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CHAPTER XXVIII.
UNITED IN THE GRAVE

Lycidas dared not at first break to Zarah the mournful truth that one blow had bereft her of both her protectors, that she was now indeed an orphan, and alone in the world. Zarah saw that her father was dead, but believed that Hadassah had swooned. The subdued wail of Anne over the corpse of her mistress, first revealed to the bereaved girl the full extent of her loss. Its greatness, its suddenness, almost stunned her; it was a paralyzing grief.

But this was no time for lamentation or wail. Lycidas remembered – though Zarah herself for the moment entirely forgot it – her imminent personal peril should she be discovered and arrested by the Syrians. To save her precious life, was now the Greek's most anxious care. He tried to persuade her to fly; but even his entreaties could not draw the mourner from the dead bodies of Hadassah and Pollux. It seemed as if Zarah could understand nothing but the greatness of her bereavements. A terrible fear arose in the mind of the Greek that all that the maiden had undergone during the last two days had unsettled her reason.

"What can be done!" exclaimed Lycidas, almost in despair; "if the Syrians find her here, she is lost. The city will soon be astir; already I hear the sound of hoofs!"

A man, leading a large mule with two empty panniers, appeared, trudging on his solitary way. As he approached the spot, Lycidas to his inexpressible relief recognized in him Joab, a man whose countenance was never likely to be forgotten by him – being connected with one of the most exciting passages in the life of the young Athenian.

"Ha! the lady Hadassah!" exclaimed the muleteer, in a tone of surprise and regret, as his eye fell on the lifeless body, round which Zarah was clinging, with her face buried in the folds of its garments.

"I have seen you before; I know you to be a good man and true," said Lycidas, hurriedly. "You risked your life to bury the martyrs, you will help us now in this our sore need. Assist us to lift these bodies on your mule, and take them as secretly and as swiftly as we may to the house of Hadassah."

"I would risk anything for my old mistress," said Joab; "but as for yon silken-clad Syrian, I care not to burden my beast with his carcass." The muleteer looked with stern surprise on the corpse of Pollux. "Who is he," continued Joab, "and how comes he to be clasped in the arms of the Lady Hadassah?"

"My father – he is my father!" sobbed Zarah.

"Raise them both," said Lycidas; "we cannot divide them, and there is not a moment to be lost."

The united efforts of the party hardly sufficed to raise the two bodies to the back of the mule, which, though a large and powerful animal, could scarcely carry the double burden. Joab took his large coarse mantle, and threw it over the corpses to hide them, then taking his beast by the halter, led it forward in silence.

"Is there no danger from him?" said Anna to Lycidas, pointing to Lysimachus, who lay senseless and bleeding, his head having come into violent collision with a stone.

By a brief examination Lycidas satisfied himself that the courtier was indeed in a state of unconsciousness, and knew nothing of what was passing around him. The Athenian then went up to Zarah, who, drooping like a broken lily, was slowly following the corpses of her parent and his mother. Lycidas offered her what support he could give; Zarah did not, could not reject it. A deadness seemed coming over her brain and heart; had not Lycidas upheld the poor girl, she must have dropped by the wayside.

With what strange emotions did Lycidas through life remember that early walk in Jerusalem! The being whom he loved best was leaning upon him, too much exhausted to decline his aid; there was thrilling happiness in being so near her; but the uppermost feelings in the mind of Lycidas were agonising fear upon Zarah's account, and intense impatience to reach some place of safety. Fearfully slow to Lycidas appeared the progress of the heavily-laden mule, terribly long the way that was traversed. The muleteer purposely avoided that which would have been most direct; he dared not go through one of the city gates, but passed out into the open country at a spot little frequented, where a part of the wall of Jerusalem still lay in ruins, as it had been left by Apollonius. Most unwelcome to Lycidas was the brightening day, which awoke the world to life. Every human form, even that of a child, was to him an object of alarm. The brave young Greek was full of terrors for one who in her grief had lost the sense of personal fear.

Partly owing to the skilful selection of paths by Joab, partly owing to the circumstance of the day being still so young, the party did not meet many persons on their way, and these few were of poorer class, early commencing their morning toils. Inquiring glances were cast at the singular cortege, but at that time of bondage and peril, a common sense of misery and danger taught caution and repressed curiosity.

