have said:—“I will pour out upon the House of David and upon the inhabitants of Jerusalem, the spirit of grace and of supplication, and they shall look upon Me whom they have pierced, and they shall mourn for Him, as one mourneth for his only son, and shall be in bitterness for Him, as one that is in bitterness for his first-born.”
She paused abruptly, struck by Cohen’s quietude of manner, where she had expected a storm. Gazing up wonderingly into his face she cried:—
“Abraham, why are you thus quiet? Why have you not cursed me for a Meshumed, dear? Can it be that you, too, know aught of these glorious truths?”
There was sadness and kindness in his eyes as he returned her pleading glance. But there was no trace of anger.
“I wonder why, little sister,” he began, “I am not angry, as the men of Israel’s faith usually are with a Meshumed, even though the defaulter should be as beautiful as Zillah Robart?”
His glance grew kinder, as he went on:—“I began to wonder where my little sister went, twice a week, in the evenings, and, anxious about her, lest she, in her innocence of heart and ignorance of life, should get into trouble, I followed her one night, and saw that she entered a hall, which I knew to be a preaching-place for Jews.”
Zillah’s eyes were very wide with wonder. But she did not interrupt him.
“I did not enter the place myself,” he went on, “but that very first night, while waiting about for a few minutes, I met an old friend, a Jew like myself, by race, but a Christian by faith. He talked with me, pointed to our scriptures, quoted from the Gentile New Testament, showed, from them, how, in every detail, the birth, the life, the death of Jesus, the Nazarene, fulfilled the prophecies of our father, and——”
“And you, Abraham—” Zillah laid her hand on the Jew’s wrist, in a swift gesture of excitement, “you, dear,” she cried, “see that Jesus was the Messiah?”
Slowly, almost sorrowfully it seemed to the eager girl, he shook his head.