“Oh, uncle!” said I, “what harm is there in bestowing the light of knowledge upon a poor dumb slave?”
“He was made dumb to keep him from betraying secrets.”
“Horrible!” said I.
“Not my secrets,” he added, cautiously, “but his former master’s. If Simon Magus thought he could write, he would come all the way from Egypt to cut his heart out of his body.”
After that event, the sphere of Ethopus’ duty was changed, so that we rarely saw him.
Several weeks passed away, and we wondered why Caiaphas, from whom our father expected so much, did not come to see us. He was to aid and befriend us, and, as I hoped, to deliver us from the control of Magistus. He had evidently promised all that to our dear father. The priestly authorities, if properly applied to, surely would not permit the children of a good and devout man to continue under the influence of a thief and magician.
Caiaphas at last came. His visit was short: his manner constrained but polite. He sympathized briefly with our affliction; explained and defended the Mosaic laws against leprosy; eulogized our father in eloquent terms; and congratulated us on having such a worthy uncle, who would train us so carefully in the faith, and who would make our home so happy.
And this was the result of the secret interviews with my [pg 34]father, and of his solemn warnings against Magistus as a thief and a magician! I was puzzled and disappointed. I could not help saying:
“Did you know, O Caiaphas! that my father entertained a very different opinion of this good uncle?”
“Remember, my son,” said he, somewhat abashed, “that your father was very sick, and his mind greatly impaired. There was no foundation whatever for his unhappy suspicions. Obey your uncle like good children, and you will find him all I have represented him to be.” He then retired.