Only once was a question asked of the muleteer.

"What have you there, Joab, under yon mantle?" inquired a woman with a large jar on her head, who stopped to survey the strange burden of the mule.

"A ripe sheaf of the first-fruits, a wave-offering, Deborah," replied

Joab, with significance.

"There will be more, many more, cut down soon," replied the woman gloomily; "may desolation overtake the Syrian reapers!"

Joab saw the Athenian's look of apprehension. "Fear not, stranger," he said; "no Hebrew will betray us; Deborah is true as steel, and knows me well."

There is little of twilight in Judaea; day leaps almost at a bound upon his throne. The world was bathed in sunshine long before the slowly-moving party reached the lonely dwelling amongst the hills. How thankful was Lycidas for the seclusion of that wild spot, which seemed as if it had been chosen for purpose of concealment! Hadassah had left the door fastened when she had quitted the place on the preceding morning, full of anxious terrors on account of the peril of Zarah; but Anna had charge of the key. With what thankful joy would the Hebrew widow have for the last time crossed that threshold in life, could she have foreseen that her child would so soon return in safety, albeit as a mourner, following Hadassah's own corpse!

The two bodies were reverentially laid on mats on the floor of the dwelling. Lycidas then went outside the door with Joab, to make such arrangements as circumstances permitted for the burial, which, according to the custom of the land, rendered necessary by the climate, must take place very soon. Joab undertook to find those who would aid him in digging a grave close to that of the martyrs, and promised to come for the bodies an hour after midnight. Lycidas drew forth gold, but the Hebrew refused to take it.

"To bury the martyred dead is a pious office and acceptable to the Most High," said the brave muleteer; "but as for yon Syrian, son though he may be of the Lady Hadassah, I care not to lay his bones amongst those of martyrs. I trow he was nothing but a traitor."

"He died by the hand of a Syrian, he died saving a Hebrew maiden, he died in his mother's arms," said Lycidas, with tender regard for the feelings of Zarah, who would he knew be sensitive in regard to respect paid to the corpse of her parent. "Deny him not a grave with his people."

Joab merely shrugged his shoulders in reply, laid his hand on the halter of his mule, and departed.

On the following night, Lycidas found himself again in that olive-girdled spot which he had such reason to remember. He stood under that tree behind the bending trunk of which he had crouched for concealment on the night when he had first seen Zarah.

The ground was very hard from the long drought. Joab, and two companions whom he had brought to assist in the perilous service, had much difficulty in preparing a grave.

"We need the strong arm of Maccabeus here," observed one of the men, stopping to brush the beaded drops from his brow.

"Maccabeus is employed in making graves for his enemies, not for his friends," was the muleteer's stern reply.

Thick heavy clouds obscured the starless sky, not a breath of wind was stirring, the air felt oppressively close and sultry even at the hour of midnight. A single torch was all the light which the grave-diggers dared to employ while engaged on their dangerous work. In almost perfect darkness were the remains of Hadassah and her unhappy son lowered into the dust. There was no silver moonlight streaming between the stems of the olives, as on the occasion of the martyrs' burial, nor was Zarah present to throw flowers into the open grave. With her the powers of nature had given way under the prolonged strain which they had had to endure; the poor girl lay in her desolate home, too ill to be even conscious of the removal from it of the remains over which she had watched and mourned as long as she had been capable of doing either.

It was strange to Lycidas to be, as it were, only representative of Hadassah's family at the funeral of herself and her son, – he, who was not only no relative, but a foreigner in blood, and in religion an alien; but it was a privilege which he valued very highly, and which he would not have resigned to have held the chief place in the most pompous ceremonial upon earth.

As soon as the displaced earth had been thrown back into the grave of Hadassah and her Abner, the night-clouds burst, and down came the long longed-for, long-desired latter rains. The parched dry sod seemed to drink in new life; the shrivelled foliage revived, all nature rejoiced in the gift from heaven. When the sun rose over the hills, water was again trickling from the stream behind the dwelling of Hadassah; the oleanders were not yet dead, they would bloom into beauty again.

