stranger--for it is clear that
as yet they had no suspicion of his identity--had seen some sign of a
moving shoal which had escaped them. They secure a great haul of fish.
Then John has an inkling of the truth; and I know no words which thrill
me more strangely than the simple expression that bursts from his lips:
_It is the Lord!_ With characteristic impetuosity Peter leaps into the
water, and wades or swims ashore.

And then comes another of the surprising touches of the story. As a
mother might tenderly provide a meal for her husband and sons who have
been out all night, they find that their visitant has made and lit a
little fire, and is broiling fish, how obtained one knows not; then the
haul is dragged ashore, the big shoal leaping in the net; and then
follows the simple invitation and the distribution of the food. It
seems as though that memorable meal, by the shore of the lake, with the
fresh brightness of the morning breaking all about them, must have been
partaken of in silence; one can almost hear the soft crackling of the
fire, and the waves breaking on the shingle. They dared not ask him
who he was: they knew; and yet, considering that they had only parted
from him a few days before, the narrative implies that some mysterious
change must have passed over him. Perhaps they were wondering, as we
may wonder, how he was spending those days. He was seen only in sudden
and unexpected glimpses; where was he living, what was he doing through
those long nights and days in which they saw him not? I can only say
that for me a deep mystery broods over the record. The glimpses of
him, and even more his absences, seem to me to transcend the powers of
human invention. That these men lived, that they believed they saw the
Lord, seems to me the only possible explanation, though I admit to the
full the baffling mystery of it all.

And then the scene closes with absolute suddenness; there is no attempt
to describe, to amplify, to analyse. There follows the charge to
Peter, the strange prophecy of his death, and the still stranger
repression of curiosity as to what should be the fate of St John.

But the whole incident, coming to us as it does out of the hidden
ancient world, defying investigation, provoking the deepest wonder,
remains as faint and sweet as the incense of the morning, as the cool
breeze that played about the weary brows of the sleepless fishermen,
and stirred the long ripple of the clear lake.