the Romans? Herod is great when there is none
greater, but ever doth Rome send the greatest."

"Nay, not Rome sends the greatest to the Passover." It was Debora who
spoke. "From Capernaum cometh he."

"Capernaum of Galilee?" Martha exclaimed. "The home of fishermen?"

"Yea, verily. From Galilee doth a prophet come the like of which hath
not been seen since Elias was taken in a chariot of fire and whirlwind."

"Thou dost speak strange words," Mary observed. "Who is this prophet?"

"He is called Jesus of Nazareth, for there did he live before his home
was at Capernaum."

"Nazareth," Anna repeated with curling lip. "Nazareth is a town of
beggars and thieves, so sayeth my father. Can any good thing come out
of Nazareth? My father hath mentioned the name of Jesus--was he at the
Passover feast last year?"

"Yea, and the Feast of Tabernacles," Debora answered.

"Jesus of Nazareth," Martha repeated, putting her hand to her forehead.
"Methinks Lazarus did mention the name when Joseph of Arimathea was our
guest. Dost thou remember, Mary?"

"The name? Yea, I remember. But what of it? None said he was a
prophet."

"Listen," Debora said, leaning eagerly forward and half whispering:
"Knowest thou not that Israel hath long been dispersed and scattered
like sheep without a shepherd? Knowest thou not that the cohorts of
Rome guard the Sacred Temple and profane the Sanctuary of the Most
High? Knowest thou not the heart of Israel hath long waited for the
king who shall restore again the throne of David? And knowest thou not
that the time is at hand for the coming of the promised one? Aye, even
so hath he already come, and his name is Jesus."

"By what sign is he the Messiah?" Mary asked.

"By the sign of a prophet, and the greatest of all prophets is he.
Once was I at the home of Peter when his wife's mother lay sick of a
fever. Her skin was hot as if her couch were in a bake oven; her eyes
did shine and vain was her babbling. Then came the Prophet of Galilee.
On her head where the heat raged he placed his hand. Close and firm he
held it as if he were holding down a struggling world. And lo! The
struggling world grew quiet. The vain babbling of the parched lips
ceased. Then did he speak. Aye--Mary, Martha, Anna--to hear his
voice--deep like unsounded depths, mellow like the music of the viol
and restful as when small waves play upon smooth shores. Twice did he
speak. There was stillness. His eyes