CHAPTER XXIX.
THE MOURNER'S HOME

I shall pass lightly over the events of several succeeding months. The summer passed away, with its intense heat and its fierce simooms. Then came heavier dews by night, and temperature gradually decreased by day. The harvest was ended, but few of the inhabitants of Jerusalem had ventured to observe Pentecostal solemnities. The time for the Feast of Tabernacles arrived, but none dared raise leafy booths of palm and willow – to spend therein the week of rejoicing, according to the custom of happier years.

Early in the summer Antiochus Epiphanes had quitted Judaea for Persia, to quell an insurrection which his cupidity had provoked in the latter country. The absence of the tyrant had somewhat mitigated the fierceness of the persecution against such Hebrews as sought to obey the law of Moses; but still no one dared openly to practise Jewish rites in Jerusalem, and the image of Jupiter Olympus still profaned the temple on Mount Zion.

Judas Maccabeus, in the meantime, still maintained a bold front in Southern Judaea and the tract of country called Idumea; the power of his name was felt from the rich pasture-lands surrounding Hebron as far as the fair plains of Beersheba on the south-west – or on the south-east the desolate valley of salt. Wherever the Asmonean's influence extended, fields were sown or their harvests gathered in peace; the husbandman followed his team, and the shepherd folded his flocks; mothers rejoiced over the infants whom they could now present to the Lord without fear.

But again the portentous war-cloud was rolling up from the direction of Antioch. Lycias, the regent of the western provinces, by the command of Antiochus had gathered around him a very large army, a force yet more formidable than that which had been led by Nicanor, and Syria was again collecting her hordes to crush by overwhelming numbers Judas and his patriot band.

And how had the last half-year sped with Zarah? Very slowly and very heavily, as time usually passes with those who mourn. And deeply did Zarah mourn for Hadassah – her more than mother, her counsellor, her guide – the being round whom maiden's affections so closely had twined that she had felt that she could hardly sustain existence deprived of Hadassah. And much Zarah wept for her father – though in remembering him a deep spring of joy mingled with her sorrow. A thousand times did Zarah repeat to herself his words of blessing – a thousand times fervently thank God that she and her parent had met. The words of Lysimachus had lightened her heart of what would otherwise have painfully pressed upon it. Those words had told her that Pollux was a doomed man; that apostasy on her part could not have saved his life; that had he not fallen by the Syrian's dagger, he would have been but reserved for the headsman's axe. And had Pollux perished thus, there would have been none of that gleam of hope which, at least in Zarah's eyes, now rested upon his grave.

Zarah never left the precincts of her secluded dwelling, except to visit her parents' grave – where she went as often as she dared venture forth, accompanied by the faithful Anna. No feet but their own ever crossed the threshold of their home. Zarah's simple wants were always supplied. Anna disposed in Jerusalem of the flax which her young mistress spun, as soon as Zarah had regained sufficient strength to resume her humble labours. During the period of the maiden's severe illness, Anna had secretly disposed of the precious rolls of Scripture from which Hadassah had made her copies, and had obtained for them such a price as enabled her for many weeks to procure every comfort and even luxury required by the sufferer. The copies themselves, traced by the dear hand now mouldering into dust, Zarah counted as her most precious possession; her most soothing occupation was to read them, pray over them, commit to memory their contents.

During all this long period of time, Zarah never saw Lycidas, but she had an instinctive persuasion that he was not far away – that, like an unseen good angel, he was protecting her still. The name of the Athenian was never forgotten in Zarah's prayers. She felt that she owed a debt of gratitude to one who had struck down her father's murderer, who had paid the last honours to his remains and those of Hadassah, and to whose care she believed that she owed her own freedom and life. If there was something more than gratitude in the maiden's feelings towards the Greek, it was a sentiment so refined and purified by grief that it cast no dimness over the mirror of conscience.

But Zarah knew that her life could not always flow on thus. It was a most unusual thing in her land for a maiden thus to dwell alone, without any apparent protection save that of a single handmaid. It was a violation of all the customs of her people, an unseemly thing which could only be justified by necessity. The daughter of Abner was also in constant peril of having her retreat discovered by those who had searched for herself and her father in vain, but who might at any day or any hour find and seize her as a condemned criminal, and either put her to death, or send her as a captive to Antiochus Epiphanes.

