the sound of the mourners came from in
front of the door. A moment they paused, then went wailing on to the
tomb.

"I am alone," Mary sobbed as quiet again fell over the room. "Martha
hath Joel and when the mother of Jesus did pass through the Valley of
Separation, did she have him whom my soul loveth? Oh, that I might
have felt the pressure of his strong hands around mine when the fingers
of my brother grew cold and weak! Oh, that I might have heard his
voice speaking sweetest comfort when the voice of my brother was hushed
in death! Oh, that Jesus had been here! And my heart is sore because
he came not. Urgent was the message and swift delivered, yet have two
days passed and he tarrieth yet in Peraea while my heart doth break
with loneliness!" and she threw herself down beside the couch.

She had lain but a moment when Martha from the outside called, "Mary!
Mary!" There was no response from the quiet room. "Mary! Mary!
Mary!" shouted Martha joyfully, just outside the door.

Mary arose in haste. What had come over Martha who had only now left
to go mourning?

"Mary--Mary!" and in her eagerness Martha forgot that the room of
Lazarus was yet defiled and ran across its threshold crying, "The
Master hath come!"

"The Master hath come?" Mary exclaimed, springing toward her sister.

"Yea, yea! The Master hath come and calleth for thee!"

"For me--he calleth for _me_?" and Mary's voice was vibrant with new
life.

"Yea, for thee. Aye, not even of Lazarus whom he loveth did the Master
make inquiry, but taking me aside did he ask of 'Mary,' and biddeth me
hurry to call. Hasten thou? The Master waiteth!"

Transfixed with joy for the moment, Mary folded her hands and lifted a
shining face heavenward, saying again, "The Master hath come and
calleth for me--for _me_--for _me_!" Then she caught up a veil and
followed Martha hurriedly from the room.

CHAPTER XVII

THINK ON THESE THINGS

The scent of freshly turned earth, mingled with the fragrance of citron
blossoms, hung on the air as a woman from a Galilean fishing town made
her way around a hill-path that overlooked the highway and entered into
it a little farther on. It was the time of plowing and sowing in
Palestine. In a field close by, a sower with a basket on his arm
scattered the seed broadcast. Farther down the hillside a peasant was
beating his seed into the soil with branches and thorns, and in the
valley could be seen a flock of g