“When will Messiah come, father?” continued the boy.
“To-night, perhaps, my son. Set His chair! Open the door!”
Swiftly, but with remarkable quietude, for a child, the boy placed a chair at the table, then, stepping briskly, silently to the door, he set it wide open, and left it thus, and returned to his place by the table.
Rachel took the ewer and poured out a little wine and water into each glass. In her sullenness, as she came to Zillah’s glass, she slopped the wine over the edge. The children glanced curiously from the spilled wine to the face of their aunt, then at their father’s face.
Zillah’s face flushed; Cohen’s grew pale, and set in a sharp spasm of pain. No word was said, each took up their glass, and drank the first cup of blessing.
There was a moment’s pause, then Cohen spread his hands, bowed his head, and repeated “The Blessing:—”
“The Lord bless us and keep us; the Lord make His face shine upon us and be gracious unto us. The Lord lift up the light of his countenance upon us and give us peace.”
Under her breath, yet distinctly heard by Cohen, in the solemn hush that followed the Blessing, Zillah murmured:—
“But now, in Christ Jesus, ye who sometimes were afar off, are made nigh by the blood of Christ. For He is our Peace.”
Cohen glanced quietly at her. She met the glance with one of intense yearning. He translated it rightly, as meaning “If only you could see this truth?”