Often, very often had Zarah turned over the subject of her peculiar position in her mind, and considered whether she ought not to leave the precincts of Jerusalem, and secretly depart for Bethsura. There the orphan could claim the hospitality of her aged relative Rachel, should she be living yet, or the protection of the Asmonean brothers, who, being her next of kin, were, according to Jewish customs, the maiden's natural guardians. But Zarah shrank from taking this difficult step. Very formidable to her was the idea of undertaking a journey even of but twenty miles' length, through a country where she would be liable to meet enemies at every step of the way. Zarah had no means of travelling save on foot, unless she disposed of some of the few jewels which she had inherited from her parents; and this she was not only unwilling to do, but she feared to do it lest, through the sale of these gems in Jerusalem, she should be tracked to her place of retreat. Anna was faithful as a servant, but could never be leaned upon as an adviser – she would obey, but she could not counsel; and her young mistress, timid and gentle, with no one to guide and protect her, felt her strength and courage alike insufficient for an adventurous journey from Jerusalem to Bethsura.

The possible necessity which might arise of her having to place herself under the protection of Maccabeus, should Rachel be no longer living at Bethsura, greatly increased Zarah's reluctance to leave her present abode. The maiden remembered too well what Hadassah had disclosed of a proposed union between herself and Judas, not to feel that it would be peculiarly painful to have to throw herself upon the kindness of her brave kinsman. Zarah could not, as she thought, tell him why the idea of such a union was hateful to her soul – why she was averse to fulfilling the wishes of Mattathias and Hadassah. While Maccabeus often experienced an almost irrepressible yearning once more to look upon Zarah, whom he believed to be still with Hadassah, of whose death he never had heard, Zarah shrank with emotions of fear from meeting the Hebrew chieftain.

Tender affection also made the orphan girl cling to her parents' grave and the home of her youth. Dear associations were linked with almost every object on which her eyes rested. Those to whom the present is a thorny waste, and the future a prospect darkened by gloomy mists, are wont to dwell more than others on the green spots which memory yet can survey in the past. It is natural to youth to look forward. Zarah, as regarded this world, dared only look back. It was well for her that she could do so with so little of remorse or regret.

 
"Not to have known a treasure's worth
Till time hath stolen away the slighted boon,
Is cause of half the misery we feel,
And makes this world the wilderness it is."
 

When winter was drawing near, when the bursting cotton-pods had been gathered, and the vintage season was over, when the leaves were beginning to fall fast, and the cold grew sharp after sunset, circumstances occurred which compelled a change in Zarah's quiet routine of existence. She could no longer be left to indulge her lonely sorrow; the current of life was about to take a sudden turn which must of necessity bring her amongst new scenes, and expose her to fresh trials.

CHAPTER XXX.
CHANGES

One evening, towards the hour of sunset, Zarah sat alone at her wheel awaiting the return of Anna from the city, she was startled by the sound of a hand rapping hastily upon the panel of the door. The hand was assuredly not that of Anna, who, from precaution, had adopted a peculiar way of tapping to announce her return. As no visitor ever came to Zarah's dwelling, it was no marvel that she felt alarm at the unexpected sound, especially as she was aware that she had neglected her usual precaution of barring the door during the absence of Anna. As Zarah hastily rose to repair her omission, the door was opened from without, and Lycidas stood before her. The countenance of the Greek expressed anxiety and alarm.

"Lady, forgive the intrusion," said Lycidas, bending in lowly salutation before the startled girl; "but regard for your safety compels me to seek this interview. I was to-day in company with Lysimachus, the Syrian courtier – how we chanced to be together, or wherefore he mentioned to me what I am about to disclose, matters little, and I would be brief. Lysimachus told me that, from information which he had received – how, I know not – he had cause to suspect that the maiden who some half-year back had been sentenced by the king to death if she refused to apostatize from her faith, was living secluded in a dwelling amongst the hills to the east of the city. The Syrian declared that he was resolved to-morrow morn to explore thoroughly every spot which could possibly afford a place of concealment to the maiden – whom he intends to seize and send as a prisoner into Persia, to the merciless tyrant whom he serves."

Zarah turned very pale at the tidings, and leaned on her wheel for support.

"You must fly to-night, dearest lady," said Lycidas; "this dwelling is no longer a safe asylum for you."

"Whither can I fly, and how?" murmured the orphan girl. "I have no friend here except" – Zarah hesitated, and Lycidas completed the sentence.

"Except one to whom your lightest wish is a command; to whom every hair of your head is dearer than life!" exclaimed the Athenian.

