The stone streets of Bethlehem were so narrow that the carriage occupied almost all the available space. Their destination was, of course, the Church of the Nativity, which stands at the upper end of the market-place. Passing through the low and narrow doorway, they descended to the sacred crypt, where about fifty exquisite lamps hung from the roof. On the pavement below one of the altars a metal star had been let into the rock; it indicated the exact spot where the Holy Babe was born.
“This, I believe, is authentic,” said the Princess, as she bent down to read the Latin inscription on the star: “‘Hic de Virgine Maria Jesus Christus natus est.’ Can you realise that this is the very cave—the outhouse of the khân—in which the greatest event recorded in history occurred? Is it not wonderful! The thought almost takes my breath away!”
Had she been a pilgrim and emotional, she would have knelt and kissed the star. As it was, she stood by the altar with reverently bent head, her thoughts concentrated on the stupendous miracle which had been enacted there. In the adjoining church of the Latins the choir were singing vespers; and their voices, subdued by distance, rose and fell in pleasant rhythm; but within the cave itself there was silence, and the solemnity of the moment was undisturbed.
A deep sigh from her friend recalled her to the present, and with a last look at the star she turned away. To Patricia the sight of Bethlehem was like a silent reproach. It recalled with almost vivid clearness the many Christmas Days of her childhood, and how thoroughly she had entered into the spirit of the Festival; for she had been a Christian then. She was silent as they re-entered their little carriage and were driven onwards towards the village of Bêt Sahûr; and the Princess also seemed to have little to say. Their destination this time was the field “where shepherds watched their flocks by night, all seated on the ground”; and arrived there they alighted to stroll among the olive groves. Near by, the Field of Boaz brought to their minds the charming idyll of Ruth the gleaner, and they could almost imagine the sweet Hebrew maiden gathering the ears of corn. Gazing down the slopes, they could see far away in the distance the brilliant waters of the Dead Sea; above them was the still deeper blue of the Syrian sky.
“This is heavenly!” exclaimed the Princess, as she flung herself down on the dry turf. “It only needs the music of Handel’s Pastoral Symphony to complete the scene. The very atmosphere seems to breathe peace.”
“I did not think you could be so enthusiastic,” said Patricia, with a smile. “I thought you were one of the nil admirari kind.”
“So I am—sometimes; it’s just how I feel. Nature appeals to me much more than the showy buildings wrought by the hand of man. Do you know, I made a splendid resolution when we were in the little crypt of the Nativity. I believe Palestine is making me good. I suppose you think I can do with it, Pat?” she added, with a naïve smile.
Patricia glanced at her curiously.
“I don’t know,” she returned honestly. “I believe your heart is in the right place, and I know you wouldn’t hurt a fly if you could help it. But you might be kinder to a certain person, you know.”
“My husband? Yes. It is concerning him that I have made the resolution. Of course he is rather stupid, but I suppose he can’t help it, and I’m afraid I did treat him rather badly. You see he always let me squash him; and he is so delicate that it made me feel mean—as if I had thrown a stone at a child. If he had placed himself on the defensive, I should not have minded in the least. But if I smote him on one cheek, he would turn the other to me also; and no woman could stand that.”