ar?"

"Closed be his ears until the trumpet of the dead shall sound," was the
comment.

"Thou dost not mean Lazarus sleeps the sleep of the dead?" Martha cried
in pain.

"By evil spirits hath my unfailing skill been set at naught. Thy
brother sleepeth the sleep of death."

"No--no!" sobbed Mary, as the physician turned to collect his oil and
herbs. "Lazarus is not dead!" and throwing her arms around Martha down
whose face tears were streaming, she cried over and over, "He is not
dead--he is not dead!"

While the sisters were giving way to their grief, the mourners filed
into the room. Some had cymbals, some flutes, some pieces of sackcloth
which they put over their heads before turning their faces to the wall.
"Alas the lion--alas the hero--alas for him!" wailed the mourners.
"Woe! Woe! Death hath entered into the place of the living and hath
taken the flower of its strength! Oh, grave! Oh, tomb! Hungry art
thou! Woe! Woe! From the garden of woman's smiles hath he gone to
darkness and the bat. Corruption hath gathered him to its bosom!
Weep! Howl! Never shall he return to the place of the living from the
place of the dead!"

Before the mourners had finished their lamentations, the body of
Lazarus had been wrapped in a sheet and was being hastily borne from
the house. Following the body, with her arms around her sister, Mary
sobbed, "If the Master had only been here, my brother had not died."

CHAPTER XVI

HE CALLETH FOR THEE

Three days after the death of Lazarus, Mary sat alone in his room
beside the empty couch, which was turned upside down, as were the
chairs also. The clothing that hung on the wall was covered with
sackcloth and the tightly drawn window curtains were banded with black.

"Art thou ready to go to the tomb?" Martha asked, coming to the door of
the room. "Soon will the mourners come from Jerusalem and great will
the weeping be at the grave of our brother. Where is thy sackcloth?"

"Neither sackcloth nor ashes have I put on. Only to think, come I to
this silent room."

"Knowest thou not it is yet unclean?"

"Uncleanness cometh not from the passing out of those we love. Only to
keep the Law, observe I the mourning rites. Yet in my quiet do I
think."

"Scarce four days is our brother dead and thou art at thy old habit of
thinking. Wilt thou never learn thinking is not to tax a woman's time?
Wouldst thou take from men their rights?"

"Methinks thinking is pro