"Speak not thus to me, Lycidas," said Zarah, in a tone of entreaty; "you know too well the impassable barrier which divides us."

"Not impassable, Zarah," cried the Greek; "it has been thrown down, I have trampled over it, and it separates us no longer. Hear me, O daughter of Abraham! Much have I learned since last I stood on this threshold; deeply have I studied your Scriptures; long have I secretly conversed with the wise and learned who could instruct me in your faith. I am now persuaded that there is no God but one God – He who revealed Himself to Abraham: I have renounced every heathen superstition; I have in all things conformed to the law of Moses; I have been formally received as a proselyte into the Jewish Church; and am now, like Achor the Ammonite, in everything save name and birth, a Hebrew."

Zarah could not refrain from uttering an exclamation of delight. Her whole countenance suddenly lighted up with an expression of happiness, which was reflected on that of him who stood before her – for in that blissful moment Lycidas felt that he must be beloved.

"Oh, joy!" cried Zarah, clasping her hands. "Then have you also embraced the Holy Covenant, and you are numbered amongst the children of Abraham! Then may I look upon you as a brother indeed!"

"Can you not look upon me as something more than a brother, Zarah?" exclaimed the Athenian. "Why should you not fly – since you needs must fly from this dangerous spot – under the protection, the loving, devoted care, of an affianced husband?"

Zarah flushed, trembled, covered her face with her hands, and sank, rather than seated herself, upon the divan from which she had risen on hearing the knock of the Greek. Lycidas ventured to seat himself beside the young maiden, take one of her unresisting hands and press it first to his heart, then to his lips – for he read consent in the silence of Zarah.

But the maiden had none of the calm tranquillity of happiness; she felt bewildered, doubtful of herself; again she covered her face and murmured, "Oh, that my mother were here to guide me!"

"Hadassah would not have spurned a proselyte whom the elders have received; she was too large-minded, too just," said Lycidas, disappointed and somewhat mortified at the doubts which evidently disturbed the mind of the maiden. "Listen to the plan which I have formed for your escape, my Zarah. I have already made arrangements with the trusty Joab. He will bring a horse-litter an hour after dark to bear you and your handmaid hence; I will accompany you as your armed and mounted attendant. We will direct our course to the coast. At Joppa we shall, I hope, find a vessel, borne forward by whose white wings we shall soon reach my own beautiful and glorious land, where love, freedom, and happiness, shall await my fair Hebrew bride!"

For some moments Zarah made no reply; how tempting was the vista thus suddenly opened before her – radiant with rosy light, like those seen in the clouds at sunrise! Then Zarah uncovered her face, but without raising it, or venturing to look at Lycidas, she said, in a voice that trembled with emotion, "Hadassah, my mother, would have deemed it unseemly for a maiden thus to flee from her country to a land where her God is not known and worshipped, and under the protection of one who is none of her kindred."

"I thought that you had no kindred, Zarah," said Lycidas, with uneasiness; "that you had none left of your family whose guardianship you could seek."

"I have – or had – an aged relative, Rachel of Bethsura," replied Zarah, "who, if she be yet living, will assuredly receive me into her home. But my next of kin are the Asmonean brothers."

"The noblest family in the land!" exclaimed the Athenian. "If it be indeed impossible for you to escape with me into Greece – "

"Not impossible, but wrong," said Zarah, softly; "it would be disobeying what I know would have been the will of her whose wishes are more sacred to me now than ever."

"Then be mine in your own land," cried Lycidas, "where I may show that I merit to win you. Will the noble Judas and his brothers deem me unworthy to unite with one of their race if I devote my sword to the cause of which they are the champions – a cause as glorious as that for which my ancestor died at Marathon?"

Still the cloud of doubt did not pass from the fair brow of Zarah. There was a difficulty in her mind which she shrank from disclosing to Lycidas. At last she timidly said, her cheeks glowing crimson as she spoke, "Shall I be candid with you, Lycidas? shall I tell all – as to a brother?"

"All, all," replied the Athenian, with painful misgiving at his heart.

"Beloved Hadassah is at rest, I can hear her dear voice no more, but – but I am not ignorant of what were her views and wishes," said Zarah. "I believe – indeed I know" – Zarah could hardly speak distinctly enough, in her confusion, for the strained ear of Lycidas to catch her words – "she had destined me for another; I am not quite certain whether I be not even betrothed."

Lycidas could not refrain from a passionate outburst. "It was wicked – cruel – infamous," he cried, "to dispose of your hand without your consent!"

"Such words must never be applied to aught that she did," said Zarah. "The revered mother ever consulted the happiness as well as the honour of her child. She would never have urged upon me any marriage from which my heart revolted, but she let me know her wishes. And the very last day that we were together" – tears flowed fast from under Zarah's long drooping lashes as she went on – "on that fatal day, ere I left her to attend the Passover feast, Hadassah charged me, by the love that I bore to her, never to take any important step in life without at least consulting him in whom she felt assured that I should find my best earthly protector."

"And who may this chosen individual be?" asked Lycidas, almost fiercely; a pang of jealousy stirring in his breast as he demanded the name of his rival.

Zarah murmured, "Judas Maccabeus."

"Judas Maccabeus!" exclaimed the young Greek, starting to his feet, more alarmed at the sound of that name than had been the warriors of Nicanor, when hearing it suddenly at night in the death-shout. Lycidas, with all the enthusiastic admiration which noble deeds inspire in a poetic and generous nature like his, had regarded the career of the Hebrew hero. The history of Maccabeus was to the Greek an acted epic; in character, in renown, Judas, in his estimation, towered like a giant above all other men of his generation. Lycidas had met the chieftain but once; but in that one meeting had received impressions which made him idealize Maccabeus into a being more like the demi-gods of whom poets sang, whom worshippers adored, than one of the denizens of earth. He was in the eyes of the young enthusiast, conqueror, patriot, and prince – a breathing embodiment of "the heroism of virtue." The Greek had never thought of Maccabeus before as one subject to human passions, save love of country, and perhaps love of fame; or as one influenced by human affections, who might seek to win a woman's heart as well as to triumph over his foes. The idea of having him for a rival struck the young Athenian with something like despair; it seemed more than presumption to enter the arena against such an opponent as this. Lycidas believed that, had Antiochus Epiphanes laid the crown of Syria at the feet of Zarah, she would have rejected the gift; but breathed there a maiden in Judaea who could do aught but accept with pride the proffered hand of her country's hero – of him who was to all other mortals as snow-capped Lebanon to a mole-hill?

Zarah felt that her disclosure had inspired more alarm in the mind of Lycidas than she had intended, or than was warranted by the true state of the relations between her and the Hebrew leader. She hastened to relieve the apprehensions of the Greek. "I reverence Maccabeus," said the maiden; "I would repose the greatest confidence alike in his wisdom and his honour; but, personally, Judas is no more to me than any of his brothers."

Lycidas drew a deep sigh of relief. Grateful for the encouragement which he drew from this avowal, the Greek resumed his place by the side of Zarah. "What course will you then pursue towards Maccabeus?" he inquired.

"I must consult him, as Hadassah bade me consult him," said the maiden: "he must know all that most nearly concerns me; it seems to me as if he stood to me now in the place of a father."

The spirits of Lycidas rose at the word; again his heart was buoyant with hope.

"Our first object now, beloved one," said he, "must be to place your person in safety. As you will not seek refuge in Attica, we will bend our course southward – if such be your wish – and find out your aged relative at Bethsura. I would fain that she dwelt in any other direction; for Bethsura itself holds a Syrian garrison, the army of Lysias is advancing, and southern Judaea is so infested by armed bands that travelling is scarcely safe. Have you no friends, no relatives, in Galilee, or on the sea-coast?"

Zarah shook her head. "I know not of one," she replied. "Rachel dwells not in Bethsura but near it, and in a spot so retired that the enemy is scarcely likely to find it out. If the country be infested by armed bands – they are the followers of Maccabeus, and from them we have nothing to dread."

Though Lycidas was not a little disappointed at having to give up his first scheme – that of bearing off Zarah to the coast, and thence to Attica – he could not but respect her scruples, and own that the course upon which she had decided was not only the most dutiful but the most wise. It was agreed therefore that Zarah, under the escort of Lycidas, should start at the hour which the Greek had first proposed; but that, instead of Joppa, her destination should be Bethsura – at which place, by travelling all night, she might hope to arrive before dawn.